. . . Oh, monsieur,
don't you understand; don't you see that the assassin who stabbed
Mr. Marsh was left-handed?"
In a moment it was all clear to everybody. Only a left-handed
man could have committed the crime, for only a left-handed man
standing close against the left side of a room above one sitting
at a desk against that wall could have struck straight down into
the left shoulder of the murdered man. A right-handed assassin
would have struck straight down into the right shoulder, he would
not have risked a doubtful blow, delivered awkwardly across his
body, into the left shoulder of his victim.
The girl indicated Thompson with her hand. "He did it; he's
left-handed. I found out by dropping my glove."
Panic enveloped the cornered man. He began to shake as with an
ague. Sweat like a thin oil spread over his debauched face and
the folds of his obese neck. With his fatal left hand he began
to finger the lapel of his coat where the faded rosebud hung
pinned into the buttonhole. And the girl's voice broke the
profound silence of the court-room.
"He has the money, too," she said. "I felt a bulky packet when I
gave him the flower out of my bouquet last night.
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