THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS
"Now, Groener," resumed the magistrate after the shrimp had withdrawn, "why
were you walking along this hotel balcony on the night of July 4th?"
"I wasn't," answered the prisoner coolly.
"The photographer positively identifies you."
"He's mistaken, I wasn't there."
"Ah," smiled Hauteville, with irritating affability. "You'll need a better
defense than that."
"Whatever I need I shall have," came the sharp retort.
"Have you anything to say about those finger-nail marks?"
"Nothing."
"There's a peculiarity about those marks, Groener. The little finger of the
hand that made them is abnormally, extraordinarily long. Experts say that
in a hundred thousand hands you will not find one with so long a little
finger, perhaps not one in a million. It happens that _you_ have such a
hand and such a little finger. Strange, is it not?"
"Call it strange, if you like," shrugged the prisoner.
"Well, _isn't_ it strange? Just think, if all the men in Paris should try
to fit their fingers in those finger marks, there would be only two or
three who could reach the extraordinary span of that little finger."
"Nonsense! There might be fifty, there might be five hundred."
"Even so, only one of those fifty or five hundred would be positively
identified as the man who choked the photographer _and that one is
yourself_. There is the point; we have against you the evidence of Godin
who _saw_ you that night and _remembers_ you, and the evidence of your own
hand."
So clearly was the charge made that, for the first time, the prisoner
dropped his scoffing manner and listened seriously.
"Admit, for the sake of argument, that I _was_ on the balcony," he said.
"Mind, I don't admit it, but suppose I was? What of it?"
"Nothing much," replied the judge grimly; "it would simply establish a
strong probability that you killed Martinez."
"How so?"
"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pair
of boots."
"I don't admit it, but--what if I were?"
"A pair of Kittredge's boots are missing. They were worn by the murderer to
throw suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol was
stolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might be
discovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprints
and damn Kittredge."
"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you refer
to," put in Groener.
Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal these
boots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access to
Kittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the same
hotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. _Which is exactly
what you did!_ The photographer saw you go into it after you choked him.
You took this room for a month, but you never went back to it after the
day of the crime."
"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked the
photographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots along
a balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect me
with the murder of--what did you say his name was?"
"Martinez," answered the judge patiently.
"Ah, Martinez! Well, why did I murder this person?" asked the prisoner
facetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Can
you even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at the
critical moment? By the way, where _was_ the gentleman murdered? If I'm to
defend myself I ought to have some details of the affair."
The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate
said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a
left-handed man."
"Yes? And _am_ I left-handed?"
"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon
measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your
left hand with wonderful skill."
"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?"
"Why--er--he said so just now," answered the other uneasily.
"I think not. Was the Champs Elysées mentioned, Jules?" he turned to the
clerk.
Jules looked back conscientiously through his notes and shook his head.
"Nothing has been said about the Champs Elysées."
"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
Maître Curé 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 Santé that----"
"I'm not going to the Santé," 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."
The prisoner looked up incredulously. "You say it _forces_ him to betray
himself?"
"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough and
self-controlled enough to resist but we haven't found such a person yet.
It's true the system is quite recently devised, it hasn't been thoroughly
tested, but so far we have had wonderful results and--it's just the thing
for your case."
Groener was listening carefully. "Why?"
"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidently
looking for certain links now missing in the chain of evidence against you.
On the other hand, if you are innocent, we shall know that, too, and--if
you _are_ innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it."
If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answered
mockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registers
innocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?"
Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accused
register his own guilt or his own innocence _with his own words_."
"Whether he wishes to or not?"
The other nodded grimly. "Within certain limits--yes."
"How?"
The judge opened a leather portfolio and selected several sheets of paper
ruled in squares. Then he took out his watch.
"On these sheets," he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down about
a hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house,'
'music,' 'tree,' 'baby,' that have no particular significance; among these
words, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association with
this crime, words like 'Ansonia,' 'billiards,' 'pistol.' Do you
understand?"
"Yes."
"I shall speak these words slowly, one by one, and when I speak a word I
want you to speak another word that my word suggests. For example, if I say
'tree,' you might say 'garden,' if I say 'house,' you might say 'chair.' Of
course you are free to say any word you please, but you will find yourself
irresistibly drawn toward certain ones according as you are innocent or
guilty.
"For instance, Martinez, the Spaniard, was widely known as a billiard
player. Now, if I should say 'billiard player,' and you had no personal
feeling about Martinez, you might easily, by association of ideas, say
'Spaniard'; but, if you had killed Martinez and wished to conceal your
crime then, when I said 'billiard player' you would _not_ say 'Spaniard,'
but would choose some innocent word like table or chalk. That is a crude
illustration, but it may give you the idea."
"And is that all?" asked Groener, in evident relief.
"No, there is also the time taken in choosing a word. If I say 'pen' or
'umbrella' it may take you three quarters of a second to answer 'ink' or
'rain,' while it may take another man whose mind acts slowly a second and a
quarter or even more for his reply; each person has his or her average time
for the thought process, some longer, some shorter. But that time process
is always lengthened after one of the critical or emotional words, I mean
if the person is guilty. Thus, if I say, 'Ansonia' to you, and you are the
murderer of Martinez, it will take you one or two or three seconds longer
to decide upon a safe answering word than it would have taken if you were
_not_ the murderer and spoke the first word that came to your tongue. Do
you see?"
"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.
"Do you really think," he asked presently, while the old patronizing smile
flickered about his mouth, "that if I were guilty of this crime I could
not make these answers without betraying myself?"
"I'm sure you could not."
"Then if I stood the test you would believe me innocent?"
The magistrate reflected a moment. "I should be forced to believe one of
two things," he said; "either that you are innocent or that you are a man
of extraordinary mental power. I don't believe the latter so--yes, I should
think you innocent."
"Let me understand this," laughed the prisoner; "you say over a number of
words and I answer with other words. You note the exact moment when you
speak your word and the exact moment when I speak mine, then you see how
many seconds elapse between the two moments. Is that it?"
"That's it, only I have a watch that marks the fifths of a second. Are you
willing to make the test?"
"Suppose I refuse?"
"Why should you refuse if you are innocent?"
"But if I do?"
The magistrate's face hardened. "If you refuse to-day I shall know how to
_force_ you to my will another day. Did you ever hear of the third degree,
Groener?" he asked sharply.
As the judge became threatening the prisoner's good nature increased.
"After all," he said carelessly, "what does it matter? Go ahead with your
little game. It rather amuses me."
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 judge said "milk" and
Groener at once, by association of ideas, said "cream"; the judge said
"smoke," Groener replied "fire"; the judge said "early," Groener said
"late"; the judge said "water," Groener answered "river"; the judge said
"tobacco," Groener answered "pipe." And the intervals varied from four
fifths of a second to a second and a fifth, which was taken as the
prisoner's average time for the untroubled thought process.
"He's clever!" reflected Coquenil. "He's establishing a slow average."
Then began the real test, the judge going deliberately through the entire
list which included thirty important words scattered among seventy
unimportant ones. The thirty important words were:
1. NOTRE DAME. 16. DETECTIVE.
2. EYEHOLE. 17. BRAZIL.
3. WATCHDOG. 18. CANARY BIRD.
4. PHOTOGRAPHER. 19. ALICE.
5. GUILLOTINE. 20. RED SKY.
6. CHAMPS ELYSÉES. 21. ASSASSIN.
7. FALSE BEARD. 22. BOOTS.
8. BRUSSELS. 23. MARY.
9. GIBELIN. 24. COACHING PARTY.
10. SACRISTAN. 25. JAPANESE PRINT.
11. VILLA MONTMORENCY. 26. CHARITY BAZAAR.
12. RAOUL. 27. FOOTPRINTS.
13. DREAMS. 28. MARGARET.
14. AUGER. 29. RED HAIR.
15. JIU JITSU. 30. FOURTH OF JULY.
They went through this list slowly, word by word, with everything carefully
recorded, which took nearly an hour; then they turned back to the beginning
and went through the list again, so that, to the hundred original words,
Groener gave two sets of answering words, most of which proved to be the
same, especially in the seventy unimportant words. Thus both times he
answered "darkness" for "light," "tea" for "coffee," "clock" for "watch,"
and "handle" for "broom." There were a few exceptions as when he answered
"salt" for "sugar" the first time and "sweet" for "sugar" the second time;
almost always, however, his memory brought back, automatically, the same
unimportant word at the second questioning that he had given at the first
questioning.
It was different, however, with the important words, as Hauteville pointed
out when the test was finished, in over half the cases the accused had
answered different words in the two questionings.
"You made up your mind, Groener," said the judge as he glanced over the
sheets, "that you would answer the critical words within your average time
of reply and you have done it, but you have betrayed yourself in another
way, as I knew you would. In your desire to answer quickly you repeatedly
chose words that you would not have chosen if you had reflected longer;
then, in going through the list a second time, you realized this and
improved on your first answers by substituting more innocent words. For
example, the first time you answered 'hole' when I said 'auger,' but the
second time you answered 'hammer.' You said to yourself: 'Hole is not a
good answer because he will think I am thinking, of those eyeholes, so
I'll change it to "hammer" which, means nothing.' For the same reason when
I said 'Fourth of July' you answered 'banquet' the first time and 'America'
the second time, which shows that the Ansonia banquet was in your mind. And
when I said 'watchdog' you answered first 'scent' and then 'tail'; when I
said 'Brazil' you answered first 'ship' and then 'coffee,' when I said
'dreams' you answered first 'fear' and then 'sleep'; you made these changes
with the deliberate purpose to get as far away as possible from
associations with the crime."
"Not at all," contradicted Groener, "I made the changes because every word
has many associations and I followed the first one that came into my head.
When we went through the list a second time I did not remember or try to
remember the answers I had given the first time."
"Ah, but that is just the point," insisted the magistrate, "in the seventy
unimportant words you _did_ remember and you _did_ answer practically the
same words both times, your memory only failed in the thirty important
words. Besides, in spite of your will power, the test reveals emotional
disturbance."
"In me?" scoffed the prisoner.
"Precisely. It is true you kept your answers to the important words within
your normal tone of reply, but in at least five cases you went beyond this
normal time in answering the _unimportant_ words."
Groener shrugged his shoulders. "The words are unimportant and so are the
answers."
"Do you think so? Then explain this. You were answering regularly at the
rate of one answer in a second or so when suddenly you hesitated and
clenched your hands and waited _four and two fifths seconds_ before
answering 'feather' to the simple word 'hat.'"
"Perhaps I was tired, perhaps I was bored."
The magistrate leaned nearer. "Yes, and perhaps you were inwardly disturbed
by the shock and strain of answering the _previous_ word quickly and
unconcernedly. I didn't warn you of that danger. Do you know what the
previous word was?"
"No."
"_It was guillotine!_"
"Ah?" said the prisoner, absolutely impassive.
"And why did you waver and wipe your brow and draw in your breath quickly
and wait _six and one fifth seconds_ before answering 'violin' when I gave
you the word 'music'?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Then I'll tell you; it was because you were again deeply agitated by the
previous word 'coaching party' which you had answered instantly with
'horses.'"
"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party,'" said
Groener.
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.
"Shall I tell you why? It was because your heart was pounding, your head
throbbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shock
of the word before, by the terror that went through you _when you answered
'worsted work' to 'Charity Bazaar.'_"
The prisoner bounded to his feet with a hoarse cry: "My God, you have no
right to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes were
staring.
"We've got him going now," muttered Coquenil.
"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easily
by telling the truth."
The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed and
head fallen forward. He did not speak.
"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself a
great deal of trouble by confessing your part in this crime. Look here!
Answer me!"
With an effort the man straightened up and met the judge's eyes. His face
was drawn as with physical pain.
"I--I feel faint," he murmured. "Could you--give me a little brandy?"
"Here," said Coquenil, producing a flask. "Let him have a drop of this."
The guard put the flask to the prisoner's lips and Groener took several
swallows.
"Thanks!" he whispered.
"I told you it wouldn't be amusing," said the magistrate grimly. "Come now,
it's one thing or the other, either you confess or we go ahead."
"I have nothing to confess, I know nothing about this crime--nothing."
"Then what was the matter with you just now?"
With a flash of his former insolence the prisoner answered: "Look at that
clock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had me
here for five hours and--I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a man
a murderer because he's hungry, does it?"
The plea seemed reasonable and the prisoner's distress genuine, but,
somehow, Coquenil was skeptical; he himself had eaten nothing since midday,
he had been too busy and absorbed, and he was none the worse for it;
besides, he remembered what a hearty luncheon the wood carver had eaten
and he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. 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?
As the detective puzzled over this there shot through his mind an idea for
a move against Groener's resistance, so simple, yet promising such dramatic
effectiveness that he turned quickly to Hauteville and said: "I _think_ it
might be as well to let him have some supper."
The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take the
prisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in for
him.
"Well," he asked when they were alone, "what is it?"
Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, while
the magistrate listened.
"It ought not to take more than an hour or so to get the things here,"
concluded the detective, "and if I read the signs right, it will just about
finish him."
"Possibly, possibly," reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying," and
he gave the necessary orders to his clerk. "Let Tignol go," he directed.
"Tell him to wake the man up, if he's in bed, and not to mind what it
costs. Tell him to take an auto. Hold on, I'll speak to him myself."
The clerk waited respectfully at the door as the judge hurried out,
whereupon Coquenil, lighting a cigarette, moved to the open window and
stood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into the
quiet summer night.