The Red Thumb Mark

THE RED THUMB MARK
BY R. AUSTIN FREEMAN

PREFACE
In writing the following story, the author has had in view no purpose
other than that of affording entertainment to such readers as are
interested in problems of crime and their solutions; and the story itself
differs in no respect from others of its class, excepting in that an effort
has been made to keep within the probabilities of ordinary life, both in
the characters and in the incidents.
Nevertheless it may happen that the book may serve a useful purpose in
drawing attention to certain popular misapprehensions on the subject of
finger-prints and their evidential value; misapprehensions the extent of
which may be judged when we learn from the newspapers that several
Continental commercial houses have actually substituted finger-prints
for signed initials.
The facts and figures contained in Mr. Singleton's evidence, including
the very liberal estimate of the population of the globe, are, of course,
taken from Mr. Galton's great and important work on finger-prints; to
which the reader who is interested in the subject is referred for much
curious and valuable information.
In conclusion, the author desires to express his thanks to his friend Mr.
Bernard E. Bishop for the assistance rendered to him in certain
photographic experiments, and to those officers of the Central Criminal
Court who very kindly furnished him with details of the procedure in
criminal trials.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
MY LEARNED BROTHER
CHAPTER II
THE SUSPECT
CHAPTER III
A LADY IN THE CASE
CHAPTER IV
CONFIDENCES
CHAPTER V
THE "THUMBOGRAPH"
CHAPTER VI
COMMITTED FOR TRIAL
CHAPTER VII
SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS
CHAPTER VIII
A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT
CHAPTER IX
THE PRISONER

CHAPTER X
POLTON IS MYSTIFIED
CHAPTER XI
THE AMBUSH
CHAPTER XII
IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
CHAPTER XIII
MURDER BY POST
CHAPTER XIV
A STARTLING DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XV
THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS
CHAPTER XVI
THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD
CHAPTER XVII
AT LAST
CHAPTER I
MY LEARNED BROTHER
"Conflagratam Anno 1677. Fabricatam Anno 1698. Richardo Powell

Armiger Thesaurar." The words, set in four panels, which formed a
frieze beneath the pediment of a fine brick portico, summarised the
history of one of the tall houses at the upper end of King's Bench Walk
and as I, somewhat absently, read over the inscription, my attention
was divided between admiration of the exquisitely finished carved
brickwork and the quiet dignity of the building, and an effort to
reconstitute the dead and gone Richard Powell, and the stirring times in
which he played his part.
I was about to turn away when the empty frame of the portico became
occupied by a figure, and one so appropriate, in its wig and obsolete
habiliments, to the old-world surroundings that it seemed to complete
the picture, and I lingered idly to look at it. The barrister had halted in
the doorway to turn over a sheaf of papers that he held in his hand, and,
as he replaced the red tape which bound them together, he looked up
and our eyes met. For a moment we regarded one another with the
incurious gaze that casual strangers bestow on one another; then there
was a flash of mutual recognition; the impassive and rather severe face
of the lawyer softened into a genial smile, and the figure, detaching
itself from its frame, came down the steps with a hand extended in
cordial greeting.
"My dear Jervis," he exclaimed, as we clasped hands warmly, "this is a
great and delightful surprise. How often have I thought of my old
comrade and wondered if I should ever see him again, and lo! here he is,
thrown up on the sounding beach of the Inner Temple, like the
proverbial bread cast upon the waters."
"Your surprise, Thorndyke, is nothing to mine," I replied, "for your
bread has at least returned as bread; whereas I am in the position of a
man who, having cast his bread upon the waters, sees it return in the
form of a buttered muffin or a Bath bun. I left a respectable medical
practitioner and I find him transformed into a bewigged and begowned
limb of the law."
Thorndyke laughed at the comparison.
"Liken not your old friend unto a Bath bun," said he. "Say, rather, that

you left him a chrysalis and come back to find him a butterfly. But the
change is not so great as you think. Hippocrates is only hiding under
the gown of Solon, as you will understand when I explain my
metamorphosis; and that I will do this very evening, if you have no
engagement."
"I am one of the unemployed at present," I said, "and quite at your
service."
"Then come round to my chambers at seven," said Thorndyke, "and we
will have a chop and a pint of claret together and exchange
autobiographies. I am due in court in