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Updated: June 14, 2025
He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particular moment. "Why, that's Groener," answered Bonneton simply. "Groener? Oh, her cousin?" "Yes." "I'm interested," went on the detective with the same indifferent air, "because I have a collection of plaster hands at my house I'll show it to you some day and there's one with a long little finger that the candle girl noticed.
"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party," said Groener.
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."
"Referring, I suppose," sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounter on the Champs Elysées, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on my leg." Quick as a flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a low tone. "Ah, yes!" exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction. Then to Groener: "How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on the Champs Elysées?"
Some pictures of persons and places will be thrown on that sheet and, as each one appears, I want you to say what it is. Most of the pictures are familiar to everyone." "Yes, but the leather sleeve?" persisted the prisoner. "The leather sleeve is like the stop watch, it records your emotions. Sit down!" Groener hesitated and the guard pushed him toward the chair. "Wait!" he said.
"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.
He sprang lightly from the cab and hurried across the sidewalk. At the same moment Coquenil lifted his hand and brought it down quickly, twice, in the direction of the doorway through which Groener had passed. And a moment later Tignol was in the telegraph office writing a dispatch beside the wood carver.
He nodded. "Did you know him?" "Oh, yes, very well." Now it was Coquenil's turn to feel surprise, for he had asked the question almost aimlessly. "You knew Martinez very well?" he repeated, scarcely believing his ears. "I often saw him," she explained, "at the café where we went evenings." "Who were 'we'?" "Why, Papa Bonneton would take me, or my cousin, M. Groener, or M. Kittredge."
She spoke briefly of her humble life with the Bonnetons, of her work at Notre-Dame, of the occasional visits of her supposed cousin, the wood carver; then she came to the recent tragic happenings, to her flight from Groener, to the kindness of M. Pougeot, to the trick of the ring that lured her from the commissary's home, and finally to the moment when, half dead with fright, she was thrust into that cruel chamber and left there with M. Coquenil to perish.
Did you know that, Alice?" He turned gayly to the girl. Since the meal began Alice had scarcely spoken, but had sat looking down at her plate save at certain moments when she would lift her eyes suddenly and fix them on Groener with a strange, half-frightened expression. "You are very kind, Cousin Adolf," she answered timidly, "but I'm not feeling well to-day."
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