“Then I take it that you did not plead ’guilty’?” said Thorndyke.

“Certainly not; and I never will,” replied Reuben hotly.

“You would not be the first innocent man, by very many, who has entered that plea,” remarked Mr. Lawley.  “It is often the best policy, when the defence is hopelessly weak.”

“It is a policy that will not be adopted by me,” rejoined Reuben.  “I may be, and probably shall be, convicted and sentenced, but I shall continue to maintain my innocence, whatever happens.  Do you think,” he added, turning to Thorndyke, “that you can undertake my defence on that assumption?”

“It is the only assumption on which I should agree to undertake the case,” replied Thorndyke.

“And—­if I may ask the question—­” pursued Reuben anxiously, “do you find it possible to conceive that I may really be innocent?”

“Certainly I do,” Thorndyke replied, on which I observed Mr. Lawley’s eyebrows rise perceptibly.  “I am a man of facts, not an advocate, and if I found it impossible to entertain the hypothesis of your innocence, I should not be willing to expend time and energy in searching for evidence to prove it.  Nevertheless,” he continued, seeing the light of hope break out on the face of the unfortunate young man, “I must impress upon you that the case presents enormous difficulties and that we must be prepared to find them insuperable in spite of all our efforts.”

“I expect nothing but a conviction,” replied Reuben in a calm and resolute voice, “and can face it like a man if only you do not take my guilt for granted, but give me a chance, no matter how small, of making a defence.”

“Everything shall be done that I am capable of doing,” said Thorndyke; “that I can promise you.  The long odds against us are themselves a spur to endeavour, as far as I am concerned.  And now, let me ask you, have you any cuts or scratches on your fingers?”

Reuben Hornby held out both his hands for my colleague’s inspection, and I noticed that they were powerful and shapely, like the hands of a skilled craftsman, though faultlessly kept.  Thorndyke set on the table a large condenser such as is used for microscopic work, and taking his client’s hand, brought the bright spot of light to bear on each finger in succession, examining their tips and the parts around the nails with the aid of a pocket lens.

“A fine, capable hand, this,” said he, regarding the member approvingly, as he finished his examination, “but I don’t perceive any trace of a scar on either the right or left.  Will you go over them, Jervis?  The robbery took place a fortnight ago, so there has been time for a small cut or scratch to heal and disappear entirely.  Still, the matter is worth noting.”

He handed me the lens and I scrutinised every part of each hand without being able to detect the faintest trace of any recent wound.

“There is one other matter that must be attended to before you go,” said Thorndyke, pressing the electric bell-push by his chair.  “I will take one or two prints of the left thumb for my own information.”