The Collected Works of R. Austin Freeman (Illustrated Edition). R. Austin Freeman

myself, and sure enough the drawer was empty. Well, I didn't think much of it at the time, but when we came home again, as soon as we got out of the cab, I gave Juliet my handkerchief-bag to put away, and presently she came running to me in a great state of excitement. 'Why, Auntie,' she said,' the "Thumbograph" is in the drawer; somebody must have been meddling with your writing table.' I went with her to the drawer, and there, sure enough, was the 'Thumbograph.' Somebody must have taken it out and put it back while we were away."

      "Who could have had access to your writing table?"

      "Oh, anybody, because, you see, the drawers were never locked. We thought it must have been one of the servants."

      "Had anyone been to the house during your absence?"

      "No. Nobody, except, of course, my two nephews; and neither of them had touched it, because we asked them, and they both said they had not."

      "Thank you." Anstey sat down, and Mrs. Hornby having given another correcting twist to her bonnet, was about to step down from the box when Sir Hector rose and bestowed upon her an intimidating stare.

      "You made some reference," said he, "to a society—the Society of Paralysed Idiots, I think, whatever that may be. Now what caused you to make that reference?"

      "It was a mistake; I was thinking of something else."

      "I know it was a mistake. You referred to a paper that was in your hand."

      "I did not refer to it, I merely looked at it. It is a letter from the Society of Paralysed Idiots. It is nothing to do with me really, you know; I don't belong to the society, or anything of that sort."

      "Did you mistake that paper for some other paper?"

      "Yes, I took it for a paper with some notes on it to assist my memory."

      "What kind of notes?"

      "Oh, just the questions I was likely to be asked."

      "Were the answers that you were to give to those questions also written on the paper?"

      "Of course they were. The questions would not have been any use without the answers."

      "Have you been asked the questions that were written on the paper?"

      "Yes; at least, some of them."

      "Have you given the answers that were written down?"

      "I don't think I have—in fact, I am sure I haven't, because, you see—"

      "Ah! you don't think you have." Sir Hector Trumpler smiled significantly at the jury, and continued—

      "Now who wrote down those questions and answers?"

      "My nephew, Walter Hornby. He thought, you know—"

      "Never mind what he thought. Who advised or instructed him to write them down?"

      "Nobody. It was entirely his own idea, and very thoughtful of him, too, though Dr. Jervis took the paper away from me and said I must rely on my memory."

      Sir Hector was evidently rather taken aback by this answer, and sat down suddenly, with a distinctly chapfallen air.

      "Where is this paper on which the questions and answers are written?" asked the judge. In anticipation of this inquiry I had already handed it to Thorndyke, and had noted by the significant glance that he bestowed on me that he had not failed to observe the peculiarity in the type. Indeed the matter was presently put beyond all doubt, for he hastily passed to me a scrap of paper, on which I found, when I opened it out, that he had written "X = W.H."

      As 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!"

      Thorndyke Plays His Card

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      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 finger-prints?"

      "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?"