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After this we found five other glens with running springs, in about as many miles; they were named respectively, but afterwards, Groener's and Tyndall's Springs, the Great Gorge, Fort McKellar*, where I subsequently had a depot, and the Gorge of Tarns. Fort McKellar is the most western water suitable for a depot, and is the most agreeable encampment.
Jimmy's anxiety for a date. Mount Barlee. Mount Buttfield. "Stagning" water. Ranges continue to the west. A notch. Dry rocky basins. Horses impounded. Desolation Glen. Wretched night. Terrible Billy. A thick clump of gums. A strong and rapid stream. The Stemodia viscosa. Head-first in a bog. Leuhman's Spring. Groener's and Tyndall's Springs. The Great Gorge. Fort McKellar. The Gorge of Tarns.
And, without more difficulty, the test began, Hauteville speaking the prepared words and handling the stop watch while Coquenil, sitting beside him, wrote down the answered words and the precise time intervals. First, they established Groener's average or normal time of reply when there was no emotion or mental effort involved.
The next spring, about a mile farther east, I called Groener's Springs; it had not such a strong flow of water, but the trees in the clump at the head of it were much larger and more numerous than at the last. Some of the trees, as was the case at Fort McKellar, were of very considerable size. Late at night Mr.
A ghastly, leering cadaver in collar and necktie, dressed up and photographed at the morgue, and now flashed hideously at the prisoner out of the darkness. Yet Groener's heart pulsed on steadily with only a slight quickening, with less quickening than Coquenil felt in his own heart. "Who is it?" demanded the judge. "I don't know," declared the accused. Again the picture changed. "Who is this?"
I weakened; I had my bag packed and was actually starting for Paris, convinced that Groener had nothing to do with the case. Think of that!" "Yes, but you didn't start." "It was a piece of stupid luck that saved me when I ought to have known, when I ought to have been sure. And, mark you, if I had come back believing in Groener's innocence, this crime would never have been cleared up, never."
Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel your heart beating fast, my friend?" "No," murmured the prisoner, "my my heart is beating as usual." "You will certainly recognize the next picture," pursued the judge. "It shows a woman and a little girl! There! Do you know these faces, Groener?"
Inside the tube a red column moved regularly up and down, up and down, in steady beats and Coquenil understood that this column was registering the beating of Groener's heart.
Then he knocked sharply on the woodwork: "Alice, what are you doing?" Still no answer. Groener's face darkened, and with sudden suspicion he drew aside the curtain. The confessional box was empty Alice was gone! What had happened was very simple. The confessional box from which Alice had vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wall behind it.
Several times, furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on the clock. Was it possible the fellow was trying to gain time? But why? How could that serve him? What could he be waiting for?
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