The next morning M. Latour’s trial was resumed, and Maitland again put M. Godin upon the stand.  The object of this did not appear at the time, though I think the Judge fully understood it.  Maitland’s first act was to show the Judge and Jury a glass negative and a letter, which he asked them to examine carefully as he held the articles before them.  He then passed the negative to M. Godin, saying: 

“Please take this by the lower corner, between your thumb and forefinger, so that you may be sure not to touch the sight of the picture; hold it to the light, and tell me if you recognise the face.”  M. Godin did as directed and replied without hesitancy:  “It is a picture of M. Latour.”  “Good,” rejoined Maitland, taking back the negative and passing him the letter; “now tell me if you recognise that signature.”  M. Godin looked sharply at the letter, holding it open between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, and read the signature, “‘Carl Cazenove.’  I should say that was M. Latour’s hand.”

“Good again,” replied Maitland, reaching for the paper and appearing somewhat disconcerted as he glanced at it.  “You have smutched the signature;—­however, it doesn’t matter,” and he exhibited the paper to the Judge and Jury.  “The negative must have been oily—­yes, that’s where it came from,” and he quietly examined it with a magnifying glass, to the wonderment of us all.  “That is all, M. Godin; thank you.”

As the celebrated detective left the stand we were all doing our best to fathom what possible bearing all this could have upon Latour’s confession.  M. Godin for once seemed equally at a loss to comprehend the trend of affairs, if I may judge by the deep furrows which gathered between his eyes.

Maitland then proceeded to address the Court and to sum up his case, the gist of which I shall give you as nearly as possible in his own words, omitting only such portions as were purely formal, uninteresting, or unnecessarily verbose.

“Your Honour and Gentlemen of the Jury:  John Darrow was murdered and the prisoner, M. Gustave Latour, has confessed that he did the deed.  When a man denies the commission of a crime we do not feel bound to consider his testimony of any particular value; but when, on the other hand, a prisoner accused of so heinous a crime as murder responds to the indictment, ‘I am guilty,’ we instinctively feel impelled to believe his testimony.  Why is this?  Why do we doubt his word when he asserts his innocence and accept it when he acknowledges his guilt?  I will tell you.  It is all a question of motive.  Could we see as cogent a motive for asseverating his guilt as we find for his insisting upon his innocence, we should lend as much credence to the one as to the other.  I propose to show that M. Latour has what seems to him the strongest of motives for confessing to the murder of John Darrow.  If I am able to do this to your satisfaction, I shall practically have thrown M. Latour’s entire testimony out of court, and nothing of importance will then remain but the evidence of the government’s witness, M. Godin.”