My attention was directed to the artifice employed by Lamson, by the shallowness of the stratagem, and by the one circumstance that almost escaped notice—­namely, the Dundee cake and the curious desire of the man to offer the boy a piece in so unusual a manner.  So eager was he to give him a taste that he must needs cut it with his penknife.  I was sure, and am sure now, although there is no evidence but that which common sense, acting on circumstances, suggested, that the aconitine was conveyed to the deceased by means of the piece of cake which Lamson gave him, and being carefully placed in the interior of the raisin, would not operate until the skin had had time to digest, and he the opportunity of getting on his journey to Paris, whither he was bound that night, to await, no doubt, the news of the boy’s illness and death.

If the poison had been conveyed in the capsule, its operation would have been almost immediate, and so would the detection of the aconitine.  As I have said, the contrivance would have been too clumsy for so crafty a mind.  A detective would not expect to find the secret design so foolishly exposed any more than a spectator would expect to see the actual trick of a conjurer in the manner of its performance.

I was not able to bring the artifice before the jury; the Crown had not discovered it, and Lamson’s deep-laid scheme was nearly successful.  His plan, of course, was to lead the prosecution to maintain that he gave the poison in the capsule, and then to compel them to show that there was no evidence of it.  The jury were satisfied that the boy was poisoned by Lamson, and little troubled themselves about the way in which it was done.

A singular case of mistaken identity came under my notice during the trial of a serious charge of wounding with intent to do grievous bodily harm. Five men were charged, and the evidence showed that a most brutal mutilation of a gamekeeper’s hand had been inflicted.  The men were notorious poachers, and were engaged in a poaching expedition when the crime was committed.  One of the accused was a young man, scarcely more than a youth, but I had no doubt that he was the cleverest of the gang.  The men were convicted, but this young man vehemently protested his innocence, and declared that he was not with the gang that night.  His manner impressed me so much that I began to doubt whether some mistake had not been made.  The injured keeper, however, whose honesty I had no reason to doubt, declared that this youth was really the man who knelt on his breast and inflicted the grievous injury to his hand by nearly severing the thumb.  He swore that he had every opportunity of seeing him while he was committing the deed, as his face was close to his own, and their eyes met.

Moreover, the young man’s cap was found close by the spot where the assault took place.  About this there was no dispute and could be no mistake, for the prisoner confessed that the cap was his, adding, however, that he had lent it on that night to one of the other prisoners.  The youth vehemently protested his innocence after the verdict was given.