months, and also marked A. Does it tally with the other two?" The surprised response was: "You are quite right. Now take these two pantographs of B's autograph, marked five months and seven months. Do they tally with each other?" "Yes-perfectly." "Take this third pantograph marked B, eight months. Does it tally with B's other two?" “By no means!” "Do you know how to account for those strange discrepancies? I will tell you. For a purpose unknown to us, but probably a selfish one, somebody changed those children in the cradle." This produced a vast sensation, naturally; Roxana was astonished at this admirable guess, but not disturbed by it. To guess the exchange was one thing, to guess who did it quite another. Pudd'nhead Wilson could do wonderful things, no doubt, but he couldn't do impossible ones. Safe? She was perfectly safe. She smiled privately. "Between the ages of seven months and eight months those children were changed in the cradle " -he made one of his effect-collecting pauses, and added —“and the person who did it is in this house!" Roxy's pulses stood still! The house was thrilled as with an electric shock, and the people half rose as if to seek a glimpse of the person who had made that exchange. Tom was growing limp; the life seemed oozing out of him. Wilson resumed: "A was put into B's cradle in the nursery; B was transferred to the kitchen and became a negro and a slave, [Sensation - confusion of angry ejaculations]—but within a quarter of an hour he will stand before you white and free! [Burst of applause, checked by the officers.] From seven months onward until now, A has still been a usurper, and in my finger-record he bears B's name. Here is his pantograph at the age of twelve. Compare it with the assassin's signature upon the knife-handle. Do they tally?" The foreman answered: "To the minutest detail!" Wilson said, solemnly: 66 'The murderer of your friend and mine-- York Driscoll of the generous hand and the kindly spirit sits in among you. Valet de Chambre, negro and slave, falsely called Thomas à Becket Driscoll, - make upon the window the finger-prints that will hang you!" Tom turned his ashen face imploringly toward the speaker, made some impotent movement with his white lips, then slid limp and lifeless to the floor. Wilson broke the awed silence with the words: "There is no need. He has confessed." Roxy flung herself upon her knees, covered her face with her hands, and out through her sobs the words struggled: |