“You will pardon me, my lord,” returned Slapperton, “but my hypothesis is that the witness is mistaken. We must bear in mind that there are so many persons in this neighbourhood who might be taken for the prisoner, especially if they were behind a hedge on a dark night.
“In the first place people are much more similar than we always remember, without disputing or accepting the extraordinary idea which exists in so many countries, and is the basis of so many fables, that every man has his ‘double’ somewhere—an individual absolutely identical in appearance with himself. It is quite certain that most extraordinary likenesses do exist among persons wholly disconnected in blood; that there are faces and forms in the world which are rather types than individualities; people so like one another that only the most intimate friends and connections can detect the difference. I trust, my lord, that you do not deem the observations I am making out of place, seeing the importance of the subject in hand.”
“Not at all—I think them both right and proper.”
“Very well, my lord, that being so, I will, with your permission, enlarge more fully on this. The likeness of Madame Lamotte and Marie Antoinette is a well-known historic instance, and there are few persons who have not, in their own experience, met with something of the same kind. I have myself twice. In one case I was on board ship in which were two passengers who neither were, nor by any possibility could be, connected by birth or any other circumstance whatever, except in caste. Oddly enough, they were unaware of the likeness which was the talk of the ship, dressed in the same style; but from some inexplicable revulsion—I am stating mere facts, gentlemen—disliked and avoided each other. In a six weeks’ voyage, and with a tolerably intimate acquaintance with one of the two, I never succeeded in distinguishing them by sight; and of the remaining passengers, certainly one half, say thirty educated persons, were in the same predicament.”
“That appears most extraordinary,” exclaimed the bench.
“I pledge you my word and honour that it is a fact,” returned the wily advocate, who was riding his hobby to the fullest extent.
“In the second instance the evidence is far less perfect, but sufficient for the argument I am now advocating.”
“One day when in Bond-street I stopped short utterly puzzled by the appearance of one of my closest connections but two yards off. Clearly it was he, yet he could from circumstances by no possibility be there. Still it was he, and I advanced to address him, when a momentary smile broke the spell, yet leaving behind the impression. I could have sworn to him in any court of justice.
“The likeness was really astounding, quite sufficient to have deceived any number of policemen unacquainted previously with the other man. And this just brings up the point I want to make—is it not just possible—is it not rather a serious supposition when my client and our criminal procedure is considered—is it not just possible that something like colour blindness affects this matter of identification—that there are a host of persons whose evidence upon any question of identity, though perfectly honest, are worthy of very little trust? That men upon this as upon most other matters are guilty of an uncommon carelessness like that which makes testimony about figured statements so often valueless.”
“The witness speaks most positively,” said Lord Ethalwood. “Nevertheless, I for one, quite agree with you upon the doubts and difficulties attending identification, but there are other witnesses besides the one at present under examination who bear out her testimony.”