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Three days later, I took a lie detector test. If you've never been polygraphed, it probably doesn't seem like a very big deal, at least if you're innocent. You answer some questions as honestly as you can, and you leave. That's what I expected. I was wrong. Sitting through a polygraph exam is among the more unpleasant things I've ever done.

Bennett and I waited outside the conference room while the polygrapher set up his equipment. Bennett seemed jumpy. I think he believed me when I said I didn't rape anyone. On the other hand, he once worked for Clinton. He's learned not to take a client's explanation at face value.

The room smelled like a doctor's office as I walked in. Paul Minor, the former chief polygraph examiner at the FBI, greeted me with the solemn formality of an undertaker. Minor has been giving lie detector tests for more than 30 years -- he's tested Anita Hill and Linda Tripp, among others -- and he has the psych-out down cold.

"It's all right to be nervous," he began, as he tightened a black rubber strap around my chest to measure my breathing. "Most people are. There's a lot at stake or you wouldn't be here. People are nervous about losing their jobs, or their reputations or ..." He fixed his watery blue eyes on me. "... Going to prison. If you tell the truth, the whole truth, we'll be fine. If you don't, if you fudge at all, we're going to have problems."

I turned away from him to face the wall, and he began the control questions. "Do you drink coffee?" "Is today Monday?" "Are you in Washington?" It was unpleasant already.

Then he zeroed in. "Have you engaged in any sort of sex act with [Elizabeth Jansen]?" No. "Have you ever forced sex upon any female?" No. "Are you afraid of failing this polygraph?" No.

I mean, yes. I mean, I have no reason to fear failing, since I'm telling the truth, but I fear it anyway, just because failing it would be ...

"Yes or no answers only." Yes. "Would you lie to me if you thought you could get away with it?"

Obviously this was the Zen part of the test. If I were guilty of something and I thought I could conceal it, I would lie. So in general the answer would be yes. Except in this case I wasn't guilty of anything and therefore wasn't planning to lie. I said no. The first time.

Minor took me through the entire list of questions two more times, throwing in an extra one ("Do you ever daydream about having sex with women other than your wife?") just to make me squirm. It worked. Ordinarily I'm not a very tense person, but by the end, I was drenched with sweat. I learned later that Minor once gave a polygraph exam to Woody Allen. I would have paid to see that. I can't even imagine the neurotic energy in the room.

Twenty minutes later I found out that I had passed the test. Bennett seemed jubilant, and very relieved. All that remained was to find out why Elizabeth Jansen was accusing me of a crime, keep the DA in Louisville from bringing charges against me, and prevent CNN from learning about any of it.

The following day, we solved the motive mystery. A private investigator had uncovered a letter from the Norton Psychiatric Center in Louisville concerning its patient, Elizabeth Jansen. Dated less than two years before, the letter referred to Jansen's bipolar affective disorder as "a chronic condition requiring strict compliance to prevent symptom recurrence." Someone had forgotten to monitor her medication.

If I had been paying closer attention, I might have figured this out earlier. Jansen had been writing letters and e-mails to me for months at CNN. Twice she had sent me small gifts, keychains and ballpoint pens. I wrote her thank-you notes both times, hence her lawyer's claim about "correspondence." I hadn't remembered any of this. Later, one of my producers dug up an e-mail Jansen sent me. "I watch your show all of the time," it said. "You are great." Jansen wrote it on my birthday, a month after I supposedly raped her.

Next Page: "I don't appreciate the statements that you made about my mental status," Jansen wrote

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