The Gloved Hand

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

  CHAPTER XV

  THE CHAIN TIGHTENS

  An instant's silence followed Sylvester's words, and then a littlemurmur of interest and excitement, as the reporters bent closer abovetheir work. I heard a quick, deep intaking of the breath from the manwho sat beside me, and then I was on my feet.

  "Your Honour," I said to Goldberger, "it seems that an effort is to bemade to incriminate Mr. Swain in this affair, and he should thereforebe represented by counsel. I myself intend to represent him, and I askfor an hour's adjournment in order to consult with my client."

  Goldberger glanced at his watch.

  "I intended to adjourn for lunch," he said, "as soon as I had finishedwith Mr. Sylvester. We will adjourn now, if you wish--untilone-thirty," he added.

  The battery of cameras was clicking at Swain, and two or three artistswere making sketches of his head; there was a great bustle as thereporters gathered up their papers and hurried to their cars to searchfor the nearest telephone; the jury walked heavily away in charge ofan officer to get their lunch at some near-by road-house; Sylvesterwas gathering up his prints and photographs and putting them carefullyin his pocket; Simmonds was replacing the blood-stained clothing inthe suit-case, to be held as evidence for the trial; but Swain satthere, with arms folded, staring straight before him, apparentlyunconscious of all this.

  Goldberger looked at him closely, as he came down to speak to me, butSwain did not glance up.

  "I can parole him in your custody, I suppose, Mr. Lester?" the coronerasked.

  "Yes; certainly," I assented.

  "Sylvester's evidence makes it look bad for him."

  "Will you introduce me to Sylvester? I should like to go over theprints with him."

  "Certainly;" and, a moment later, with the prints spread out beforeus, Sylvester was showing me their points of similarity.

  Godfrey came forward while he was talking and stood looking over hisshoulder.

  I had heard of finger-print identification, of course, many times, buthad made no study of the subject, and, I confess, the blurredphotographs which Sylvester offered for my inspection seemed to memighty poor evidence upon which to accuse a man of murder. Thephotographs showed the prints considerably larger than life-size, butthis enlargement had also exaggerated the threads of the cloth, sothat the prints seemed half-concealed by a heavy mesh. To the nakedeye, the lines were almost indistinguishable, but under Sylvester'spowerful glass they came out more clearly.

  "The thumb," said Sylvester, following the lines first to the rightand then to the left with the point of a pencil, "is what we call adouble whorl. It consists of fourteen lines, or ridges. With themicrometer," and he raised the lid of a little leather box which stoodon the table, took out an instrument of polished steel and applied itto one of the photographs, "we get the angle of these ridges. See howI adjust it," and I watched him, as, with a delicate thumbscrew, hemade the needle-like points of the finder coincide with the outsidelines of the whorl. "Now here is a photograph from the other robe,also showing the thumb," and he applied the machine carefully to it."It also is a double whorl of fourteen lines, and you see the anglesare the same. And here is the print of the right thumb which yourclient made for me." He applied the micrometer and drew back that Imight see for myself.

  "But these photographs are enlarged," I objected.

  "That makes no difference. Enlargement does not alter the angles.Here are the other prints."

  He compared them one by one, in the same manner. When he had finished,there was no escaping the conviction that they had been made by thesame hand--that is, unless one denied the theory of finger-printidentification altogether, and that, I knew, would be absurd. As hefinished his demonstration, Sylvester glanced over my shoulder with alittle deprecating smile, as of a man apologising for doing anunpleasant duty, and I turned to find Swain standing there, his facelined with perplexity.

  "You heard?" I asked.

  "Yes; and I believe Mr. Sylvester is right. I can't understand it."

  "Well," I said, "suppose we go and have some lunch, and then we cantalk it over," and thanking Sylvester for his courtesy, I led Swainaway. Godfrey fell into step beside us, and for some moments we walkedon in silence.

  "There is only one explanation that I can see," said Godfrey, at last."Swain, you remember, got to the library about a minute ahead of us,and when we reached the door he was lifting Miss Vaughan to the couch.In that minute, he must have touched the dead man."

  Swain shook his head doubtfully.

  "I don't see why I should have done that," he said.

  "It isn't a question of why you did it," Godfrey pointed out. "It's aquestion of whether you did it. Go over the scene in your mind,recalling as many details as you can, and then we'll go over ittogether, step by step, after lunch."

  It was a silent meal, and when it was over, Godfrey led the way intohis study.

  "Now," he began, when we were seated, "where was Miss Vaughan at themoment you sprang through the door?"

  "She was lying on the floor by the table, in front of her father'schair," Swain replied.

  "You are sure of that?"

  "Yes; I didn't see her until I ran around the table."

  "I was hoping," said Godfrey, "that she had fainted with her armsclasped about her father's neck, and that, in freeing them, you madethose marks on his robe."

  But Swain shook his head.

  "No," he said; "I'm positive I didn't touch him."

  "Then how did the marks get there?"

  "I don't know," said Swain helplessly.

  "Now, see here, Swain," said Godfrey, a little sternly, "there is onlyone way in which those finger-prints could have got on that garment,and that is from your fingers. If you didn't put them thereconsciously, you must have done so unconsciously. If they aren'texplained in some way, the jury will very probably hold youresponsible for the crime."

  "I understand that," Swain answered thickly; "but how can they beexplained? I don't see why I should put my hands on Mr. Vaughan'sthroat, even unconsciously. And then there's the fact that at no timeduring the evening was I really unconscious--I was only confused anddazed."

  "Goldberger's theory is plain enough," said Godfrey, turning to me;"and I must say that it's a good one. He realises that there wasn'tprovocation enough to cause a man like Swain to commit murder, withall his senses about him; but his presumption is that the crime wascommitted while Swain was in a dazed condition and not whollyself-controlled. Such a thing is possible."

  "No, it isn't!" cried Swain, his face livid. "It isn't possible! I'mnot a murderer. I remember everything else--do you think I wouldn'tremember a thing like that!"

  "I don't know what to think," Godfrey admitted, a straight linebetween his brows. "Besides, there's the handkerchief."

  "I don't see any mystery about that," said Swain. "There's only oneway that could have come there. It dropped from my wrist when Istooped over Miss Vaughan."

  Godfrey looked at me, and I nodded. Swain might as well know theworst.

  "That would be an explanation, sure enough," said Godfrey, slowly,"but for one fact--you didn't have any bandage on your wrist when youcame back over the wall. Both Lester and I saw your wrist and the cuton it distinctly. Therefore, if you dropped the handkerchief there, itmust have been before that."

  The blood had run from Swain's cheeks, as though drained by an openartery, and for a moment he sat silent, staring at the speaker. Thenhe raised his trembling right hand and looked at it, as though itmight bear some mark to tell him whether it were indeed guilty.

  "But--but I don't understand!" he cried thickly. "You--you don't meanto intimate--you don't believe--but I wasn't unconscious, I tell you!I wasn't near the house until after we heard the screams! I'm sure ofit! I'd stake my soul on it!"

  "Get a grip of yourself, Swain," said Godfrey, soothingly. "Don't letyourself go like that. No, I don't believe you killed WorthingtonVaughan, consciously or unconsciously. I said Goldberger's theory wasa good one, and it is; but I don't bel
ieve it. My belief is that themurder was done by the Thug; but there's nothing to support it, exceptthe fact that he was on the ground and that a noose was used. There'snot a bit of direct evidence to connect him with the crime, andthere's a lot of direct evidence to connect you with it. It's up to usto explain it away. Now, think carefully before you answer myquestions: Have you any recollection, however faint, of having seenMahbub before this morning?"

  Swain sat for quite a minute searching his consciousness. Then, to mygreat disappointment, he shook his head.

  "No," he said; "I am sure I never saw him before."

  "Nor Silva?"

  "No, nor Silva--except, of course, the time, three or four months ago,when he gave me Mr. Vaughan's message."

  "Have you a distinct recollection that the library was empty when yousprang into it?"

  "Yes; very distinct. I remember looking about it, and then runningpast the table and discovering Miss Vaughan."

  "You saw her father also?"

  "Yes; but I merely glanced at him. I realised that he was dead."

  "And you also have a distinct recollection that you did not approachhim or touch him?"

  "I am quite certain of that," answered Swain, positively.

  "Then I give it up," said Godfrey, and lay back in his chair.

  There was a queer boiling of ideas in my mind; ideas difficult toclothe with words, and composed of I know not what farrago ofoccultism, mysticism, and Oriental magic; but at last I managed tosimmer them down to a timid question:

  "I know it sounds foolish, but wouldn't it be possible, Godfrey, toexplain all this by hypnosis, or occult influence, or something ofthat sort?"

  Godfrey turned and looked at me.

  "Silva seems to have impressed you," he said.

  "He has. But isn't such an explanation possible?"

  "I don't think so. I don't deny that the Orientals have gone fartheralong certain paths of psychology than we have, but as to theirpossessing any occult power, it is, in my opinion, all bosh. As forhypnosis, the best authorities agree that no man can be hypnotised todo a thing which, in his normal condition, would be profoundlyrepugnant to him. Indeed, few men can be hypnotised against theirwill. To be hypnotised, you have to yield yourself. Of course, themore you yield yourself, the weaker you grow, but that doesn't applyto Swain. I shouldn't advise you to use that line of argument to ajury," he added, with a smile. "You'd better just leave the wholething up in the air."

  "Well," I said, "I'll make the best fight I can. I was hoping Swaincould help me; since he can't, we'll have to trust to luck."

  Godfrey left us to get his story of the morning hearing into shape,and I fell into a gloomy revery. I could see no way out of the maze;either Swain had touched Vaughan's body, or it had been touched byanother man with the same finger-markings. I sat suddenly upright, forif there was such a man, he must be one of two....

  "What is it?" Swain asked, looking at me.

  "A long shot," I said. "An exceedingly long shot--athree-hundred-million to one shot. How many people are there in theworld, Swain?"

  "I'm sure I don't know," and he stared at me in bewilderment.

  "I think it's something like a billion and a half. If that is true,then it's possible that there are four people in the world, besideyourself, with the thumb and two fingers of the right hand markedexactly as yours are."

  "We must have a reunion, some day," Swain remarked, with irony.

  But I refused to be diverted.

  "Allowing for imperceptible differences," I went on, "I think it issafe to assume that there are ten such people."

  "Well," said Swain, bitterly, "I know one thing that it _isn't_ safeto assume, and that is that either of those Hindus is one of thoseten. I suppose that is the assumption you will make next?"

  "It's an assumption I intend to put to the proof, anyway," I answered,somewhat testily, "and if it fails, I'm afraid you'll have to go tojail till I can dig up some more evidence."

  He turned toward me quickly, his face working.

  "See here, Mr. Lester," he said, "don't misunderstand me. I'm awfullygrateful for all you're doing for me; but I don't mind going tojail--not on my own account. I'm innocent, and I'll be able to proveit in time. But Marjorie mustn't be left alone. I'd be ready to faceanything if I knew that she was safe. She mustn't be left in thathouse--not a single night. Promise me that you'll take her with you assoon as the inquest's over!"

  "I'll promise that, Swain, gladly," I said, "provided, of course, thedoctor consents."

  "We must get him," and Swain sprang to his feet. "We must explain tohim how important it is."

  "Perhaps I can get him on the 'phone," I said; but the person whoanswered told me that he had already started for the inquest. And, amoment later, Mrs. Hargis tapped at the door of the study and saidthat the doctor was outside. I told her to show him in at once.

  "The truth is," said Hinman, shaking hands with both of us, "I thoughtI'd drop in to find out if there was anything I could do. Noreasonable person," he went on, turning to Swain, "believes you killedthat defenceless old man; but those finger-prints certainly do puzzleme."

  "They puzzle me, too," said Swain; "but I'll prove myinnocence--though it will take time."

  "It looks to me," said the doctor, slowly, "that about the only wayyou can prove your innocence is to catch the real murderer."

  "That's exactly what we're going to try to do," I assented.

  "And meanwhile Mr. Swain will be in jail?" asked the doctor.

  "I'm afraid there's no help for it," I admitted ruefully.

  "I was just telling Mr. Lester that I didn't mind that," said Swainearnestly, "that I could stand anything, if I was only sure that MissVaughan was safe. She isn't safe in that house. Mr. Lester hasarranged to place her with the family of his partner, Mr. Royce,where she will be properly taken care of. Is there any reason why shecan't be taken there to-day?"

  The doctor considered for a moment.

  "Ordinarily," he said, at last, "I would advise that she be left whereshe is for a few days; but, under the circumstances, perhaps she wouldbetter be moved. You can get an easy-riding carriage--or a car willdo, if you drive carefully. The nurses, will, of course, go along. Theonly thing is, she will probably wish to attend her father's funeral,which takes place to-morrow."

  Swain bit his lips nervously.

  "I have a horror of her staying in that house another night," he said;"but I hadn't thought of the funeral. There is one nurse on duty allthe time, isn't there, doctor?"

  "Yes."

  "All right, then; we'll risk one night more. But you promise me thatshe shall be taken away immediately after the funeral?"

  "Yes," I said, "I promise."

  "And I," said the doctor. Then he looked at his watch. "It's time wewere getting back," he added.

  He took us over in his car, and we found the jury, under the guidanceof Simmonds, just coming out of the house, each member smoking a fatblack cigar at the expense of the State. They had been viewing thebody and the scene of the crime, but as they filed back into theirseats, I noted that they seemed anything but depressed. The lunch hadevidently been a good one.

  Sylvester was recalled to finish his testimony. He explained thesystem of curves and angles by which finger-prints are grouped andclassified, and the various points of resemblance by which two printscould be proved to have been made by the same finger. There was, firstof all, the general convolution, whether a flexure, a stria, a sinus,a spiral, a circle, or a whorl; there was, secondly, the number ofridges in the convolution; and there was, thirdly, the angles whichthese ridges made. If two prints agreed in all these details, theiridentity was certain. He then proceeded to show that the prints madethat morning by Swain did so agree with the photographs of the printson the garments. Finally the witness was turned over to me forcross-examination.

  "Mr. Sylvester," I began, "are you willing to assert that thosefinger-prints could have been made by no man in the world except Mr.Swain?"

  Sylvester h
esitated, just as I hoped he would do.

  "No," he answered, at last, "I can't assert that, Mr. Lester. Theremay be three or four other men in the world with finger-prints likethese. But the probabilities against any of these men having madethese prints are very great. Besides, it is a thing easily proved--thenumber of persons who might have committed the crime is limited, andit is an easy thing to secure prints of their fingers."

  "That is what I was about to propose," I agreed. "I should like thefinger-prints taken of every one who was in the house Thursday night."

  "Do I understand that your case stands or falls upon this point?"asked the coroner.

  "Your Honor," I answered, "my client cannot explain how the prints ofhis fingers, if they are his, came to be upon that robe. The one thinghe is certain of is that they were not placed there by him. Not once,during the entire evening, was my client near enough to Mr. Vaughan totouch him; not once did he so far lose consciousness as to be unableto remember what occurred. We have racked our brains for anexplanation, and the only possible one seems to be that the prints ofthe real murderer resemble those of my client. And when I say the realmurderer," I added, "I do not necessarily mean one of the persons whomwe know to have been in the house. Outside of these finger-prints,there has been absolutely no evidence introduced here to prove thatthe crime might not have been committed by some person unknown to us."

  "You can scarcely expect the jury to believe, however," Goldbergerpointed out, "that this supposititious person had finger-tips likeyour client's."

  "No," I agreed, "I make no such assertion; my hope is that we shallsoon have the prints of the real murderer; and when I say the realmurderer," I added, looking at the jury, "I believe every one presentunderstands who I mean."

  The coroner rapped sharply; but I had said what I wished to say, andsat down. The witnesses of the morning were ordered to be brought out.Sylvester arranged his ink-pad and sheets of paper.

  "It seems to me," remarked the coroner, with a smile, "that you andMr. Godfrey would better register, too. You were within strikingdistance."

  "That is right," I agreed, and was the first to register; butSylvester, after a glance at my prints, shook his head.

  "Your thumb is a left sinus," he said. "You're cleared, Mr. Lester."

  Godfrey came forward and registered, too, and after him the threeservants. In each case, a shake of Sylvester's head told the result.

  Then Simmonds came from the house, with Silva and Mahbub after him,and the coroner explained to Silva what was wanted. I fancied that theyogi's brow contracted a little.

  "The registration of the fingers," he said, "of the foot or of thepalm, is with us a religious ceremony, not to be lightly performed. Bysome, it is also held that the touch of ink, unless compounded by apriest of the temple according to a certain formula, is defiling; and,above all, it is impossible for a believer to permit such relics ofhimself to remain in the hands of an infidel."

  "The relics, as you call them," Goldberger explained, "won't need toremain in our hands. My expert here can tell in a minute whether yourprints resemble those of his photographs. If they do not, they will bereturned to you."

  "And if they do?"

  Goldberger laughed.

  "Well, you can have them back, anyway. In that case, I guess we canpersuade you, later on, to make another set."

  The yogi flushed angrily, but controlled himself.

  "I rely upon your promise, sir," he said, and laid his fingers firstupon the pad and then upon the paper.

  He stood with closed eyes and moving lips, his inked fingers heldcarefully away from him, during the breathless moment that Sylvesterbent above the prints. Then the expert looked up and shook his head.

  "No resemblance at all," he said, and held out the sheet of paper onwhich the prints were.

  Silva accepted it silently, and rolled it into a ball in the palm ofhis hand.

  "Now for the other fellow," said Goldberger.

  Silva glanced at his follower doubtfully.

  "I am not sure that I can make him understand," he said, and for somemoments talked energetically to Mahbub in a language which I supposewas Hindu. Mahbub listened, scowling fiercely, speaking a briefsentence now and then. "He would know," Silva asked, at last, turningto the coroner, "whether blood is a constituent of that ink."

  "It is a purely chemical compound," Sylvester explained. "There is noblood in it, nor any other animal matter."

  This was repeated to Mahbub, and, after some further hesitation, headvanced to the table.

  A moment later, Sylvester was bending above the prints. Then he lookedup, his face red with astonishment, and motioned me to approach.

  "Look at that!" he said, and laid the prints before me.

  My heart was leaping with the hope that the incredible had happened;that here lay the clue to the mystery. But the first glance told methat such was not the case. The prints resembled Swain's not at all.And then, when I looked at them again, I perceived that they resembledno other prints which I had ever seen.

  For the prints of all ten fingers were exactly alike, and consisted,not of whorls and spirals, but of straight lines running right acrossthe finger. Sylvester was staring at them in bewilderment.

  "These," he said, when he could find his voice, "are the mostremarkable prints I ever saw."

  "Do they resemble those on the robe?" asked the coroner.

  "Not in the least."

  "Then that settles that point," said Goldberger, with what seemed tome a sigh of relief.

  "There is one thing, though," said Sylvester, eyeing Mahbub curiously;"I wish I knew the secret of these extraordinary prints."

  "I can tell it to you," said Silva, with a little smile. "It is not atall extraordinary. The system of finger-print identification has beenin use among the Hindus for many centuries, and was adopted by theEnglish courts in India nearly a hundred years ago, after every othermethod had failed. The caste of Thuggee, which was at war with allother castes, and especially at war with the English, evaded it bystimulating on the fingers of their male children the formation ofthese artificial ridges. It became a sacred rite, performed by thepriests, and has been maintained by the more devout members of thecaste, although the need for it has ceased."

  Sylvester looked at the prints again.

  "I should like to keep these," he said. "They would be a greataddition to my collection."

  Silva bowed.

  "Mahbub will have no objection," he said. "To him, they are of noimportance, since there are many hundreds of men in the world withfinger-tips identical with his. That is all?"

  Goldberger nodded, and the two strange figures walked slowly awaytoward the house.