But the
prejudice in favour of the prosecution--I will not say against the
defence--was too much for me, and common sense, the defendant's
declarations, and my eloquence all went for nothing."
"Of course they produced the knife?"
"Yes, they produced the knife."
"It was in his pocket?"
"Yes."
"Have they that here?"
"No, we haven't that here."
"But you remember it?"
"Remember it?"
"Was it a new knife, a whole one, I mean, with all its blades
sharp and in good order?"
"Yes. I can say that. I handled it several times."
"Then, whose blade left that?" And again she pointed to the same
place on the stick where her finger had fallen before.
"I don't know what you mean." The sergeant looked puzzled.
Perhaps, his eyesight was not very keen.
"Have you a magnifying-glass? There is something embedded in this
wood. Try and find out what it is."
The sergeant, with a queer look at Mr. Black, who returned it with
interest, went for a glass, and when he had used it, the stare he
gave the heavily veiled woman drove Mr. Black to reach out his own
hand for the glass.
"Well," he burst forth, after a prolonged scrutiny, "there is
something there."
"The point of a knife blade. The extreme point," she emphasised.
"It might easily escape the observation even of the most critical,
without such aid as is given by this glass."
"No one thought of using a magnifying-glass on this," blurted out
the sergeant. "The marks made by the knife were plain enough for
all to see, and that was all which seemed important.
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