stand. I ask the jury to 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: