The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman

you.” Mr. Horwitz sat down, and the triumphant squeak of his quill pen was heard above the muttered disapproval of the jury.

      “We shall now take the evidence of the doctors, gentlemen,” said the coroner, “and we will begin with that of the divisional surgeon. You saw the deceased, I believe, Doctor,” he continued, when Dr. Davidson had been sworn, “soon after the discovery of the murder, and you have since then made an examination of the body?”

      “Yes. I found the body of the deceased lying in her bed, which had apparently not been disturbed. She had been dead about ten hours, and rigidity was complete in the limbs but not in the trunk. The cause of death was a deep wound extending right across the throat and dividing all the structures down to the spine. It had been inflicted with a single sweep of a knife while deceased was lying down, and was evidently homicidal. It was not possible for the deceased to have inflicted the wound herself. It was made with a single-edged knife, drawn from left to right; the assailant stood on a hassock placed on a box at the head of the bed and leaned over to strike the blow. The murderer is probably quite a short person, very muscular, and right-handed. There was no sign of a struggle, and, judging by the nature of the injuries, I should say that death was almost instantaneous. In the left hand of the deceased was a small tress of a woman’s red hair. I have compared that hair with that of the accused, and am of opinion that it is her hair.”

      “You were shown a knife belonging to the accused?”

      “Yes; a stencil-knife. There were stains of dried blood on it which I have examined and find to be mammalian blood. It is probably human blood, but I cannot say with certainty that it is.”

      “Could the wound have been inflicted with this knife?”

      “Yes, though it is a small knife to produce so deep a wound. Still, it is quite possible.”

      The coroner glanced at Mr. Horwitz. “Do you wish to ask this witness any questions?” he inquired.

      “If you please, sir,” was the reply. The solicitor rose, and, having glanced through his notes, commenced: “You have described certain blood-stains on this knife. But we have heard that there was blood-stained water in the wash-hand basin, and it is suggested, most reasonably, that the murderer washed his hands and the knife. But if the knife was washed, how do you account for the bloodstains on it?”

      “Apparently the knife was not washed, only the hands.”

      “But is not that highly improbable?”

      “No, I think not.”

      “You say that there was no struggle, and that death was practically instantaneous, but yet the deceased had torn out a lock of the murderess’s hair. Are not those two statements inconsistent with one another?”

      “No. The hair was probably grasped convulsively at the moment of death. At any rate, the hair was undoubtedly in the dead woman’s hand.”

      “Is it possible to identify positively the hair of any individual?”

      “No. Not with certainty. But this is very peculiar hair.”

      The solicitor sat down, and, Dr. Hart having been called, and having briefly confirmed the evidence of his principal, the coroner announced: “The next witness, gentleman, is Dr. Thorndyke, who was present almost accidentally, but was actually the first on the scene of the murder. He has since made an examination of the body, and will, no doubt, be able to throw some further light on this horrible crime.”

      Thorndyke stood up, and, having been sworn, laid on the table a small box with a leather handle. Then, in answer to the coroner’s questions, he described himself as the lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence at St. Margaret’s Hospital, and briefly explained his connection with the case. At this point the foreman of the jury interrupted to ask that his opinion might be taken on the hair and the knife, as these were matters of contention, and the objects in question were accordingly handed to him.

      “Is the hair in the packet marked A in your opinion from the same person as that in the packet marked B?” the coroner asked.

      “I have no doubt that they are from the same person,” was the reply.

      “Will you examine this knife and tell us if the wound on the deceased might have been inflicted with it?”

      Thorndyke examined the blade attentively, and then handed the knife back to the coroner.

      “The wound might have been inflicted with this knife,” said he, “but I am quite sure it was not.”

      “Can you give us your reasons for that very definite opinion?”

      “I think,” said Thorndyke, “that it will save time if I give you the facts in a connected order.” The coroner bowed assent, and he proceeded: “I will not waste your time by reiterating facts already stated. Sergeant Bates has fully described the state of the room, and I have nothing to add on that subject. Dr. Davidson’s description of the body covers all the facts: the woman had been dead about ten hours, the wound was unquestionably homicidal, and was inflicted in the manner that he has described. Death was apparently instantaneous, and I should say that the deceased never awakened from her sleep.”

      “But,” objected the coroner, “the deceased held a lock of hair in her hand.”

      “That hair,” replied Thorndyke, “was not the hair of the murderer. It was placed in the hand of the corpse for an obvious purpose; and the fact that the murderer had brought it with him shows that the crime was premeditated, and that it was committed by someone who had had access to the house and was acquainted with its inmates.”

      As Thorndyke made this statement, coroner, jurymen, and spectators alike gazed at him in open-mouthed amazement. There was an interval of intense silence, broken by a wild, hysteric laugh from Mrs. Goldstein, and then the coroner asked:

      “How did you know that the hair in the hand of the corpse was not that of the murderer?”

      “The inference was very obvious. At the first glance the peculiar and conspicuous colour of the hair struck me as suspicious. But there were three facts, each of which was in itself sufficient to prove that the hair was probably not that of the murderer.

      “In the first place there was the condition of the hand. When a person, at the moment of death, grasps any object firmly, there is set up a condition known as cadaveric spasm. The muscular contraction passes immediately into rigor mortis, or death-stiffening, and the object remains grasped by the dead hand until the rigidity passes off. In this case the hand was perfectly rigid, but it did not grasp the hair at all. The little tress lay in the palm quite loosely and the hand was only partially closed. Obviously the hair had been placed in it after death. The other two facts had reference to the condition of the hair itself. Now, when a lock of hair is torn from the head, it is evident that all the roots will be found at the same end of the lock. But in the present instance this was not the case; the lock of hair which lay in the dead woman’s hand had roots at both ends, and so could not have been torn from the head of the murderer. But the third fact that I observed was still more conclusive. The hairs of which that little tress was composed had not been pulled out at all. They had fallen out spontaneously. They were, in fact, shed hairs—probably combings. Let me explain the difference. When a hair is shed naturally, it drops out of the little tube in the skin called the root sheath, having been pushed out by the young hair growing up underneath; the root end of such a shed hair shows nothing but a small bulbous enlargement—the root bulb. But when a hair is forcibly pulled out, its root drags out the root sheath with it, and this can be plainly seen as a glistening mass on the end of the hair. If Miriam Goldstein will pull out a hair and pass it to me, I will show you the great difference between hair which is pulled out and hair which is shed.”

      The unfortunate Miriam needed no pressing. In a twinkling she had tweaked out a dozen hairs, which a constable handed across to Thorndyke, by whom they were at once fixed in a paper-clip. A second clip being produced from the box, half a dozen hairs taken from the tress which had been found in the dead woman’s hand were fixed in it. Then Thorndyke handed the two clips,