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Updated: May 14, 2025
"I see," shrugged the prisoner, "but after all, it's only an experiment, it never would carry weight in a court of law." "Never is a long time," said the judge. "Wait ten years. We have a wonderful mental microscope here and the world will learn to use it. I use it now, and I happen to be in charge of this investigation." Groener was silent, his fine dark eyes fixed keenly on the judge.
The girl had entered the confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to let Groener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall into the sacristy passage beyond. And the priest was Tignol! "I scored on him that time," chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at the woodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosen for her.
Run along now and put on your nice dress and hat. We'll start in about half an hour." Alice rose from the table, deathly white. She tried to speak, but the words failed her; it seemed to Coquenil that her eyes met his in desperate appeal, and then, with a glance at Groener, half of submission, half of defiance, she turned and left the room.
Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office and his stern personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat and tremble nervously and wait nine and four fifths seconds before you were able to answer 'salad' to the word 'potato'?" Groener stared stolidly at the judge and did not speak.
He spoke so earnestly and straightforwardly that Coquenil began to think Groener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, why not? Tignol had been deceived by it. "How will you find her?" "I'll tell you as we drive along. We'll take a cab and you won't leave me, M. Matthieu?" he said anxiously. Coquenil tried to soften the grimness of his smile.
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."
"Ah, but you are, or you ought to be. It was such a shocking affair. Hundreds burned to death, think of that! Cowardly men trampling women and children! Our noblest families plunged into grief and bereavement! Princesses burned to death! Duchesses burned to death! Beautiful women burned to death! Rich women burned to death! Think of it, Groener, and " he signaled the operator, "and look at it!"
"Why not?" "That's my affair." "Is your name Adolf Groener?" "No." "Are you a wood carver?" "No." "Have you recently been disguised as a wood carver?" "No." He spoke the three negatives with a listless, rather bored air. "Groener, you are lying and I'll prove it shortly. Tell me, first, if you have money to employ a lawyer?" "Possibly, but I wish no lawyer." "That is not the question.
"I'm interested already. I'll get along very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it." The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighing resignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one of the little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle.
"Papa Tignol," he said impressively, "they all tell a simple, straight story. His name is Adolf Groener, he does live in Brussels, he makes his living at wood carving, and the widow who runs the confounded boarding house knows all about this girl Alice." Tignol rubbed his nose reflectively. "It was a long shot, anyway." "What would you have done?" questioned the other sharply.
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