 CHAPTER XII. IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. It was now only a week from the day on which the trial was to open. In eight days the mystery would almost certainly be solved if it was capable of solution, for the trial promised to be quite a short one, and then Reuben Hornby would either be a convicted felon or a free man clear of the stigma of the crime. For several days passed Thorndike had been in almost constant possession of the laboratory while his own small room, devoted ordinarily to bacteriology and microscopical work, was kept continually locked, a state of things that reduced Poulton to a condition of the most extreme nervous irritation, especially when, as he told me indignantly, he met Mr. Anstey emerging from the Holy of Holies, grinning and rubbing his hands, and giving utterance to genial but unparliamentary expressions of amused satisfaction. I had met Anstey on several occasions lately, and each time liked him better than the last, for his whimsical, facetious manner covered in nature, as it often does, that was serious and thoughtful, and I found him not only a man of considerable learning, but one also of a lofty standard of conduct. His admiration for Thorndike was unbounded, and I could see that the two men collaborated with the utmost sympathy and mutual satisfaction. But although I regarded Mr. Anstey with feelings of the liveliest friendship, I was far from gratified when, on the morning of which I am writing, I observed him from our sitting-room window crossing the graveled space, from Crown Office Row, and evidently bearing down on our chambers. For the fact is that I was awaiting the arrival of Juliet, and should greatly have preferred to be alone at the moment, seeing that Thorndike had already gone out. It is true that my fare in Slaver was not due for nearly half an hour. But then, who could say how long Anstey would stay, or what embarrassments might arise from my efforts to escape? By all of which it may be perceived that my disease had reached a very advanced stage, and that I was unequaled to those tactics of concealment that are commonly attributed to the ostrich. A sharp wrap of the knocker announced the arrival of the disturber of my peace, and when I opened the door Anstey walked in with the air of a man to whom an hour more or less is of no consequence whatsoever. He shook my hand with mock solemnity, and seating himself upon the edge of the table proceeded to roll a cigarette with exasperating deliberation. I infer, said he, that our learned brother is practicing parlor magic upstairs, or per venture he has gone on a journey. He has a consultation this morning, I answered. Was he expecting you? Evidently not, or he would have been here. No, I just looked in to ask a question about the case of your friend Hornby. You know it comes on for trial next week. Yes, Thorndike told me. What do you think of Hornby's prospects? Is he going to be convicted, or will he get an acquittal? He will be entirely passive, replied Anstey. But we, here he slapped his chest impressively, are going to secure an acquittal. You will be highly entertained, my learned friend, and Mr. the Enemy will be excessively surprised. He inspected the newly made cigarette with a critical air and chuckled softly. You seem pretty confident, I remarked. I am, he answered, though Thorndike considers failure possible, which, of course, it is if the jury box should chance to be filled with microcephalic idiots, and the judge should prove incapable of understanding simple technical evidence. But we hope that neither of these things will happen, and if they do not, we feel pretty safe. By the way, I hope I am not divulging your principal's secrets. Well, I replied with a smile, you have been more explicit than Thorndike ever has. Have I, he exclaimed, with mock anxiety, then I must swear you to secrecy. Thorndike is so very close, and he is quite right, too. I never cease admiring his tactics of allowing the enemy to fortify and barricade the entrance, that he does not mean to attack. But I see you are wishing me at the devil, so give me a cigar and I will go, though not to that particular destination. Will you have one of Thorndike's special brand? I asked malignantly. What, those foul, trichina polis? Not while brown papers to be obtained at every stationers. I'd sooner smoke my own wig. I tendered my own case, from which he selected a cigar with anxious care and much sniffing. Then he bade me a ceremonious adieu, and departed down the stairs, blithely humming a melody from the latest comic opera. He had not left more than five minutes when a soft and elaborate, rat-tat, from the little brass knocker brought my heart into my mouth. I ran to the door and flung it open, revealing Juliet standing on the threshold. May I come in, she asked. I want to have a few words with you before we start. I looked at her with some anxiety, for she was manifestly agitated, and the hand that she held out to me trembled. I'm greatly upset, Dr. Gervis, she said, ignoring the chair that I had placed for her. Mr. Lollie has been giving us his views of poor Ruben's case, and his attitude fills me with dismay. Hang, Mr. Lollie, I muttered, and then apologized hastily. What made you go to him, Miss Gibson? I didn't go to him. He came to us. He dined with us last night, he and Walter, and his manner was gloomy in the extreme. After dinner Walter took him apart with me and asked him what he really thought of the case. He was most pessimistic. My dear sir, he said, the only advice I can give you is that you prepare yourself to contemplate disaster as philosophically as you can. In my opinion your cousin is almost certainly to be convicted. But, said Walter, what about his defence? I understood that there was at least a plausible case. Mr. Lollie shrugged his shoulders. I have a sort of alibi that will go for nothing, but I have no evidence to offer an answer to that of the prosecution and no case, and I may say, speaking in confidence, that I do not believe there is any case. I do not see how there can be any case, and I have heard nothing from Dr. Thorndike to lead me to suppose that he has really done anything in the matter. Is this true, Dr. Jervis? Oh, do tell me the real truth about it. I have been so miserable and terrified since I heard this, and I was so full of hope before. Tell me, is it true? Will Ruben be sent to prison after all? In her agitation she laid her hands upon my arm and looked up into my face with her grey eyes swimming with tears, and was so piteous, so trustful, and with all so bewitching that my reserve melted like snow before a July sun. It is not true, I answered, taking her hands in mine and speaking perforce in a low tone that I might not betray my emotion. If it were, it would mean that I have willfully deceived you, that I have been false to our friendship, and how much that friendship has been to me no one but myself will ever know. She crept a little closer to me, with a manner at once penitent and wielding. You are not going to be angry with me, are you? It was foolish of me to listen to Mr. Lawley after all you have told me, and it did look like a want of trust in you, I know. But you, who are so strong and wise, must make allowance for a woman who is neither. It is all so terrible that I am quite unstrong. But say you are not really displeased with me, for that would hurt me most of all. O Delilah, that concluding stroke of the shears severed the very last lock, and left me, morally speaking, as bald as a billiard ball. Henceforth I was at her mercy, and would have divulged without a scruple the uttermost secrets of my principle, but that that astute gentleman had placed me beyond the reach of temptation. As to being angry with you, I answered, I am not, like Thorndike, one to assay the impossible, and if I could be angry it would hurt me more than it would you. But in fact you are not to blame at all, and I am an egotistical brute. Of course you were alarmed and distressed, nothing could be more natural. So now let me try to chase away your fears and restore your confidence. I have told you what Thorndike said to Ruben, that he has good hopes of making his innocence clear to everybody. That alone should have been enough. I know it should, murmured Juliet remorsefully. Please, forgive me for my want of faith. But, I continued, I can quote you the words of one to whose opinions you will attach more weight. Mr. Anstey was here less than a half hour ago. Do you mean Ruben's counsel? Yes. And what did he say? Oh, do tell me what he said. He said, in brief, that he was quite confident of obtaining an acquittal, and that the prosecution would receive a great surprise. He seemed highly pleased with his brief, and spoke with great admiration of Thorndike. Did he really say that? That he was confident of an acquittal? Her voice was breathless and unsteady, and she was clearly, as she had said, quite unstrong. What a relief it is, she murmured incoherently, and so very, very kind of you. She wiped her eyes and laughed a queer, shaky little laugh. Then, quite suddenly, she burst into a passion of sobbing. Hardly conscious of what I did, I drew her gently towards me, and rested her head on my shoulder. Whilst I whispered into her ear, I know not what words of consolation. But I am sure that I called her dear Juliet, and probably used other expressions equally improper and reprehensible. Presently she recovered herself, and, having dried her eyes, regarded me somewhat shame-facedly, blushing hotly, but smiling very sweetly, nevertheless. I am ashamed of myself, she said. Coming here and weeping on your bosom like a great baby, it is to be hoped that your other clients do not behave in this way. Where at we both laughed heartily, and, our emotional equilibrium being thus restored, we began to think of the object of our meeting. I am afraid I have wasted a great deal of time, said Juliet, looking at her watch. Shall we be too late, do you think? I hope not, I replied, for Ruben will be looking for us, but we must hurry. I caught up my hat, and we went forth, closing the oak behind us, and took our way up King's Bench-walk in silence, but with a new and delightful sense of intimate comradship. I glanced from time to time at my companion, and noted that her cheeks still bore a rosy flush, and when she looked at me there was a sparkle in her eye, and a smiling softness in her glance that stirred my heart until I trembled with the intensity of the passion that I must needs conceal. And even while I was feeling that I must tell her all, and have done with it, tell her that I was her abject slave and she my goddess, my queen, that in the face of such a love as mine no man could have any claim upon her, even then there rose the still, small voice that began to call me an unfaithful steward, and to remind me of a duty and trust that were sacred even beyond love. In Fleet Street I hailed a cab, and, as I took my seat beside my fair companion, the voice began to wax and speak in bolder and sterner accents. Christopher Jervis, it said, what is this that you are doing? Are you a man of honour, or not but a mean, pitiful, black guard, you, the trusted agent of this poor, misused gentleman, are you not planning in your black heart how you shall rob him of that which, if he is a man at all, must be more to him than his liberty or even his honour? Shame on you for a miserable weakling! Have done with these philanderings and keep your covenants like a gentleman, or, at least, an honest man. At this point in my meditations Juliet turned toward me with a coaxing smile. My legal advisor seems to be revolving some deep and weighty matter, she said. I pulled myself together and looked at her, sparkling eyes and rosy, dimpling cheeks, so winsome and lovely and lovable. Come, I thought, I must put an end to this at once or I am lost. But it cost me a very agony of effort to do it, which agony, I trust, may be duly set to my account by those who may sit in judgment on me. Your legal advisor, Miss Gibson, I said, and at that Miss Gibson, I thought she looked at me a little queerly, has been reflecting that he has acted considerably beyond his jurisdiction. In what respect, she asked, in passing on to you information which was given to him in very strict confidence and, in fact, with an implied promise of secrecy on his part. But the information was not of a very secret character, was it? More so than it appeared, you see, Thorndike thinks it so important not to let the prosecution suspect that he has anything up his sleeve, that he has kept even Mr. Lawley in the dark, and has never said as much to me as Anstie did this morning. Now, you are sorry you told me. You think I have led you into a breach of trust. Is it not so? She spoke without a trace of petulance, and her tone of dignified self-accusation made me a veritable worm. My dear Miss Gibson, I expostulated, you entirely misunderstand me. I am not in the least sorry that I told you. How could I have done otherwise under the circumstances? But I want you to understand that I have taken the responsibility of communicating to you what is really a professional secret, and that you are to consider it as such. That is how I understood it, replied Juliet, and you may rely upon me not to utter a syllable on the subject to anyone. I thanked her for this promise, and then, by way of making conversation, gave her an account in detail of Anstie's visit, not even omitting the incident of the cigar. But are Dr. Thorndike's cigars so extraordinarily bad? she asked. Not at all, I replied. Only they are not to every man's taste. The trichinopoly cheeroot is Thorndike's one dissipation, and, I must say, he takes it very temperately. Under ordinary circumstances he smokes a pipe, but after a specially heavy day's work, or on any occasion of festivity or rejoicing, he indulges in a trichinopoly, and he smokes the very best that he can be got. So even the greatest men have their weaknesses, Juliet moralized. But I wish I had known Dr. Thorndike's sooner, for Mr. Hornby had a large box of trichinopoly cheeroots given to him, and I believe they were exceptionally fine ones. However, he tried one and didn't like it, so he transferred the whole consignment to Walter, who smokes all sorts and conditions of cigars. So we talked on, from one commonplace to another, and each more conventional than the last. In my nervousness I overdid my part, and having broken the ice proceeded to smash it to impalpable fragments, endeavouring merely to be unemotional and to avoid undue intimacy of manner, I swung to the opposite extreme and became almost stiff, and perhaps the more so since I was writhing with the agony of repression. Meanwhile a corresponding change took place in my companion. At first her manner seemed doubtful and bewildered, then she too grew more distant and polite and less disposed for conversation. Perhaps her conscience began to rebuke her, or it may be that my coolness suggested to her that her conduct had been not quite of the kind that would have commended itself to Reuben. But however that may have been, we continued to draw farther and farther apart, and in that short half-hour we retraced the steps of our growing friendship to such purpose that, when we descended from the cab at the prison gate, we seemed more like strangers than on the first day that we met. It was a miserable ending to all our delightful comradeship, and yet what other end could one expect in this world of cross-purposes and things that might have been? In the extremity of my wretchedness I could have wept on the bosom of the portly water who opened the wicked, even as Juliet had wept upon mine. And it was almost a relief to me, when our brief visit was over, to find that we should not return together to King's Cross, as was our want, but that Juliet would go back by omnibus that she might do some shopping in Oxford Street, leaving me to walk home alone. I saw her to the omnibus, and stood on the pavement looking wistfully at the lumbering vehicle as it dwindled in the distance. At last, with a sigh of deepest despondency, I turned my face homeward, and, walking like one in a dream, retraced the route over which I had journeyed so often of late, and with such different sensations. CHAPTER XIII. The next few days were perhaps the most unhappy that I have known. By life indeed, since I had left the hospital, had been one of many disappointments and much privation. Unfulfilled desires and ambitions unrealized had combined with distaste for the daily drudgery that had fallen to my lot, to embitter my poverty, and caused me to look with gloomy distrust upon the unpromising future. But no sorrow that I had hitherto experienced could compare with the grief that I now felt in contemplating the irretrievable ruin of what I knew to be the greatest passion of my life. For to a man like myself, a few friends and deep affections, one great emotional upheaval exhausts the possibility of nature, leaving only the capacity for feeble and ineffective echoes. The edifice of love that is raised upon the ruins of a great passion can compare with the original, no more than can the paltry mosque that perches upon the mound of Jonah with the glories of the palace that lies entombed beneath. I had made a pretext to write to Juliet, and had received a reply quite frank and friendly in tone, by which I knew that she had not, as some women would have done, set the blame upon me for our temporary outburst of emotion. And yet there was a subtle difference from her previous manner of writing that only emphasized the finality of our separation. I think Thordike perceived that something had gone awry, though I was at great pains to maintain the cheerful exterior and keep myself occupied. And he probably formed a pretty shrewd guess at the nature of the trouble. But he said nothing. And I only judged that he had observed some change in my manner by the fact that there was blended with his usual quiet geniality, an almost insensible note of sympathy and affection. A couple of days after my last interview with Juliet, an event occurred which served, certainly, to relieve the tension and distract my thoughts, though not in a very agreeable manner. It was the pleasant, repulsive hour after dinner, when it was our custom to sit in our respective easy chairs, and, as we smoked our pipes, discuss some of the many topics in which we had a common interest. The postman had just discharged into the capricious letterbox an avalanche of letters and circulars, and as I sat glancing through the solitary letter that had fallen to my chair, I looked from time to time at Thorndike, and noticed, as I had often done before, with some surprise, a curious habit that he had of turning over and closely scrutinizing every letter and package before he opened it. I observed Thorndike, I now ventured to remark, that you will always examine the outside of a letter before looking at the inside. I have seen other people do the same, and it has always appeared to me a singularly foolish proceeding. Why speculate over an unopened letter, when a glance at the contents will tell you all there is to know? You are perfectly right, he answered, if the object of the inspection is to discover who is the sender of the letter, but that is not my object. In my case, the habit is one that has been deliberately cultivated, not in reference to letters only, but to everything that comes into my hands, the habit of allowing nothing to pass without a certain amount of conscious attention. The observant man is, in reality, the attentive man, and the so-called power of observation is simply the capacity for continuous attention. As a matter of fact, I have found in practice that the habit is a useful one, even in reference to letters. More than once I have gleaned a hint from the outside of a letter that has proved valuable when applied to the contents. Here, for instance, is a letter which has been opened after being fastened up, apparently by the aid of steam. The envelope is soiled and rubbed, and smells faintly of stale tobacco, and has evidently been carried in a pocket along with a well-used pipe. Why should it have been opened? On reading it, I perceive that it should have reached me two days ago, and that the date has been skillfully altered from the thirteenth to the fifteenth. The inference is that my correspondent has a highly untrustworthy clerk, but the correspondent may have carried the letter in his own pocket, I objected. Hardly, replied Thorn Dyke, he would not have trouble to steam his own letter open and close it again. He would have cut the envelope and addressed the fresh one. This the clerk could not do, because the letter was confidential, and was addressed in the principal's handwriting. And the principal would have almost certainly added a post-script. And moreover, he does not smoke. This, however, is all very obvious. But here is something rather more subtle, which I have put aside for a more detailed examination. What do you make of it? He handed me a small parcel, to which was attached by a string, a typewritten address label, the back of which bore the printed inscription, James Bartlett and Sons, cigar manufacturers, London and Havana. I'm afraid, said I, after turning the little packet over and examining every part of it minutely, that this is rather too subtle for me. The only thing that I observe is that the typewriter has bungled the address considerably. Otherwise, this seems to me a very ordinary packet indeed. Well, you have observed one point of interest at any rate, said Thorn Dyke, taking the packet from me. But let us examine the thing systematically, and note down what we see. In the first place, you will notice that the label is an ordinary luggage label, such as you may buy at any stationers, with its own string attached. Now, manufacturers commonly use a different and more substantial pattern, which is attached by the string of the parcel. But that is a small matter. What is much more striking is the address on the label. It is typewritten, and as you say, typed very badly. Do you know anything about typewriters? Very little. Then you do not recognize the machine. Well, this label was typed with a Blicken Diver, an excellent machine, but not the form most commonly selected for the rough work of a manufacturer's office. But we will let that pass. The important point is this. The Blicken Diver Company makes several forms of machine, the smallest and lightest of which is the literary, specially designed for the use of journalists and men of letters. Now, this label was typed with the literary machine, or at least with the literary type wheel, which is really a very remarkable circumstance indeed. How do you know that, I asked? By this asterisk, which has been written by mistake. The men-expert operator having pressed down the figure lever instead of the one for capitals. The literary type wheel is the only one that has an asterisk, as I noticed when I was thinking of purchasing a machine. Here then, we have a very striking fact. For even if a manufacturer chose to use a Blick in his factory, it is inconceivable that he should select a literary form in preference to the more suitable commercial machine. Yes, I agree. It is certainly very singular. And now, pursued Thorndyke, to consider the writing itself. It has been done by an absolute beginner. He has failed to space in two places. He has written five wrong letters. And he has written figures instead of capitals in two instances. Yes, he has made a shocking model of it. I wonder he didn't throw the label away and type another. Precisely said Thorndyke. And if we wish to find out why he did not, we have only to look at the back of the label. You see that the name of the firm, instead of being printed on the label itself in the usual manner, is printed on a separate slip of paper, which is pasted on the label. A most foolish and clumsy arrangement involving an immense waste of time. But if we look closely at the printed slip itself, we perceive something still more remarkable. For that slip has been cut down to fit the label, and has been cut with a pair of scissors. The edges are not quite straight, and in one place the overlap, which is so characteristic of the cut made with scissors, can be seen quite plainly. He handed the packet to me with a reading lens, through which I could distinctly make out the points he had mentioned. Now I need not point out to you, he continued, that these slips would ordinarily have been trimmed by the printer to the correct size in his machine, which would leave an absolutely true edge. Nor need I say that no sane businessman would adopt such a device as this. The slip of paper has been cut with scissors to fit the label, and it has then been pasted on the surface that it has been made the fit. When all this waste of time and trouble, which in practice means money, could have been saved by printing the name on the label itself. Yes, that is so. But I still do not see why the fellow should not have thrown away this label and typed another. Look at the slip again, said Thorndike. It is faintly but evenly discolored, and to me has the appearance of having been soaked in water. Let us, for the moment, assume that it has been. That would look as if it had been removed from some other package, which again would suggest that the person using it had only the one slip, which he had soaked off the original package, dried, cut down, and pasted on the present label. If he pasted it on before typing the address, which he would most probably have done, he might well be unwilling to risk destroying it by soaking it a second time. You think then there is a suspicion that the package may have been tampered with? There is no need to jump to conclusions, replied Thorndike. I merely gave this case as an instance showing that careful examination of the outside of the package or letter may lead us to bestow a little extra attention on the contents. Now, let us open it and see what those contents are. With a sharp knife he divided the outside cover, revealing a stout cardboard box wrapped in a number of advertisement sheets. The box, when the lid was raised, was seen to contain a single cigar, a large charoute packed in cotton wool, a tricky by-jove, I exclaimed, your own special fancy, Thorndike. Yes, and another anomaly at once, you see, which might have escaped our notice if we had not been on the Quiveva. As a matter of fact, I don't see, said I. You will think me an awful blockhead. But I don't perceive anything singular in a cigar manufacturer sending a sample cigar. He read the label, I think, replied Thorndike. However, let us look at one of these leaflets and see what they say. Ah, here we are. Messers Bartlett and Sons, who own extensive plantations on the island of Cuba, manufacture their cigars exclusively from selected leaves grown by themselves. They would hardly make a trichinopoly charoute from leaf grown in the West Indies, so we have here a striking anomaly of an East Indian cigar sent to us by a West Indian grower. And what do you infer from that? Principally that this cigar, which, by the way, is an uncommonly fine specimen, and which I would not smoke for ten thousand pounds, is deserving a very attentive examination. He produced from his pocket a powerful doublet lens, with the aid of which he examined every part of the surface of the cigar, and finally both ends. Look at the small end, he said, handing me the cigar and the lens, and tell me if you notice anything. I focused the lens on the flush-cut surface of closely rolled leaf, and explored every part of it minutely. It seems to me, I said, that the leaf is open slightly in the center as if a fine wire had been passed up it. So it appears to me, replied Thorndike, and, as we are in agreement so far, we will carry our investigations a step further. He laid the cigar down on the table, and with the keen thin-bladed pen-knife neatly divided lengthwise into two halves. A case signum, exclaimed Thorndike, has the two parts fell asunder, and for a few moments we stood silently regarding the dismembered charoute. For about half an inch from the small end there appeared a little circular patch of white, chalky material, which by the even manner in which it was diffused among the leaf had evidently been deposited from a solution. Our ingenious friend again, I surmised, said Thorndike at length, taking up one of the halves and examining the white patch through his lens. A thoughtful soul, Jervis, and original too. I wish his talents could be applied in some other direction. I shall have to remonstrate with him, if he becomes troublesome. It is your duty to society, Thorndike, I exclaimed passionately, to have this infernal cold-blooded scoundrel arrested instantly. Such a man is a standing menace to the community. Do you really know who sent this thing? I conform a pretty shrewd guess, which, however, is not quite the same thing. But you see, he has not been quite so clever this time. For he has left one or two traces by which his identity might be ascertained. Indeed, what traces has he left? Ah, now, there is a nice little problem for us to consider. He settled himself in his easy chair, and proceeded to fill his pipe with the air of a man who was about to discuss a matter of merely general interest. Let us consider what information this ingenious person has given us about himself. In the first place, he evidently has a strong interest in my immediate decease. Now, why should he feel so urgent a desire for my death? Can it be a question of property? Hardly. For I am far from a rich man, and the provisions of my will are known to me alone. Can it then be a question of private enmity or revenge? I think not. To the best of my belief, I have no private enemies, whatever. There remains only my vocation as an investigator in the fields of legal and criminal research. His interest in my death must, therefore, be connected with my professional activities. Now, I am at present conducting an exhumation which may lead to a charge of murder, but if I were to die tonight, the inquiry would be carried on with equal efficiency by Professor Spicer or some other toxicologist. My death would not affect the prospects of the accused, and so, in one or two other cases that I have in hand, they could be equally well conducted by someone else. The inference is that our friend is not connected with any of these cases, but that he believes me to possess some exclusive information concerning him, believes me to be the one person in the world who suspects and can convict him. Let us assume that the existence of such a person, the person of whose guilt I alone have evidence. Now this person, being unaware that I have communicated my knowledge to a third party, would reasonably suppose that by making way with me, he had put himself in a position of security. Here then is our first point. The sender of this offering is probably a person concerning whom I hold certain exclusive information. But see, now the interesting corollary that follows from this. I alone suspect this person. Therefore, I have not published my suspicions, or others would suspect him too. Why then does he suspect me of suspecting him, since I have not spoken? Evidently, he too must be in possession of exclusive information. In other words, my suspicions are correct. For if they were not, he cannot be aware of their existence. The next point is the selection of this rather unusual type of cigar. Why should he have sent the Trichinopoly, instead of an ordinary Havana, such as Bartlett's actually manufactured? It looks as if he were aware of my peculiar predilection, and thus consulting my personal tastes, has guarded against the chance of my giving the cigar to some other person. We may therefore infer that our friend probably has some knowledge of my habits. The third point is, what is the social standing of this gentle stranger, who we will call X? Now Bartlett's do not send their advertisements and samples to Thomas, Richard and Henry. They send, chiefly, to members of the professions and men of means and position. It is true that the original package might have been annexed by a clerk, office boy, or domestic servant, but the probabilities are that X received the package himself. And this is borne out by the fact that he was able to obtain access to a powerful alkaloid poison, such as this undoubtedly is. In that case, he would probably be a medical man or a chemist, I suggested. Not necessarily, replied Thorndike. The laws relating to poisons are so badly framed and administered that any well to do person, who has the necessary knowledge, can obtain almost any poison that he wants. But social position is an important factor. Once we may conclude that X belongs at least to the middle class. The fourth point relates to the personal qualities of X. Now it is evident from this instance alone, that he is a man of exceptional intelligence, of considerable general information, and both ingenious and resourceful. This cigar device is not only clever and original, but it has been adapted to the special circumstances with remarkable forethought. Thus, the churrut was selected, apparently, for two excellent reasons. First, that it was the most likely form to be smoked by the person intended. And second, that it did not require to have the end cut off, which might have led to the discovery of the poison. The plan also shows a certain knowledge of chemistry. The poison was not intended merely to be solved in the moisture of the mouth. The idea, evidently, was that the steam generated by the combustion of the leaf at the distal end would condense in the cooler part of the cigar, and dissolve the poison, and the solution would then be drawn into the mouth. Then the nature of the poison and certain similarities of procedure seem to identify X with a cyclist who used that ingenious bullet. The poison in this case is a white, non-crystalline solid. The poison contained in the bullet was a solution of white, non-crystalline solid, which analysis showed to be the most poisonous of all alkaloids. The bullet was virtually a hypodermic syringe. The poison in this cigar has been introduced in the form of an alcoholic or ethereal solution by a hypodermic syringe. We shall thus be justified in assuming that the bullet and the cigar came from the same person. And if this be so, we may say that X is a person of considerable knowledge, of great ingenuity, and no mean skill has a mechanic in, has shown by the manufacturer of the bullet. These are our principle facts, to which we may add the surmise that he has recently purchased a second-hand Blickensterfer of the literary form, or at least fit it with a literary type-wheel. I don't quite see how you arrive at that, I said in some surprise. It's merely a guess, you know, he replied, though a probable one. In the first place, he is obviously unused to typing, as the numerous mistakes show. Therefore, he has not had that machine very long. The type is that which is peculiar to the Blickensterfer. And in one of the mistakes, an asterisk has been printed in place of a letter. But the literary type-wheel is the only one that has the asterisk. As to the age of the machine, there are evident signs of wear, for some of the letters have lost their sharpness. And this is most evident in the case of those letters, which are the most used. The E, you will notice, for instance, is much worn, and E occurs more frequently than any other letter of the alphabet. Hence, the machine, if recently purchased, was bought second-hand. But I objected, it may not have been his own machine at all. That is quite impossible, answered Thorndike. Though considering the secrecy that would be necessary, the probabilities are in favor of his having bought it. But in any case, we have here a means of identifying the machine. Should we ever meet with it? He picked up the label and handed it to me, together with his pocket lens. Look closely at the E that we have been discussing. It occurs five times. In Thorndike, in Bench, in Inner, and in Temple. Now, in each case, you will notice a minute break in the loop, just at the summit. That break corresponds to a tiny dent in the type, caused, probably, by it striking some small, hard object. I can make it out quite distinctly, I said, and it should be a most valuable point for identification. It should be almost conclusive, Thorndike replied, especially when joined the other facts that would be elicited by a search of his premises. And now let us just recapitulate the facts which our friend X has placed at our disposal. First, X is a person concerning whom I possess certain exclusive information. Second, he has some knowledge of my personal habits. Third, he is a man of some means and social position. Fourth, he is a man of considerable knowledge, ingenuity, and mechanical skill. Fifth, he has probably purchased, quite recently, a secondhand blick fitted with a literary type wheel. Sixth, that the machine, whether his own or some other person's property, can be identified by a characteristic mark on the small E. If you will note down those six points, and add that X is probably an expert cyclist, and a fairly good shot with a rifle, you may possibly be able, presently, to complete the equation X equals question mark. I'm afraid I said I do not possess the necessary data, but I suspect you do. And if it is so, I repeat that it is your duty to society to say nothing of your clients whose interest would suffer by your death to have this fellow laid by the heels before he does any mischief. Yes, I shall have to interfere if he becomes really troublesome, but I have reasons for wishing to leave him alone at present. You do really know who he is then? Well, I think I can solve the equation that I've just offered to you for solution. You see, I have certain data, as you suggest, which you do not possess. There is, for instance, a certain ingenious gentleman, concerning whom I hold what I believe to be exclusive information. And my knowledge of him does not make it appear unlikely that he might be the author of these neat little plans. I am much impressed, I said, as I put away my notebook, after having jotted down the points that Thorndike had advised me to consider. I am much impressed by your powers of observation and your capacity for reasoning from apparently trivial data. But I do not see even now why you viewed that cigar with such immediate and decided suspicion. There was nothing, actually, to suggest the existence of poison in it, and yet you seemed to form the suspicion at once and to search for it as though you expected to find it. Yes, replied Thorndike, to a certain extent you are right. The idea of a poisoned cigar was not new to me, and thereby hangs a tale. He laughs softly and gazed into the fire with eyes that twinkled with quiet amusement. You have heard me say, he resumed, after a short pause, that when I first took these chambers I had practically nothing to do. I had invented a new variety of medical legal practice and had to build it up by slow degrees. And the natural consequence was that for a long time it yielded nothing but almost unlimited leisure. Now, that leisure was by no means wasted, for I employed it in considering the class of cases in which I was likely to be employed, and in working out theoretical examples, and seeing the crimes against the person having nearly always a strong medical interest, I gave them special attention. For instance, I planned a series of murders, selecting royal personages and great ministers as the victims. And on each murder, I brought to bear all the special knowledge, skill, and ingenuity at my command. I inquired minutely into the habits of my hypothetical victims. Ascertained who were their associates, friends, enemies, and servants, considered their diet, their residences, their modes of conveyance, the source of their clothing, and, in fact, everything which it was necessary to know in order to achieve their deaths with certainty and with absolute safety to the murderer. How deeply gratified and flattered those great personages would have felt, I remarked, if they had known how much attention they were receiving. Yes, I suppose it would have been somewhat startling to the Prime Minister, for instance, to have learned that he was being watched and studied by an attentive observer, and that the arrangements for his deceased had been completed down to the minutest detail. But, of course, the application of the method to a particular case was the essential thing. For it brought in the view all the incidental difficulties, in meeting which all the really interesting and instructive details were involved. Well, the particulars of these crimes I wrote out at length in my private shorthand, in a journal which I kept for the purpose, and which I did not say, I locked up securely in my safe when I was not using it. After completing each case, it was my custom to change sides, and play the game over again, from the opposite side of the board. That is to say, I add it has an appendix to each case, an analysis with a complete scheme for the detection of the crime. I have in my safe at the present moment six volumes of cases, fully indexed, and I can assure you that they are not only highly instructive reading, but are really valuable as works of reference. That I can readily believe, I replied, laughing heartily, nevertheless at the grotesqueness of the whole proceeding, though they might have proved rather incriminating documents if they had passed out of your possession. They would never have been read, rejoined Thorndike. My shorthand is, I think, quite undecipherable, and has been so made intentionally with a view to secrecy. And have any of your theoretical cases ever turned up in real life? Several of them have, though very imperfectly planned and carried out as a rule. The poisoned cigar is one of them, though, of course, I should never have adopted such a conspicuous device for presenting it. And the incident of the other night is a modification for the worst of another. In fact, most of the intricate and artistic crimes with which I have had the deal professionally, have had their more complete and elaborate prototypes in my journals. I was silent for some time, reflecting on the strange personality of my gifted friend, and the singular fitness that he presented for the part that he had chosen to play in the drama of social life. But presently my thoughts return to the peril that overshadowed him, and I came back once more to my original question. And now, Thorndike, I said, that you have penetrated both the motives and the disguise of this villain. What are you going to do? Is he to be put safely under lock and key? Or is he to be left in peace and security to plan some other and perhaps more successful scheme for your destruction? For the present replied Thorndike, I am going to put these things in a place of safety. Tomorrow you shall come with me to the hospital and see me place the ends of the cigar in the custody of Dr. Chandler, who will make an analysis and report on the nature of the poison. After that, we shall act in whatever way seems best. Unsatisfactory, as this conclusion appeared, I knew it was useless to raise further objections. And accordingly, when the cigar, with its accompanying papers and wrappings, had been deposited in a drawer, we dismissed it, if not from our thoughts, at least from our conversation. CHAPTER XIV. A startling discovery. The morning of the trial, so long looked forward to, had at length arrived, and the train of events, which it has been my business to chronicle in this narrative, was now fast drawing to an end. To me those events had been in many ways of the deepest moment. Not only had they transported me from a life of monotonous drudgery into one charged with novelty and dramatic interest, not only had they introduced me to a renaissance of scientific culture and revived under new conditions my intimacy with the conrad of my student days, but far more monotonous than any of these they had given me the vision, all too fleeting, of happiness untold, with the reality of sorrow and bitter regret that promised to be all too enduring. Once it happened that on this morning my thoughts were tinged with a certain greyness. A chapter in my life that had been both better and sweet was closing, and already I saw myself once more an Ishmaelite and a wanderer among strangers. This rather egotistical frame of mine, however, was soon dispelled when I encountered Poulton. For the little man was in a veritable twitter of excitement at the prospect of witnessing the clearing up of the mysteries that had so severely tried his curiosity, and even Thorndike, beneath his habitual calm, showed a trace of expectancy and pleasurable anticipation. I have taken the liberty of making certain little arrangements on your behalf, he said, as we sat at breakfast, of which I hope you will not disapprove. I have written to Mrs. Hornby, who is one of the witnesses, to say that you will meet her at Mr. Lollie's office and escort her and Ms. Gibson to the court. Walter Hornby may be with them, and, if he is, you had better leave him, if possible, to come on with Lollie. You will not come to the office then? No, I shall go straight to the court with Anstay. Besides, I am expecting Superintendent Miller from Scotland Yard, who will probably walk down with us. I am glad to hear that, I said. For I have been rather uneasy at the thought of you mixing in the crowd without some kind of protection. Well, you see that I am taken precautions against the assaults of the two ingenious ex, and, to tell the truth, and also to commit a flagrant bull, I should never forgive myself if I allowed him to kill me before I had completed Ruben Hornby's defense. Ah, here is Poulton. That man is on wires this morning. He has been wandering in and out of the rooms ever since he came, like a cat in a new house. It's quite true, sir, said Poulton, smiling and abashed. So it's no use denying it. I have come to ask what we are going to take with us to the court. You'll find a box and a portfolio on the table in my room, replied Thorndyke. We had better also take a microscope and the micrometers, though we are not likely to want them. That is all, I think. A box and a portfolio, repeated Poulton in a speculative tone. Yes, sir, I will take them with me. He opened the door and was about to pass out. When, perceiving a visitor ascending the stairs, he turned back. Here's Mr. Miller from Scotland Yard, sir. Shall I show him in? Yes, do. He rose from his chair as a tall, military- looking man entered the room and saluted, casting, at the same time, an inquiring glance in my direction. Good morning, doctor, he said briskly. I got your letter and couldn't make such of it. But I have brought down a couple of plain clothesmen and a uniformed man, as you suggested. I understand you want a house watched. Yes, and a man too. I will give you the particulars presently. That is, if you think you can agree to my conditions, that I act entirely on my own account and make no communication to anybody? Well, of course, I would rather you gave me all the facts and let me proceed in the regular way. But if you make conditions, I have no choice but to accept them, seeing that you hold the cards. Perceiving that the matter in hand was of a confidential nature, I thought it best to take my departure, which I accordingly did as soon as I had ascertained that it wanted yet half an hour to the time at which Mrs. Hornby and Juliet were due at the lawyer's office. Mr. Lolley received me with stiffness that bordered on hostility. He was evidently deeply offended at the subordinate part that he had been compelled to play in the case, and was at no great pains to conceal the fact. I am informed, he said in a frosty tone when I had explained my mission, that Mrs. Hornby and Ms. Gibson are to meet you here. The arrangement is none of my making. None of the arrangements in this case are of my making. I have been treated throughout with a lack of ceremony and confidence that is positively scandalous. Even now I, the solicitor for the defense, am completely in the dark as to what defense has contemplated. Though I fully expect to be involved in some ridiculous fiasco, I only trust that I may never again be associated with any of your hybrid practitioners. Nay, suitor ultracropitian, sir, is an excellent motto. Let the medical cobbler stick to his medical last. It remains to be seen what kind of boot he can turn out on the legal last I retorted. That is so he rejoined. But I hear Mrs. Hornby's voice in the outer office. And as neither you nor I have any time to waste an idle talk, I suggest that you make your way to the court without delay. I wish you good morning. Acting on this very plain hint, I retired to the clerk's office, where I found Mrs. Hornby and Juliet, the former undisguisedly tearful and terrified. And the latter, calm, though pale and agitated. We had better start at once, I said, when we had exchanged greetings. Shall we take a cab or walk? I think we will walk, if you don't mind, said Juliet. Mrs. Hornby wants to have a few words with you before we go into court. You see, she is one of the witnesses, and she is terrified, least she should say something damaging to Ruben. By whom was the subpoena served, I asked. Mr. Lawley's Senate, replied Mrs. Hornby. And I went to see him about it the very next day. But he wouldn't tell me anything. He didn't seem to know what I was wanted for. And he wasn't at all nice. Not at all. I expect your evidence will relate to the thumbograph, I said. There is really nothing else in connection with the case that you have any knowledge of. That is just what Walter said, exclaimed Mrs. Hornby. I went to his rooms to talk the matter over with him. He is very upset about the whole affair. And I am afraid he thinks very badly of poor Ruben's prospects. I only trust he may be wrong. Oh, dear, what a dreadful thing it is to be sure. Here the poor lady halted the mopper eyes elaborately to the surprise and manifest scorn of a passing errand boy. He was very thoughtful and sympathetic. Walter, I mean, you know, pursued Mrs. Hornby, and most helpful. He asked me all I knew about the horrid little book, and took down my answers in writing. Then he wrote out the questions I was likely to be asked, with my answers, so that I could read them over and get them well into my head. Wasn't it good of him? And I made him print them with his machine, so that I could read them without my glasses. And he did it beautifully. I have the paper in my pocket now. I didn't know Mr. Walter went in for printing, I said. Has he a regular printing press? It isn't a printing press, exactly, replied Mrs. Hornby. It is a small thing, with a lot of round keys that you press down. Dickens Belfer, I think it's called. Ridiculous name, isn't it? Walter bought it from one of his literary friends about a week ago. But he's getting quite clever with it already. Though he does make a few mistakes still, as you can see, she halted again, and began the search for the opening of a pocket which was hidden away in some occult recess of her clothing, all unconscious of the effect that her explanation had produced on me. For instantly, as she spoke, there flashed into my mind one of the points that Thorndyke had given me for the identification of the mysterious X. He has probably purchased, quite recently, a second-hand Bickensteffer, fit it with a literary type-wheel. The coincidence was striking and even startling, though a moment's reflection convinced me that it was nothing more than a coincidence, for there must be hundreds of second-hand blicks on the market. And, as to Walter Hornby, he certainly could have no quarrel with Thorndyke, but would rather be interested in his preservation of Ruben's account. These thoughts passed through my mind so rapidly, that by the time Mrs. Hornby had run her pocket to earth, I had quite recovered from the momentary shock. Ah, here it is, she exclaimed triumphantly, producing an obese Morocco purse. I put it in here for safety, knowing how liable one is to get one's pocket picked in these crowded London streets. She opened the bulky receptacle and drew it out after the manner of a concertina exhibiting multitudinous partitions, all stuffed with pieces of paper, coils of tape, and sewing silk, buttons, samples of dress materials, and miscellaneous rubbish, mingled indiscriminately with gold, silver, and copper coins. Now, just run your eye through that, Dr. Chervis, she said, handing me a folded paper, and give me your advice on my answers. I opened the paper and read, The Committee of the Society for the Protection of Paralyzed Idiots, in submitting this, Oh, that isn't it. I have given you the wrong paper. How silly of me. That is the appeal of, you remember, Juliet, dear, that troublesome person I had really to be quite rude. You know, Dr. Chervis, I had to tell him that charity begins at home. Oh, thank heaven, none of us are paralyzed, but we must consider our own, mustn't we? And then? Do you think this is the one dear interposed, Juliet, in whose pale cheeks the ghost of a dimple had appeared? It looks cleaner than most of the others. She selected a folded paper from the purse, which Mrs. Hornby was holding with both hands extended to its utmost, as though she were about to produce a burst of music, and, opening it, that it's contents. Yes, this is your evidence, she said, and passed the paper to me. I took the document from her hand, and in spite of the conclusion at which I had arrived, examined it with eager curiosity. At the very first glance I felt my head swim, and my heart throbbed violently. For the paper was headed, evidence respecting the thumbograph, and in every one of the five small E's that occurred in that sentence I could see plainly by the strong outdoor light, a small break or interval in the summit of the loop. I was thunderstruck. One coincidence was quite possible, and even probable. But the two together, and the second one so remarkable a character, were beyond all reasonable limits of probability. The identification did not seem to admit of a doubt, and yet our legal advisor seems to be somewhat preoccupied remarked Juliet, with something of her old gaiety of manner, and, in fact, though I held the paper in my hand, my gaze was fixed unmeaningly on an adjacent lamppost. As she spoke I pulled myself together, and scanning the paper hastily was fortunate enough to find in the first paragraph matter requiring comment. I observed, Mrs. Hornby, I said, that in answer to the first question, whence did you obtain the thermograph, you say, I do not remember clearly. I think I must have bought it at a railway bookstore. Now, I understood that it was brought home and given to you by Walter himself. That was what I thought, replied Mrs. Hornby. But Walter tells me that it was not so, and, of course, he would remember better than I should. But my dear aunt, I'm sure he gave it to you, Mr. Pose, Juliet. Don't you remember? It was the night the Colies came to dinner, and we were so hard pressed to find amusement for them. When Walter came in and produced the thermograph. Yes, I remember quite well now, said Mrs. Hornby. How fortunate that you reminded me. We must alter that answer at once. If I were you, Mrs. Hornby, I would disregard this paper altogether. It will only confuse you and get you into difficulties. Answer the questions that are put, as well as you can, and if you don't remember, say so. Yes, that will be the much wisest plan, said Juliet. Let Dr. Jervis take charge of the paper and rely on your own memory. Very well, my dear, replied Mrs. Hornby. I will do what you think best, and you can keep the paper, Dr. Jervis, or throw it away. I slipped the document into my pocket without remark, and we proceeded on our way. Mrs. Hornby babbling inconsequently, with occasional outbursts of emotion, and Juliet silent and abstracted. I struggled to concentrate my attention on the elder lady's conversation, but my thoughts continually reverted to the paper in my pocket, and the startling solution that it seemed to offer of the mystery of the poisoned cigar. Could it be that Walter Hornby was in reality the miscreant ex? The thing seemed incredible. For hitherto no shadow of suspicion had appeared to fall on him, and yet there was no denying that his description tallied in a very remarkable manner with that of the hypothetical ex. He was a man of some means in social position. He was a man of considerable knowledge and mechanical skill, though as to his ingenuity I could not judge. He had recently bought a second-hand Bickensdurfer, which probably had a literary typewheel, since it was purchased from a literary man, and that machine showed the characteristic mark on the small e. The two remaining points indeed were not so clear. Obviously I could form no opinion as to whether or not Thorndike held any exclusive information concerning him, and with reference to his knowledge of my friend's habits I was at first inclined to be doubtful, until I suddenly recalled with a pang of remorse and self-accusation the various details I had communicated to Juliet and that she might easily, in all innocence, have handed on the Walter. I had, for instance, told her of Thorndike's preference for the Trichinopoly Sherute, and of this she might very naturally have spoken to Walter, who possessed a supply of them, again with regard to the time of our arrival at King's Cross, I had informed her of this in a letter which was in no way confidential, and again there was no reason why the information should not have been passed on the Walter, who was to have been one of the party at the family dinner. The coincidence seemed complete enough, in all truth, yet it was incredible that Ruben's cousin could be so blackhearted a villain or could have any motive for these dastardly crimes. Suddenly a new idea struck me. Mrs. Hornby had obtained access to this typewriting machine, and, if Mrs. Hornby could do so, why not John Hornby? The description would, for the most part, fit the elder man, as well as the younger, though I had no evidence of his possessing any special mechanical skill, but my suspicions had already fastened upon him, and I remembered that Thorndike had by no means rejected my theory which connected him with the crime. At this point my reflections were broken in upon by Mrs. Hornby, who grasped my arm and uttered a deep groan. We had reached the corner of the old valley, and before us were the frowning walls of Newgate. Within those walls I knew, though I did not mention the fact, that Ruben Hornby was confined with the other prisoners, who were awaiting their trial, and a glance at the massive masonry, stained to a dingy gray by the grime of the city, put an end to my speculation and brought me back to the drama that was so nearly approaching its climax. Down the old thoroughfare, crowded with so many memories of hideous tragedy, by the side of the gloomy prison, past the debtor's door with its forbidding spiked wicked, past the gallows gate with its festoons of fetters. We walked in silence until we reached the entrance to the session's house. Here I was not a little relieved to find Thorndike on the lookout for us, for Mrs. Hornby, in spite of really heroic efforts to control her emotion, was in a state of impending hysteria. While Juliet, though outwardly calm and composed, showed by the waxing power of her cheeks, and a certain wildness of her eyes, that all her terror was reviving, and I was glad that they were spared the unpleasantness of contact with the policeman who guarded the various entrances. We must be brave, said Thorndike gently, as he took Mrs. Hornby's hand, and show a cheerful face to our friend, who has so much to bear, and who bears it so patiently. The few more hours, and I hope we shall see restored, not only his liberty, but his honor. Here is Mr. Anstey, who, we trust, will be able to make his innocence apparent. Anstey, who unlike Thorndike, had already donned his wig and gown, bowed gravely, and together we passed through the mean and grimy portals into a dark hall. Policemen in uniform, and unmistakable detectives, stood about the various entries. And little knots of people, evil looking, and unclean for the most part, lurked in the background or sat on benches, and diffused through the stale, musty air, that distinctive but indescribable odor that clings to police fans and prison reception rooms, an odor that, in the present case, was pleasantly mingled with the suggestive aroma of this infectance. Through the unsavory thong we hurried, and up a staircase to a landing from which several passages diverged. Into one of these passages, a sort of dark entry, furnished with a cage-like gate of iron bars, we passed to a black door, on which was painted the inscription, Old Court, Council, and Clerks. Anstey held the door open for us, and we passed through into the court, which at once struck me with a sense of disappointment. It was smaller than I had expected, and plain and mean to the point of soreness. The woodwork was poor, thinly disguised by yellow graining, and slimy with dirt, wherever a dirty hand could reach it. The wall were distempered, a pale, greenish gray. The floor was of bare, dirty planking, and the only suggestion of dignity or display were those offered by the canopy over the judge's seat, lined with scarlet bays and surmounted by the royal arms. The scarlet cushions of the bench, and the large circular clock in the gallery, which was embellished with a gilded border, and asserted its importance by a loud, aggressive tick. Following Anstey and Thorndike into the well of the court, we were ushered into one of the seats reserved for Council, the third from the front, where we sat down and looked about us. While our two friends seated themselves in the front bench next to the central table, here at the extreme right, a barrister, presumably the Council for the Prosecution, was already in his place, and absorbed in the brief that lay on the desk before him. Straight before us were the seats for the jury, rising one above the other, and at their side the witness box. Above us on the right was the judge's seat, and immediately below it the structure somewhat resembling a large pew, or a counting-house desk, surmounted by a brass rail, in which a person in a gray wig, the clerk of the court, was mending a quill pen. On our left rose the dock, suggestively large and roomy, enclosed at the side with high glazed frames, and above it, near the ceiling, was the spectator's gallery. What hideous place, exclaimed Juliet, who separated me from Mrs. Hornby, and how sore and dirty everything looks. Yes, I answered. The uncleanness of the criminal is not confined to his moral being. Wherever he goes he leaves a trail of actual, physical dirt. It is not so long ago that the dock and the bench alike used to be strewn with medicinal herbs, and I believe the custom still survives of furnishing the judge with a nose-gay as a preventative of jail fever, and to think that Ruben should be brought to a place like this, Juliet continued bitterly, to be herded with such people as we saw downstairs. She sighed and looked around at the benches that rose behind us, where a half-dozen reporters were already seated, and apparently in high spirits at the prospect of a sensational case. Our conversation was now interrupted by the clatter of feet on the gallery's stairs, and heads began to appear over the wooden parapet. Several junior counsel filed into the seats in front of us. Mr. Lawley and his clerk entered the attorney's bench. The ushers took their stand below the jury box. The police officer seated himself at the desk in the dock, and inspectors, detectives, and miscellaneous officers began to gather in the entries or peer into the court through the small glazed openings in the doors. The hum of conversation that had been gradually increasing as the court filled suddenly ceased. A door at the back of the DS was flung open. Counsels, solicitors, and spectators alike rose to their feet, and the judge entered closely followed by the Lord Mayor, the Sheriff, and various civic magnates, all picturesque and gorgeous in their robes and chains of office. The clerk of a reins took his place behind his table under the DS. The counsel suspended their conversation and fingered their briefs, and as the judge took his seat, lawyers, officials, and spectators took their seats, and all eyes returned toward the dock. A few moments later, Reuben Hornby appeared in the enclosure in company with a warder, the two rising, apparently from the bowels of the earth, and stepping forward to the bar, stood with a calm, self-possessed demeanor, glancing somewhat curiously around the court. For an instant his eye rested upon the group of friends and well-wishers seated behind the counsel, and the faintest trace of a smile appeared in his face, but immediately he turned his eyes away and never again throughout the trial looked in our direction. The clerk of a reins now rose, and, reading from the indictment which lay before him on the table, addressed the prisoner, Reuben Hornby, you stand indicted for that you did, on the ninth or tenth day of March, feloniously steal a parcel of diamonds of the goods and chattels of John Hornby. Are you guilty or not guilty? Not guilty, replied Reuben. The clerk of a reins, having noted the prisoner's reply, then proceeded. The gentleman whose names are about to be called will form the jury who are to try you. If you wish to object to any of them, you must do so as each comes to the book to be sworn, and before he is sworn. You will then be heard. In acknowledgement of this address, which was delivered in clear ringing tones and with remarkable distinctness, Reuben bowed to the clerk, and the process of swearing in the jury was commenced, while the counsel opened their briefs, and the judge conversed facetiously with an official in a fur robe and a massive neck chain. Very strange to unaccustomed eyes and ears was the effect of this function, half solemn and half grotesque, with an effect intermediate between that of a religious rite and that of a comic opera. Above the half-suppressed hum of conversation the clerk's voice arose at regular intervals, calling out the name of one of the jurymen, and, as its owner stood up, the court usher, black-gowned and sacerdotal of aspect, advanced and proffered the book. Then as the jurymen took the volume in his hand, the voice of the usher resounded through the court like that of a priest intoning some refrain or antiphon, an effect that was increased by the rhythmic and archaic character of the formula. SAMUEL SEPINGS A stolid-looking working-man rose, and, taking the testament in his hand, stood regarding the usher while that official sang out in a solemn monotone, you shall well and truly try and true deliverance make between our sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the bar, whom you shall have in charge, and a true verdict give according to the evidence, so help you God. James Piper, another juryman, rose and was given the book to hold, and again the monotonous sing-song arose, you shall well and truly try and true deliverance make, etc. I shall scream aloud if that horrible chant goes on much longer, Juliet whispered, why don't they all swear at once and have done with it? That would not meet the requirements, I answered. However, there are only two more, so you must have patience. And you will have patience with me, too, won't you? I'm horribly frightened. It is all so solemn and dreadful. You must try to keep up your courage until Dr. Thorndike has given his evidence, I said. Remember that, until he has spoken, everything is against Rubin, so be prepared. I will try, she answered meekly, but I can't help being terrified. The last of the jurymen was at length sworn, and when the clerk had once more called out the names one by one, the usher counting loudly as each man answered to his name, the latter officer turned to the court and spectators, and proclaimed in solemn tones. If anyone can inform my lords the king's justices, the king's attorney general or the king's sergeant, ere this inquest be now taken between our sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar, of any treason, murder, felony, or misdemeanor, committed or done by him, let him come forth and he shall be heard, for the prisoner stands at the bar upon his deliverance. This proclamation was followed by a profound silence, and after a brief interval the clerk of a reigns turned toward the jury and addressed them collectively. Gentlemen of the jury, the prisoner at the bar stands indicted by the name of Rubin Hornby, for that he, on the ninth or tenth of March, feloniously did steal, take, and carry away a parcel of diamonds of the goods of John Hornby. To this indictment he has pleaded that he is not guilty, and your charge is to inquire whether he be guilty or not, and to hearken to the evidence. When he had finished his dress the clerk sat down, and the judge, a thin-faced, hallow-eyed, elderly man, with bushy gray eyebrows and a very large nose, looked attentively at Rubin for some moments over the tops of his gold-rimmed pinsnay. Then he turned toward the council nearest the bench and bowed slightly. The barrister bowed in return and rose, and for the first time I obtained a complete view of Sir Hector Trumpler, K. C., the council for the prosecution. His appearance was not prepossessing nor, though he was a large man and somewhat floored as to his continence, particularly striking, except for the general air of untidiness. His gown was slipping off one shoulder, his wig was perceptively awry, and his pinsnay threatened every moment to drop from his nose. The case that I have to present to you, my lord and gentleman of the jury, he began in a clear, though unmusical voice, is one the like of which is what too often met with in this court. It is one in which we shall see unbounded trust met by treacherous deceit, in which we shall see countless benefactions rewarded by the basest in gratitude, and in which we shall witness the deliberate renunciation of a life of honourable effort in favour of the torturous and precarious ways of the criminal. The facts of the case are briefly as follows. The prosecutor in this case, most unwilling prosecutor gentleman, is Mr. John Hornby, who is a metallurgist and dealer in precious metals. Mr. Hornby has two nephews, the orphaned sons of his two elder brothers, and I may tell you that since the decease of their parents he has acted the part of a father to both of them. One of these nephews is Mr. Walter Hornby, and the other is Ruben Hornby, the prisoner at the bar. Both of these nephews were received by Mr. Hornby into his business with a view to their succeeding him when he should retire, and both, I need not say, occupied positions of trust and responsibility. Now, on the evening of the ninth of March there was delivered to Mr. Hornby a parcel of rough diamonds of which one of his clients asked him to take charge pending their transfer to the brokers. I need not burden you with irrelevant details concerning this transaction. It will suffice to say that the diamonds, which were of the aggregate value of about thirty thousand pounds, were delivered to him and the unopened package deposited by him in his safe, together with a slip of paper on which he had written in pencil a memorandum of the circumstances. This was on the evening of the ninth of March, as I have said. Having deposited the parcel Mr. Hornby locked the safe, and shortly afterwards left the premises and went home taking the keys with him. On the following morning, when he unlocked the safe, he perceived with astonishment and dismay that the parcel of diamonds had vanished. The slip of paper, however, lay at the bottom of the safe, and on picking it up Mr. Hornby perceived that it bore a smear of blood, and in addition the distinct impression of a human thumb. On this he closed and locked the safe and sent a note to the police station in response to which a very intelligent officer, Inspector Sanderson, came and made a preliminary examination. I need not follow the case further since the details will appear in the evidence, but I may tell you that, in effect, it has been made clear beyond all doubt that the thumbprint on that paper was the thumbprint of the prisoner, Ruben Hornby. He paused to adjust his glasses which were in the very act of falling from his nose and hitch up his gown while he took a leisurely survey of the jury as though he were estimating their impressionability. At this moment I observed Walter Hornby enter the court and take up a position at the end of our bench nearest the door, and immediately after, Superintendent Miller came in and seated himself on one of the benches opposite. The first witness whom I shall call, said Sir Hector Trumpler, is John Hornby. Mr. Hornby, looking wild and agitated, stepped into the witness box and the usher, having handed him the testament, sang out, The evidence you shall give to the court and jury sworn between our sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the bar shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God. Mr. Hornby kissed the book, and casting a glance of unutterable misery at his nephew, turned toward the council. Your name is John Hornby, is it not? asked Sir Hector. It is. And you occupy the premises in St. Mary Acts? Yes, I am a dealer in precious metals, but my business consists principally in the assaying of samples of ore and quartz and bars of silver and gold. Do you remember what happened on the 9th of March last? Perfectly, my nephew Rubin, the prisoner, delivered to me a parcel of diamonds which he had received from the purser of the Elmina Castle, to whom I had sent him as my confidential agent. I had intended to deposit the diamonds with my banker, but when the prisoner arrived at my office the banks were already closed, so I had to put the parcel, for the night, in my own safe. I may say that the prisoner was not in any way responsible for the delay. You are not here to defend the prisoner, said Sir Hector. Answer my questions and make no comments, if you please. Was anyone present when you placed the diamonds in the safe? No one was present but myself. I did not ask if you were present when you put them in, said Sir Hector, whereupon the spectator sniggered and the judge smiled indulgently. What else did you do? I wrote in pencil on a leaf of my pocket memorandum book, handed in by Rubin at seven, three, p.m., nine, three, ought one, and initialed it. Then I tore the leaf from the block and laid it on the parcel, after which I closed the safe and locked it. How soon did you leave the premises after this? Almost immediately the prisoner was waiting for me in the outer office. Never mind where the prisoner was, confine your answers to what is asked. Did you take the keys with you? Yes. When did you next open the safe? On the following morning at ten o'clock. Was the safe locked or unlocked when you arrived? It was locked, I unlocked it. Did you notice anything unusual about the safe? No. Had the keys left your custody in the interval? No, they were attached to a key chain which I always wear. Are there any duplicates of those keys? The keys of the safe, I mean. No, there are no duplicates. Have the keys ever gone out of your possession? Yes. If I had to be absent from the office for a considerable time, it has been my custom to hand the keys to one of my nephews, whichever has happened to be in charge at the time. And never to any other person? Never to any other person. What did you observe when you opened the safe? I observed that the parcel of diamonds had disappeared. Did you notice anything else? Yes. I found the leaf from my memorandum block lying at the bottom of the safe. I picked it up and turned it over and then saw that there were smears of blood on it and what looked like the print of a thumb in blood. The thumb mark was on the under surface as the paper lay at the bottom of the safe. What did you do next? I closed and locked the safe and sent a note to the police station saying that a robbery had been committed on my premises. You have known the prisoner several years, I believe? Yes, I have known him all his life. He is my eldest brother's son. Then you can tell us no doubt whether he is left-handed or right-handed. I should say he was ambidextrous, but he uses his left hand by preference. A fine distinction, Mr. Hornby. A very fine distinction. Now tell me, did you ascertain beyond all doubt that the diamonds were really gone? Yes, I examine the safe thoroughly first by myself and afterwards with the police. There was no doubt that the diamonds had really gone. When the detective suggested that you should have the thumbprints of your two nephews taken, did you refuse? I refused. Why did you refuse? Because I did not choose to subject my nephews to the indignity. Besides, I had no power to make them submit to the proceeding. Had you any suspicions of either of them? I had no suspicions of anyone. Kindly examine this piece of paper, Mr. Hornby, said Sir Hector, passing across a small oblong slip, and tell us if you recognize it. Mr. Hornby glanced at the paper for a moment and then said, This is the memorandum slip that I found lying at the bottom of the safe. How do you identify it? By the writing on it, which is in my own hand, embares my initials. Is it the memorandum that you placed on the partial of diamonds? Yes. Was there any thumbmark or blood smear on it when you placed it in the safe? No. Was it possible that there could have been any such marks? Quite impossible. I tore it from my memorandum block at the time I wrote upon it. Very well. Sir Hector Trumpler sat down and Mr. Anstey stood up to cross-examine the witness. E, you have told us, Dr. Hornby, he said, that you have known the prisoner all his life. Now what estimate have you formed of his character? I have always regarded him as a young man of the highest character, honorable, truthful, and in every way trustworthy. I have never, in all my experience of him, known him to deviate a hair's breath from the strictest honor and honesty of conduct. E regarded him as a man of irreproachable character. Is that so? That is so, and my opinion of him is unchanged. Has he, to your knowledge, any expensive or extravagant habits? No. His habits are simple and rather thrifty. Have you ever known him to bet, gamble, or speculate? Never. Has he ever seemed to be in want of money? No. He has a small private income apart from his salary, which I know he does not spend, since I have occasionally employed my broker to invest his savings. Apart from the thumbprint which was found in the safe, are you aware of any circumstances that would lead you to suspect the prisoner of having stolen the diamonds? None would ever. Mr. Anstey sat down and Mr. Hornby left the witness box, mopping the perspiration from his forehead. The next witness was called Inspector Sanderson. The dapper police officer stepped briskly into the box and, having been duly sworn, faced the prosecuting counsel with the air of a man who was prepared for any contingency. Do you remember, said Sir Hector, after the usual preliminaries have been gone through, what occurred on the morning of the 10th of March? Yes, a note was handed to me at the station at 10.23 a.m. It was for Mr. John Hornby and stated that a robbery had occurred at his premises in St. Mary Acts. I went to the premises and arrived there at 10.31 a.m. There I saw the prosecutor, Mr. John Hornby, who told me that a parcel of diamonds had been stolen from the safe. At his request I examined the safe. There were no signs of its having been forced open. The lock seemed to be quite uninjured in a good order. Inside the safe, on the bottom, I found two good-sized drops of blood and a slip of paper with pencil writing on it. The paper bore two blood smears and a print of a human thumb in blood. Is this the paper? asked the counsel, passing a small slip across to the witness. Yes, replied the inspector, after a brief glance at the document. What did you do next? I sent a message to Scotland Yard acquainting the chief of the criminal investigation department with the fax, and then went back to the station. I had no further connection with the case. Sir Hector sat down, and the judge glanced at Anstey. You tell us, said the latter rising, that you observed two good-sized drops of blood on the bottom of the safe. Did you notice the condition of the blood, whether moist or dry? The blood looked moist, but I did not touch it. I left it undisturbed for the detective officers to examine. The next witness called was Sergeant Bates of the criminal investigation department. He slipped into the box with the same ready, business-like air as the other officer, and, having been sworn, proceeded to give his evidence with a fluency that suggested careful preparation, holding an open notebook in his hand but making no references to it. On the 10th of March, at 12.08 p.m., I received instructions to proceed to St. Mary Acts to inquire into a robbery that had taken place there. Inspector Sanderson's report was handed to me, and I read it in the cab on my way to the premises. On arriving at the premises at 12.30 p.m., I examined the safe carefully. It was quite uninjured, and there were no marks of any kind upon it. I tested the locks and found them perfect. There were no marks or indications of any picklock having been used. On the bottom of the inside I observed two rather large drops of a dark fluid. I took up some of the fluid on a piece of paper and found it to be blood. I also found in the bottom of the safe the burnt head of a wax match, and, on searching the floor of the office, I found close by the safe a used wax match from which the head had fallen. I also found a slip of paper which appeared to have been torn from a perforated block. On it was written in pencil, handed in by Rubin at 7.3 p.m., 9.3 o.1, J.H. There were two smears of blood on the paper and the impression of a human thumb in blood. I took possession of the paper in order that it might be examined by the experts. I inspected the office doors and the outer door of the premises, but found no signs of forcible entrance on any of them. I questioned the housekeeper but obtained no information from him. I then returned to headquarters, made my report, and handed the paper with the marks on it to the superintendent. Is this the paper that you found in the safe, asked the counsel, once more handing the leaflet across? Yes, this is the paper. What happened next? The following afternoon I was sent for by Mr. Singleton of the Fingerprint Department. He informed me that he had gone through the files and had not been able to find any thumbprint resembling the one on the paper, and recommended me to endeavor to obtain prints of the thumbs of any person who might have been concerned in the robbery. He also gave me an enlarged photograph of the thumbprint for reference, if necessary. I, accordingly, went to St. Mary Acts and had an interview with Mr. Hornby. When I requested him to allow me to take the prints of the thumbs of all the persons employed on the premises, including his two nephews, this he refused, saying that he mistrusted fingerprints and that there was no suspicion of anyone on the premises. I asked if he would allow his nephews to furnish their thumbprints privately, to which he replied, certainly not. Had you then any suspicion of either of the nephews? I thought they were both open to some suspicion. The safe had certainly been opened with false keys, and as they both had the real keys in their possession it was possible that one of them might have taken impressions in wax and made counterfeit keys. Yes. I called on Mr. Hornby several times and urged him for the sake of his nephew's reputations to sanction the taking of the thumbprints, but he refused very positively and forbade them to submit, although I understood that they were both willing. It then occurred to me to try if I could get any help for Mrs. Hornby, and on the fifteenth of March I called at Mr. Hornby's private house and saw her. I explained to her what was wanted to clear her nephews from the suspicion that rested on them, and she then said that she could dispose of these suspicions at once, for she could show me the thumbprints of the whole family. She had them all in a thumbograph. A thumbograph, repeated the judge. What is a thumbograph? Ansty rose with a little red-covered volume in his hand. A thumbograph, my lord, said he, is a book like this in which foolish people collect the thumbprints of their more foolish acquaintances. He passed the volume up to the judge who turned over the leaves curiously and then nodded to the witness. Yes. She said she had them all in a thumbograph. Then she fetched from a drawer a small red-covered book which she showed to me. It contained the thumbprints of all the family and some of her friends. Is this the book? asked the judge, passing the volume down to the witness. The sergeant turned over the leaves until he came to one which he apparently recognized and said, Yes, my lord, this is the book. Mrs. Hornby showed me the thumbprints of various members of the family and then found those of her two nephews. I compared them with the photograph that I had with me and discovered that the print of the left thumb of Ruben Hornby was in every respect identical with the thumbprint shown in the photograph. What did you do then? I asked Mrs. Hornby to lend me the thumbograph so that I might show it to the chief of the fingerprint department to which she consented. I had not intended to tell her my discovery but, as I was leaving, Mr. Hornby arrived home and when he heard of what had taken place he asked me why I wanted the book and I then told him. He was greatly astonished and horrified and wished me to return the book at once. He proposed to let the whole matter drop and take the loss of the diamonds on himself but I pointed out that this was impossible as it would practically amount to compounding a felony. Seeing that Mrs. Hornby was so distressed at the idea of her book being used in evidence against her nephew I promised her that I would return it to her if I could obtain a thumbprint in any other way. I then took the thumbograph to Scotland Yard and showed it to Mr. Singleton who agreed that the print of the left thumb of Ruben Hornby was in every respect identical with the thumbprint on the paper found in the safe. On this I applied for a warrant for the arrest of Ruben Hornby which I executed on the following morning. I told the prisoner what I had promised Mrs. Hornby and he then offered to allow me to take a print of his left thumb so that his aunt's book should not have to be used in evidence. How is it then, asked the judge, that it has been put in evidence? It has been put in by the defence, my lord, said Sir Hector Trumpler. I see, said the judge, a hare of the dog that bit him. The thumbograph is to be applied as a remedy on the principle that Similia Similebus Corranter, well, when I arrested him I administered the usual caution and the prisoner then said, I am innocent. I know nothing about the robbery. The council for the prosecution sent down an angsty rose to cross-examine. You have told us, said he in his clear musical voice, that you found at the bottom of the safe two rather large drops of a dark fluid which you considered to be blood. Now, what led you to believe that fluid to be blood? I took some of the fluid up on a piece of white paper and it had the appearance and colour of blood. Was it examined microscopically or otherwise? Not to my knowledge. Was it quite liquid? Yes, I should say quite liquid. What appearance had it on paper? It looked like a clear red liquid of the colour of blood and was rather thick and sticky. Angsty sat down and the next witness, an elderly man, answering to the name of Francis Simmons, was called. You are the housekeeper at Mr. Hornby's premises in St. Mary Acts, asks her Hector Trumpler. I am. Did you notice anything unusual on the night of the 9th of March? I did not. Did you make your usual rounds on that occasion? Yes, I went all over the premises several times during the night and the rest of the time I was in a room over the private office. Who arrived first on the morning of the 10th? Mr. Rubin, he arrived about 20 minutes before anybody else. What part of the building did he go to? He went to the private office which I opened for him. He remained there a few minutes before Mr. Hornby arrived when he went up to the laboratory. Who came next? Mr. Hornby and Mr. Walter came in just after him. The counsel sat down and Angsty proceeded to cross-examine the witness. Who was the last to leave the premises on the evening of the 9th? I am not sure. Why are you not sure? I had to take a note and a parcel to affirm at Shoreditch. When I started a clerk named Thomas Holker was in the outer office and Mr. Walter Hornby was in the private office. When I returned they had both gone. Was the outer door locked? Yes. Had Holker a key of the outer door? No. Mr. Hornby and his two nephews each had a key and I had one. No one else had a key. How long were you absent? About three-quarters of an hour. Who gave you the note and the parcel? Mr. Walter Hornby. When did he give them to you? He gave them to me just before I started and told me to go at once for fear the place should be closed before I got there. And was the place closed? Yes. It was all shut up and everybody had gone. Angsty resumed his seat. The witness shuffled out of the box with an air of evident relief and the usher called out Henry James Singleton. End of chapter fifteen part one.