Now, what led you to believe that fluid to be blood?”
“I took some of the fluid up on a piece of white paper, and it had the appearance and colour of blood.”
“Was it examined microscopically or otherwise?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Was it quite liquid?”
“Yes, I should say quite liquid.”
“What appearance had it on paper?”
“It looked like a clear red liquid of the colour of blood, and was rather thick and sticky.”
Anstey sat down, and the next witness, an elderly man, answering to the name of Francis Simmons, was called.
“You are the housekeeper at Mr. Hornby’s premises in St. Mary Axe?” asked Sir Hector Trumpler.
“I am.”
“Did you notice anything unusual on the night of the ninth of March?”
“I did not.”
“Did you make your usual rounds on that occasion?”
“Yes. I went all over the premises several times during the night, and the rest of the time I was in a room over the private office.”
“Who arrived first on the morning of the tenth?”
“Mr. Reuben. He arrived about twenty minutes before anybody else.”
“What part of the building did he go to?”
“He went into the private office, which I opened for him. He remained there until a few minutes before Mr. Hornby arrived, when he went up to the laboratory.”
“Who came next?”
“Mr. Hornby, and Mr. Walter came in just after him.”
The counsel sat down, and Anstey proceeded to cross-examine the witness.
“Who was the last to leave the premises on the evening of the ninth?”
“I am not sure.”
“Why are you not sure?”
“I had to take a note and a parcel to a firm in Shoreditch. When I started, a clerk named Thomas Holker was in the outer office and Mr. Walter Hornby was in the private office. When I returned they had both gone.”
“Was the outer door locked?”
“Yes.”
“Had Holker a key of the outer door?”
“No. Mr. Hornby and his two nephews had each a key, and I have one. No one else had a key.”
“How long were you absent?”
“About three-quarters of an hour.”
“Who gave you the note and the parcel?”
“Mr. Walter Hornby.”
“When did he give them to you?”
“He gave them to me just before I started, and told me to go at once for fear the place should be closed before I got there.”
“And was the place closed?”
“Yes. It was all shut up, and everybody had gone.”
Anstey resumed his seat, the witness shuffled out of the box with an air of evident relief, and the usher called out, “Henry James Singleton.”
Mr. Singleton rose from his seat at the table by the solicitors for the prosecution and entered the box. Sir Hector adjusted his glasses, turned over a page of his brief, and cast a steady and impressive glance at the jury.
“I believe, Mr. Singleton,” he said at length, “that you are connected with the Finger-print Department at Scotland Yard?”
“Yes. I am one of the chief assistants in that department.”
“What are your official duties?”
“My principal occupation consists in the examination and comparison of the fingerprints of criminals and suspected persons. These fingerprints are classified by me according to their characters and arranged in files for reference.”
“I take it that you have examined a great number of fingerprints?”
“I have examined many thousands of fingerprints, and have studied them closely for purposes of identification.”
“Kindly examine this paper, Mr. Singleton” (here the fatal leaflet was handed to him by the usher); “have you ever seen it before?”
“Yes. It was handed to me for examination at my office on the tenth of March.”
“There is a mark upon it—the print of a finger or thumb. Can you tell us anything about that mark?”
“It is the print of the left thumb of Reuben Hornby, the prisoner at the bar.”
“You are quite sure of that?”
“I am quite sure.”
“Do you swear that the mark upon that paper was made by the thumb of the prisoner?”
“I do.”
“Could it not have been made by the thumb of some other person?”
“No; it is impossible that it could have been made by any other person.”
At this moment I felt Juliet lay a trembling hand on mine, and, glancing at her, I saw that she was deathly pale. I took her hand in mine and, pressing it gently, whispered to her, “Have courage; there is nothing unexpected in this.”
“Thank you,” she whispered in reply, with a faint smile; “I will try; but it is all so horribly unnerving.”
“You consider,” Sir Hector proceeded, “that the identity of this thumb-print admits of no doubt?”
“It admits of no doubt whatever,” replied Mr. Singleton.
“Can you explain to us, without being too technical, how you have arrived at such complete certainty?”
“I myself took a print of the prisoner’s thumb—having first obtained the prisoner’s consent after warning him that the print would be used in evidence against him—and I compared that print with the mark on this paper. The comparison was made with the greatest care and by the most approved method, point by point and detail by detail, and the two prints were found to be identical in every respect.
“Now it has been proved by exact calculations—which calculations I have personally verified—-that the chance that the print of a single finger of any given person will be exactly like the print of the same finger of any other given person is as one to sixty-four thousand millions. That is to say that, since the number of the entire human race is about sixteen thousand millions, the chance is about one to four that the print of a single finger of any one person will be identical with that of the same finger of any other member of the human race.
“It has been said by a great authority—and I entirely agree with the statement—that a complete, or nearly complete, accordance between two prints of a single finger affords evidence requiring no corroboration that the persons from whom they were made are the same.
“Now, these calculations apply to the prints of ordinary and normal fingers or thumbs. But the thumb from which these prints were taken is not ordinary or normal. There is upon it a deep but clean linear scar—the scar of an old incised wound—and this scar passes across the pattern of the ridges, intersecting the latter at certain places and disturbing their continuity at others. Now this very characteristic scar is an additional feature, having a set of chances of its own. So that we have to consider not only the chance that the print of the prisoner’s left thumb should be identical with the print of some other person’s left thumb—which is as one to sixty-four thousand millions—but the further chance that