compare them with the finger marks of the accused upon the
windowpanes, and tell the court if they are the same.”
He passed a powerful magnifying glass to the foreman.
One juryman after another took the cardboard and the glass
and made the comparison. Then the foreman said to the judge:
“Your honor, we are all agreed that they are identical.”
Wilson said to the foreman:
“Please turn that cardboard face down, and take this one,
and compare it searchingly, by the magnifier, with the fatal
signature upon the knife handle, and report your finding to the court.”
Again the jury made minute examinations, and again reported:
“We find them to be exactly identical, your honor.”
Wilson turned toward the counsel for the prosecution,
and there was a clearly recognizable note of warning in his voice
when he said:
“May it please the court, the state has claimed, strenuously
and persistently, that the bloodstained fingerprints upon that
knife handle were left there by the assassin of Judge Driscoll.
You have heard us grant that claim, and welcome it.” He turned
to the jury: “Compare the fingerprints of the accused with the
fingerprints left by the assassin–and report.”
The comparison began. As it proceeded, all movement and all
sound ceased, and the deep silence of an absorbed and waiting
suspense settled upon the house; and when at last the words came,
“THEY DO NOT EVEN RESEMBLE,” a thundercrash of applause followed
and the house sprang to its feet, but was quickly repressed by
official force and brought to order again. Tom was altering his
position every few minutes now, but none of his changes brought
repose nor any small trifle of comfort. When the house’s
attention was become fixed once more, Wilson said gravely,
indicating the twins with a gesture:
“These men are innocent–I have no further concern with them.
[Another outbreak of applause began, but was promptly checked.]
We will now proceed to find the guilty. [Tom’s eyes
were starting from their sockets–yes, it was a cruel day for the
bereaved youth, everybody thought.] We will return to the infant
autographs of A and B. I will ask the jury to take these large
pantograph facsimilies of A’s marked five months and seven months.
Do they tally?”
The foreman responded: “Perfectly.”
“Now examine this pantograph, taken at eight months,
and also marked A. Does it tally with the other two?”
The surprised response was:
“NO–THEY DIFFER WIDELY!”
“You are quite right. Now take these two pantographs of B’s
autograph, marked five months and seven months. Do they tally
with each other?”
“Yes–perfectly.”
“Take this third pantograph marked B, eight months.
Does it tally with B’s other two?”
“BY NO MEANS!”
“Do you know how to account for those strange discrepancies?
I will tell you. For a purpose unknown to us, but probably a
selfish one, somebody changed those children in the cradle.”
This produced a vast sensation, naturally; Roxana was
astonished at this admirable guess, but not disturbed by it.
To guess the exchange was one thing, to guess who did it quite another.
Pudd’nhead Wilson could do wonderful things, no doubt,
but he couldn’t do impossible ones. Safe? She was perfectly safe.
She smiled privately.
“Between the ages of seven months and eight months those
children were changed in the cradle”–he made one of this effect-
collecting pauses, and added–“and the person who did it is in
this house!”
Roxy’s pulses stood still! The house was thrilled as with
an electric shock, and the people half rose as if to seek a
glimpse of the person who had made that exchange. Tom was
growing limp; the life seemed oozing out of him. Wilson resumed:
“A was put into B’s cradle in the nursery; B was transferred
to the kitchen and became a Negro and a slave [Sensation–
confusion of angry ejaculations]–but within a quarter of an hour
he will stand before you white and free! [Burst of applause,
checked by the officers.] From seven months onward until now,
A has still been a usurper, and in my finger record he bears B’s name.
Here is his pantograph at the age of twelve.
Compare it with the assassin’s signature upon the knife handle.