“I must have imagined it,” muttered the prisoner.

“Very clever of you, Groener,” said the judge dryly, “to imagine the exact street where the encounter took place.  You couldn’t have done better if you had known it.”

“You see what comes of talking without the advice of counsel,” remarked Maitre Cure in funereal tones.

“Rubbish!” flung back the prisoner.  “This examination is of no importance, anyhow.”

“Of course not, of course not,” purred the magistrate.  Then, abruptly, his whole manner changed.

“Groener,” he said, and his voice rang sternly, “I’ve been patient with you so far, I’ve tolerated your outrageous arrogance and impertinence, partly to entrap you, as I have, and partly because I always give suspected persons a certain amount of latitude at first.  Now, my friend, you’ve had your little fling and—­it’s my turn.  We are coming to a part of this examination that you will not find quite so amusing.  In fact you will realize before you have been twenty-four hours at the Sante that——­”

“I’m not going to the Sante,” interrupted Groener insolently.

Hauteville motioned to the guard.  “Put the handcuffs on him.”

The guard stepped forward and obeyed, handling the man none too tenderly.  Whereupon the accused once more lost his fine self-control and was swept with furious anger.

“Mark my words, Judge Hauteville,” he threatened fiercely, “you have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner for the last time.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded the magistrate.

[Illustration:  “’You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner for the last time.’”]

But almost instantly Groener had become calm again.  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I’m a little on my nerves.  I’ll behave myself now, I’m ready for those things you spoke of that are not so amusing.”

“That’s better,” approved Hauteville, but Coquenil, watching the prisoner, shook his head doubtfully.  There was something in this man’s mind that they did not understand.

“Groener,” demanded the magistrate impressively, “do you still deny any connection with this crime or any knowledge concerning it?”

“I do,” answered the accused.

“As I said before, I think you are lying, I believe you killed Martinez, but it’s possible I am mistaken.  I was mistaken in my first impression about Kittredge—­the evidence seemed strong against him, and I should certainly have committed him for trial had it not been for the remarkable work on the case done by M. Coquenil.”

“I realize that,” replied Groener with a swift and evil glance at the detective, “but even M. Coquenil might make a mistake.”

Back of the quiet-spoken words M. Paul felt a controlled rage and a violence of hatred that made him mutter to himself:  “It’s just as well this fellow is where he can’t do any more harm!”

“I warned you,” pursued the judge, “that we are coming to an unpleasant part of this examination.  It is unpleasant because it forces a guilty person to betray himself and reveal more or less of the truth that he tries to hide.”