Anstey handed the rather questionable document up to the judge, I glanced at Walter Hornby and observed him to flush angrily, though he strove to appear calm and unconcerned, and the look that he directed at his aunt was very much the reverse of benevolent.
“Is this the paper?” asked the judge, passing it down to the witness.
“Yes, your worship,” answered Mrs. Hornby, in a tremulous voice; whereupon the document was returned to the judge, who proceeded to compare it with his notes.
“I shall order this document to be impounded,” said he sternly, after making a brief comparison. “There has been a distinct attempt to tamper with witnesses. Proceed with your case, Mr. Anstey.”
There was a brief pause, during which Mrs. Hornby tottered across the court and resumed her seat, gasping with excitement and relief; then the usher called out—
“John Evelyn Thorndyke!”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Juliet, clasping her hands. “Oh! Will he be able to save Reuben? Do you think he will, Dr. Jervis?”
“There is someone who thinks he will,” I replied, glancing towards Polton, who, clasping in his arms the mysterious box and holding on to the microscope case, gazed at his master with a smile of ecstasy. “Polton has more faith than you have, Miss Gibson.”
“Yes, the dear, faithful little man!” she rejoined. “Well, we shall know the worst very soon now, at any rate.”
“The worst or the best,” I said. “We are now going to hear what the defence really is.”
“God grant that it may be a good defence,” she exclaimed in a low voice; and I—though not ordinarily a religious man—murmured “Amen!”
CHAPTER XVI
THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD
As Thorndyke took his place in the box I looked at him with a sense of unreasonable surprise, feeling that I had never before fully realised what manner of man my friend was as to his externals. I had often noted the quiet strength of his face, its infinite intelligence, its attractiveness and magnetism; but I had never before appreciated what now impressed me most: that Thorndyke was actually the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was dressed simply, his appearance unaided by the flowing gown or awe-inspiring wig, and yet his presence dominated the court. Even the judge, despite his scarlet robe and trappings of office, looked commonplace by comparison, while the jurymen, who turned to look at him, seemed like beings of an inferior order. It was not alone the distinction of the tall figure, erect and dignified, nor the power and massive composure of his face, but the actual symmetry and comeliness of the face itself that now arrested my attention; a comeliness that made it akin rather to some classic mask, wrought in the ivory-toned marble of Pentelicus, than to the eager faces that move around us in the hurry and bustle of a life at once strenuous and trivial.
“You are attached to the medical school at St. Margaret’s Hospital, I believe, Dr. Thorndyke?” said Anstey.
“Yes. I am the lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence and Toxicology.”
“Have you had much experience of medico-legal inquiries?”
“A great deal. I am engaged exclusively in medico-legal work.”
“You heard the evidence relating to the two drops of blood found in the safe?”
“I did.”
“What is your opinion as to the condition of that blood?”
“I should say there is no doubt that it had been artificially treated—probably by defibrination.”
“Can you suggest any explanation of the condition of that blood?”
“I can.”
“Is your explanation connected with any peculiarities in the thumb-print on the paper that was found in the safe?”
“It is.”
“Have you given any attention to the subject of fingerprints?”
“Yes. A great deal of attention.”
“Be good enough to examine that paper” (here the usher handed to Thorndyke the memorandum slip). “Have you seen it before?”
“Yes. I saw it at Scotland Yard.”
“Did you examine it thoroughly?”
“Very thoroughly. The police officials gave me every facility and, with their permission, I took several photographs of it.”
“There is a mark on that paper resembling the print of a human thumb?”
“There is.”
“You have heard two expert witnesses swear that that mark was made by the left thumb of the prisoner, Reuben Hornby?”
“I have.”
“Do you agree to that statement?”
“I do not.”
“In your opinion, was the mark upon that paper made by the thumb of the prisoner?”
“No. I am convinced that it was not made by the thumb of Reuben Hornby.”
“Do you think that it was made by the thumb of some other person?”
“No. I am of opinion that it was not made by a human thumb at all.”
At this statement the judge paused for a moment, pen in hand, and stared at Thorndyke with his mouth slightly open, while the two experts looked at one another with raised eyebrows.
“By what means do you consider that the mark was produced?”
“By means of a stamp, either of india-rubber or, more probably, of chromicized gelatine.”
Here Polton, who had been, by degrees, rising to an erect posture, smote his thigh a resounding thwack and chuckled aloud, a proceeding that caused all eyes, including those of the judge, to be turned on him.
“If that noise is repeated,” said the judge, with a stony stare at the horrified offender—who had shrunk into the very smallest space that I have ever seen a human being occupy—“I shall cause the person who made it to be removed from the court.”
“I understand, then,” pursued Anstey, “that you consider the thumb-print, which has been sworn to as the prisoner’s, to be a forgery?”
“Yes. It is a forgery.”
“But is it possible to forge a thumb-print or a fingerprint?”
“It is not only possible, but quite easy to do.”
“As easy as to forge a signature, for instance?”
“Much more so, and infinitely more secure. A signature, being written with a pen, requires that the forgery should also be written with a pen, a process demanding very special skill and, after all, never resulting
