His face was disconcerted and slack. He
hesitated, but the prosecutor spoke to him. Then he faced the
judge and put up his hand. Immediately the girl cried out:
"Look, monsieur," she said. "It is his left hand he is holding
up!"
Immediately Thompson raised the other hand. "I beg your pardon,
Your Honor," he muttered. "I am left-handed; I sometimes make
that mistake."
And again the girl cried out: "You see . . . you notice it . . .
it is true, then . . . he is left-handed."
"I see he is left-handed," said the judge, "but what has that to
do with the case?"
"Oh, monsieur," she said, "it has everything to do with it. I
will show you."
She moved up on the step before the judge's bench and laid the
menu before him. The attorney for the prosecution also arose.
He wished to prevent this proceeding, to object to it, but he
feared to disturb the judge and he remained silent.
"Monsieur," she said, "I have made a little drawing . . . I know
how such things are done . . . . My father was juge
d'instruction of the Canton of Vaud. He always made little
drawings of places where crimes were committed.
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