"
"Was there anything else that seemed to fix the identity of the
murderer?"
"Yes. A tress of a woman's red hair was grasped in the left hand of the
deceased."
As the detective uttered this statement, a simultaneous shriek of horror
burst from the accused woman and her mother. Mrs. Goldstein sank
half-fainting on to a bench, while Miriam, pale as death, stood as one
petrified, fixing the detective with a stare of terror, as he drew from
his pocket two small paper packets, which he opened and handed to the
coroner.
"The hair in the packet marked _A_," said he, "is that which was found
in the hand of the deceased; that in the packet marked _B_ is the hair
of Miriam Goldstein."
Here the accused woman's solicitor rose. "Where did you obtain the hair
in the packet marked _B_?" he demanded.
"I took it from a bag of combings that hung on the wall of Miriam
Goldstein's bedroom," answered the detective.
"I object to this," said the solicitor. "There is no evidence that the
hair from that bag was the hair of Miriam Goldstein at all."
Thorndyke chuckled softly. "The lawyer is as dense as the policeman," he
remarked to me in an undertone.
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