“The more general question thus becomes narrowed down to the more particular question: ‘Is this a genuine thumbprint or is it a forgery?’ Let us consider the evidence. First, what evidence is there that it is a genuine thumbprint? There is none. The identity of the pattern is no evidence on this point, because a forgery would also exhibit identity of pattern. The genuineness of the thumbprint was assumed by the prosecution, and no evidence has been offered.
“But now what evidence is there that the red thumbprint is a forgery?
“First, there is the question of size. Two different-sized prints could hardly be made by the same thumb. Then there is the evidence of the use of appliances. Safe-robbers do not ordinarily provide themselves with inking-slabs and rollers with which to make distinct impressions of their own fingers. Then there is the accidental mark on the print which also exists on the only genuine print that could have been used for the purpose of forgery, which is easily explained on the theory of a forgery, but which is otherwise totally incomprehensible. Finally, there is the strange disappearance of the ‘Thumbograph’ and its strange reappearance. All this is striking and weighty evidence, to which must be added that adduced by Dr. Thorndyke as showing how perfectly it is possible to imitate a fingerprint.
“These are the main facts of the case, and it is for you to consider them. If, on careful consideration, you decide that the red thumbprint was actually made by the prisoner’s thumb, then it will be your duty to pronounce the prisoner guilty; but if, on weighing the evidence, you decide that the thumbprint is a forgery, then it will be your duty to pronounce the prisoner not guilty. It is now past the usual luncheon hour, and, if you desire it, you can retire to consider your verdict while the Court adjourns.”
The jurymen whispered together for a few moments and then the foreman stood up.
“We have agreed on our verdict, my lord,” he said.
The prisoner, who had just been led to the back of the dock, was now brought back to the bar. The grey-wigged clerk of the court stood up and addressed the jury.
“Are you all agreed upon your verdict, gentlemen?”
“We are,” replied the foreman.
“What do you say, gentlemen? Is the prisoner guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” replied the foreman, raising his voice and glancing at Reuben.
A storm of applause burst from the gallery and was, for the moment, disregarded by the judge. Mrs. Hornby laughed aloud—a strange, unnatural laugh—and then crammed her handkerchief into her mouth, and so sat gazing at Reuben with the tears coursing down her face, while Juliet laid her head upon the desk and sobbed silently.
After a brief space the judge raised an admonitory hand, and, when the commotion had subsided, addressed the prisoner, who stood at the bar, calm and self-possessed, though his face bore a slight flush—
“Reuben Hornby, the jury, after duly weighing the evidence in this case, have found you to be not guilty of the crime with which you were charged. With that verdict I most heartily agree. In view of the evidence which has been given, I consider that no other verdict was possible, and I venture to say that you leave this court with your innocence fully established, and without a stain upon your character. In the distress which you have recently suffered, as well as in your rejoicing at the verdict of the jury, you have the sympathy of the Court, and of everyone present, and that sympathy will not be diminished by the consideration that, with a less capable defence, the result might have been very different.
“I desire to express my admiration at the manner in which that defence was conducted, and I desire especially to observe that not you alone, but the public at large, are deeply indebted to Dr. Thorndyke, who, by his insight, his knowledge and his ingenuity, has probably averted a very serious miscarriage of justice. The Court will now adjourn until half-past two.”
The judge rose from his seat and everyone present stood up; and, amidst the clamour of many feet upon the gallery stairs, the door of the dock was thrown open by a smiling police officer and Reuben came down the stairs into the body of the court.
XVII
At Last
“We had better let the people clear off,” said Thorndyke, when the first greetings were over and we stood around Reuben in the fast-emptying court. “We don’t want a demonstration as we go out.”
“No; anything but that, just now,” replied Reuben. He still held Mrs. Hornby’s hand, and one arm was passed through that of his uncle, who wiped his eyes at intervals, though his face glowed with delight.
“I should like you to come and have a little quiet luncheon with me at my chambers—all of us friends together,” continued Thorndyke.
“I should be delighted,” said Reuben, “if the programme would include a satisfactory wash.”
“You will come, Anstey?” asked Thorndyke.
“What have you got for lunch?” demanded Anstey, who was now disrobed and in his right mind—that is to say, in his usual whimsical, pseudo-frivolous character.
“That question savours of gluttony,” answered Thorndyke. “Come and see.”
“I will come and eat, which is better,” answered Anstey, “and I must run off now, as I have to look in at my chambers.”
“How shall we go?” asked Thorndyke, as his colleague vanished through the doorway. “Polton has gone for a four-wheeler, but it won’t hold us all.”
“It will hold four of us,” said Reuben, “and Dr. Jervis will bring Juliet; won’t you, Jervis?”
The request rather took me aback, considering the circumstances, but I was conscious, nevertheless, of an unreasonable thrill of pleasure and answered
