may have seen on the bookstalls and in shop windows an appliance called a ‘Thumbograph,’ or some such name, consisting of a small book of blank paper for collecting the thumb-prints of one’s friends, together with an inking pad.”
“I have seen those devices of the Evil One,” said Thorndyke, “in fact, I have one, which I bought at Charing Cross Station.”
“Well, it seems that some months ago Mrs. Hornby, the wife of John Hornby, purchased one of these toys—”
“As a matter of fact,” interrupted Reuben, “it was my cousin Walter who bought the thing and gave it to her.”
“Well, that is not material,” said Mr. Lawley (though I observed that Thorndyke made a note of the fact in his book); “at any rate, Mrs. Hornby became possessed of one of these appliances and proceeded to fill it with the thumb-prints of her friends, including her two nephews. Now it happened that the detective in charge of this case called yesterday at Mr. Hornby’s house when the latter was absent from home, and took the opportunity of urging her to induce her husband to consent to have the thumb-prints of her nephews taken for the inspection of the experts at Scotland Yard. He pointed out that the procedure was really necessary, not only in the interests of justice but in the interests of the young men themselves, who were regarded with considerable suspicion by the police, which suspicion would be completely removed if it could be shown by actual comparison that the thumb-print could not have been made by either of them. Moreover, it seemed that both the young men had expressed their willingness to have the test applied, but had been forbidden by their uncle. Then Mrs. Hornby had a brilliant idea. She suddenly remembered the ‘Thumbograph,’ and thinking to set the question at rest once for all, fetched the little book and showed it to the detective. It contained the prints of both thumbs of Mr. Reuben (among others), and, as the detective had with him a photograph of the incriminating mark, the comparison was made then and there; and you may imagine Mrs. Hornby’s horror and amazement when it was made clear that the print of her nephew Reuben’s left thumb corresponded in every particular with the thumb-print that was found in the safe.
“At this juncture Mr. Hornby arrived on the scene and was, of course, overwhelmed with consternation at the turn events had taken. He would have liked to let the matter drop and make good the loss of the diamonds out of his own funds, but, as that would have amounted practically to compounding a felony, he had no choice but to prosecute. As a result, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Mr. Reuben, and was executed this morning, and my client was taken forthwith to Bow Street and charged with the robbery.”
“Was any evidence taken?” asked Thorndyke.
“No. Only evidence of arrest. The prisoner is remanded for a week, bail having been accepted in two sureties of five hundred pounds each.”
Thorndyke was silent for a space after the conclusion of the narrative. Like me, he was evidently not agreeably impressed by the lawyer’s manner, which seemed to take his client’s guilt for granted, a position indeed not entirely without excuse having regard to the circumstances of the case.
“What have you advised your client to do?” Thorndyke asked presently.
“I have recommended him to plead guilty and throw himself on the clemency of the court as a first offender. You must see for yourself that there is no defence possible.”
The young man flushed crimson, but made no remark.
“But let us be clear how we stand,” said Thorndyke. “Are we defending an innocent man or are we endeavouring to obtain a light sentence for a man who admits that he is guilty?”
Mr. Lawley shrugged his shoulders.
“That question can be best answered by our client himself,” said he.
Thorndyke directed an inquiring glance at Reuben Hornby, remarking—
“You are not called upon to incriminate yourself in any way, Mr. Hornby, but I must know what position you intend to adopt.”
Here I again proposed to withdraw, but Reuben interrupted me.
“There is no need for you to go away, Dr. Jervis,” he said. “My position is that I did not commit this robbery and that I know nothing whatever about it or about the thumb-print that was found in the safe. I do not, of course, expect you to believe me in the face of the overwhelming evidence against me, but I do, nevertheless, declare in the most solemn manner before God, that I am absolutely innocent of this crime and have no knowledge of it whatever.”
“Then I take it that you did not plead ‘guilty’?” said Thorndyke.
“Certainly not; and I never will,” replied Reuben hotly.
“You would not be the first innocent man, by very many, who has entered that plea,” remarked Mr. Lawley. “It is often the best policy, when the defence is hopelessly weak.”
“It is a policy that will not be adopted by me,” rejoined Reuben. “I may be, and probably shall be, convicted and sentenced, but I shall continue to maintain my innocence, whatever happens. Do you think,” he added, turning to Thorndyke, “that you can undertake my defence on that assumption?”
“It is the only assumption on which I should agree to undertake the case,” replied Thorndyke.
“And—if I may ask the question—” pursued Reuben anxiously, “do you find it possible to conceive that I may really be innocent?”
“Certainly I do,” Thorndyke replied, on which I observed Mr. Lawley’s eyebrows rise perceptibly. “I am a man of facts, not an advocate, and if I found it impossible to entertain the hypothesis of your innocence, I should not be willing to expend time and energy in searching for evidence to prove it. Nevertheless,” he continued, seeing the light of hope break out on the face of the unfortunate young man, “I must impress upon you that the case presents enormous difficulties and that we must be prepared to find them insuperable in spite of all our efforts.”
“I expect nothing but a conviction,” replied Reuben in a calm and resolute voice, “and can face it like a man if only you do not take my guilt for granted, but give me a chance, no matter how small, of making a defence.”
“Everything shall be done that I am capable of doing,” said Thorndyke; “that I can promise you. The long odds against us are themselves a spur to endeavour, as far as I am concerned. And now, let me ask you, have you any cuts or scratches on your fingers?”
Reuben Hornby held out both his hands for my colleague’s inspection, and I noticed that they were powerful and shapely, like the hands of a skilled craftsman, though faultlessly kept. Thorndyke set on the table a large condenser such as is used for microscopic work, and taking his client’s hand, brought the bright spot of light to bear on each finger in succession, examining their tips and the parts around the nails with the aid of a pocket lens.
“A fine, capable hand, this,” said he, regarding the member approvingly, as he finished his examination, “but I don’t perceive any trace of a scar on either the right or left. Will you go over them, Jervis? The robbery took place a fortnight ago, so there has been time for a small cut or scratch to heal and disappear entirely. Still, the matter is worth noting.”
He handed me the lens and I scrutinised every part of each hand without being able to detect the faintest trace of any recent wound.
“There is one other matter that must be attended
