Javert had figured on finding incriminating data in it.  It was to be his chief evidence.  He read it over with increasing disappointment and gave it the minutest analysis, comparing it closely with the original scribble-paper.  For example, he called the attention of the judge to the fact that “guarded” in one paper was spelled “gaurded” in the other—­some slip I had inadvertently made.  He thought it might now be made a clew to some secret code, but, though he puzzled long and searchingly over the document, he extracted from it nothing more than an increased vexation of spirit.

“Nothing on the surface here,” Javert said to the judge; “but that only makes it look the more suspicious.  Wait till we hear from the search of his room.”

At this juncture a man in civilian dress arrived, and, handing over the key of Room Number 502, reported that there was nothing to bring back.  This nettled Javert, and he made and X-ray examination of my person, even tearing out the lining of my hat.  Alas for him too late; his search disclosed nothing more damnatory than a French dictionary, which, because I was not an ostrich, I had been unable to get away with in the afternoon.  A few addresses had been scribbled therein.  He demanded a full account of each name.  Some I had really forgotten.

“That’s strange,” he sneered; “perhaps you don’t find it convenient to remember who they are.”

Up till now I hadn’t the slightest conception of the charge laid against me.  Suddenly the judge crashed into the affair and took the initiative.

“Why did you offer money to find out the movement of German troops!” he let go at me across the table in a loud voice.

At the same time his aides converged on me a full, searching gaze.  Going all day without food, for eight hours confined in a fetid atmosphere, and for two hours grilled by a dozen inquisitors, is an ordeal calculated to put the nerves of the strongest on edge.

I simply replied, “I didn’t do any such thing.”

“Don’t lie!” “Tell the whole truth!” “Make a clean breast of it!” “No use holding anything back!” “We have the witnesses who will swear you did!” “Best thing for you is to tell all you know!”

This fusillade of command and accusation they roared and bellowed at me, aiming to break down my defense with the suddenness of the onslaught.  They succeeded for a moment.  I couldn’t rally my scattered and worn-out wits to think what the basis of this preposterous charge might be.

Then I remembered a Dutchman who had accosted me the day before on a street-car.  He had volunteered the information that he was taking people by automobile out through Liege into Holland, giving one thus the opportunity to see a great many troops and ruins along the way.  I told him I had some money and would be glad to invest in such a trip, at the same time giving him my address at the Hotel Metropole.  Guileless as he appeared, he turned out to be an agent of the German Government.  He naturally wanted to make himself solid with his masters by delivering the goods, so he had twisted all my words into the most damning evidence, and had fixed up two or three witnesses ready to swear anything.