distance of many feet, that no two of the patterns were alike.
When Wilson had at last finished his tedious and difficult work,
he arranged his results according to a plan in which a
progressive order and sequence was a principal feature; then he
added to the batch several pantograph enlargements which he had
made from time to time in bygone years.
The night was spent and the day well advanced now. By the
time he had snatched a trifle of breakfast, it was nine o’clock,
and the court was ready to begin its sitting. He was in his
place twelve minutes later with his “records.”
Tom Driscoll caught a slight glimpse of the records,
and nudged his nearest friend and said, with a wink,
“Pudd’nhead’s got a rare eye to business–thinks that as long as
he can’t win his case it’s at least a noble good chance to advertise
his window palace decorations without any expense.” Wilson was
informed that his witnesses had been delayed, but would arrive
presently; but he rose and said he should probably not have
occasion to make use of their testimony. [An amused murmur ran
through the room: “It’s a clean backdown! he gives up without
hitting a lick!”] Wilson continued: “I have other testimony–
and better. [This compelled interest, and evoked murmurs of
surprise that had a detectable ingredient of disappointment in them.]
If I seem to be springing this evidence upon the court,
I offer as my justification for this, that I did not discover its
existence until late last night, and have been engaged in
examining and classifying it ever since, until half an hour ago.
I shall offer it presently; but first I with to say a few
preliminary words.
“May it please the court, the claim given the front place,
the claim most persistently urged, the claim most strenuously and
I may even say aggressively and defiantly insisted upon by the
prosecution is this–that the person whose hand left the
bloodstained fingerprints upon the handle of the Indian knife is
the person who committed the murder.” Wilson paused, during
several moments, to give impressiveness to what he was about to say,
and then added tranquilly, “WE GRANT THAT CLAIM.”
It was an electrical surprise. No one was prepared for such
an admission. A buzz of astonishment rose on all sides,
and people were heard to intimate that the overworked lawyer had
lost his mind. Even the veteran judge, accustomed as he was to legal
ambushes and masked batteries in criminal procedure, was not sure
that his ears were not deceiving him, and asked counsel what it
was he had said. Howard’s impassive face betrayed no sign,
but his attitude and bearing lost something of their careless
confidence for a moment. Wilson resumed:
“We not only grant that claim, but we welcome it and
strongly endorse it. Leaving that matter for the present,
we will now proceed to consider other points in the case which we
propose to establish by evidence, and shall include that one in
the chain in its proper place.”
He had made up his mind to try a few hardy guesses, in
mapping out his theory of the origin and motive of the murder–
guesses designed to fill up gaps in it–guesses which could help
if they hit, and would probably do no harm if they didn’t.
“To my mind, certain circumstances of the case before the
court seem to suggest a motive for the homicide quite different
from the one insisted on by the state. It is my conviction that
the motive was not revenge, but robbery. It has been urged that
the presence of the accused brothers in that fatal room,
just after notification that one of them must take the life of
Judge Driscoll or lose his own the moment the parties should meet,
clearly signifies that the natural of self-preservation moved my
clients to go there secretly and save Count Luigi by destroying
his adversary.
“Then why did they stay there, after the deed was done?
Mrs. Pratt had time, although she did not hear the cry for help,
but woke up some moments later, to run to that room–and there
she found these men standing and making no effort to escape.