“And the other photographs?” he asked.

“I got only two prints from the other robe,” said Sylvester.  “All but these were hopelessly smudged, as though the hand had moved while touching the garment.”

“You mean they were all made by one hand?” asked Goldberger.

“Yes, sir; by the right hand.  Again I have a print of the thumb and one of the third finger.”

He passed the photographs over, and again Goldberger handed them on to the jury.

“Mr. Sylvester,” said the coroner, “you consider the finger-print method of identification a positive one, do you not?”

“Absolutely so.”

“Even with a single finger?”

“Perhaps with a single finger there may be some doubt, if there is no other evidence.  Somebody has computed that the chance of two prints being exactly the same is one in sixty-four millions.”

“And where there is other evidence?”

“I should say that a single finger was enough.”

“Suppose you have two fingers?”

“Then it is absolutely certain.”

“And three fingers?”

Sylvester shrugged his shoulders to indicate that proof could go no further.  Goldberger took back the photographs from the foreman of the jury and ranged them before him on the table.

“Now, Mr. Sylvester,” he said, “did you notice any correspondence between these prints?”

“Yes,” answered the witness, in a low voice; “the thumb-prints on both robes were made by the same hand.”

The audience sat spell-bound, staring, scarce breathing.  I dared not glance at Swain.  I could not take my eyes from that pale-faced man on the witness-stand, who knew that with every word he was riveting an awful crime to a living fellow-being.

“One question more,” said Goldberger.  “Have you any way of telling by whom these prints were made?”

“Yes,” said Sylvester again, and his voice was so low I could scarcely hear it.  “They were made by Frederic Swain.  The prints he made just now correspond with them in every detail!”

CHAPTER XV

THE CHAIN TIGHTENS

An instant’s silence followed Sylvester’s words, and then a little murmur of interest and excitement, as the reporters bent closer above their work.  I heard a quick, deep intaking of the breath from the man who sat beside me, and then I was on my feet.

“Your Honour,” I said to Goldberger, “it seems that an effort is to be made to incriminate Mr. Swain in this affair, and he should therefore be represented by counsel.  I myself intend to represent him, and I ask for 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 finished with Mr. Sylvester.  We will adjourn now, if you wish—­until one-thirty,” he added.