On one side of him was a smaller desk for the
clerk, and exactly opposite a chair for the accused, so arranged that
the light beat full upon his face.
"Sit down," said the judge, abruptly.
He was a stern-looking man, dressed all in black, still young, with a
cold and impassive face, the extreme pallor of which was heightened by
his close-cut, coal-black hair, and his small, piercing, beady black
eyes.
"Your name and nationality?"
"Rupert Gascoigne. I am an Englishman, and as such I must at once
protest against the treatment I have received."
"You have been treated in accordance with the law--of France. You must
abide by it, since you choose to live here. I do not owe you this
explanation, but I give it to uphold the majesty of the law."
"I shall appeal to our ambassador."
The judge waved his hand, as though the threat did not affect him.
"I must ask you to keep silence. You are here to be interrogated; you
will only speak in reply to my questions."
There was a pause, during which judge and accused looked hard at each
other; the former seeking to read the other's inmost thoughts, the
latter meeting the gaze with resolute and unflinching eyes.
"What is your age?"
"Twenty-six."
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"But your wife has left you."
Gascoigne started in spite of himself.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25