They saw at once that if this discovery were admitted to be an absolute fact, the whole drift of their conclusions must be changed.
“Examine the book for yourselves. To my mind it is perfectly clear and beyond all question,” insisted Sir Charles. “I am quite positive that the last pages were written by a different hand from the first.”
CHAPTER XIX
For several minutes both the Judge and the detective pored over the note-book, examining page after page, shaking their heads, and declining to accept the evidence of their eyes.
“I cannot see it,” said the Judge at last; adding reluctantly, “No doubt there is a difference, but it is to be explained.”
“Quite so,” put in M. Floçon. “When he wrote the early part, he was calm and collected; the last entries, so straggling, so ragged, and so badly written, were made when he was fresh from the crime, excited, upset, little master of himself. Naturally he would use a different hand.”
“Or he would wish to disguise it. It was likely he would so wish,” further remarked the Judge.
“You admit, then, that there is a difference?” argued the General, shrewdly. “But there is more than a disguise. The best disguise leaves certain unchangeable features. Some letters, capital G’s, H’s, and others, will betray themselves through the best disguise. I know what I am saying. I have studied the subject of handwriting; it interests me. These are the work of two different hands. Call in an expert; you will find I am right.”
“Well, well,” said the Judge, after a pause, “let us grant your position for the moment. What do you deduce? What do you infer therefrom?”
“Surely you can see what follows—what this leads us to?” said Sir Charles, rather disdainfully.