The hatchet had several stains upon it which appeared like bloodstains, both upon the handle and upon the side and upon the cutting edge.
I observed also that the handle of the hatchet did not set firmly or tightly into the hole of the head of the hatchet. That there was quite a large space, which can be seen now — as I have not disturbed the handle of the hatchet at all — can be seen at this part of the head. Quite a cavity between the handle and the iron of the head, both in front and at the back part.
Now all of the stains on the head of the hatchet were carefully tested.
There is one stain here which has been gotten on since, I see. It looks like an ink stain. That was not on. That was gotten on in court here, some way. It looks like an ink stain, I don’t know what it is, it wasn’t on before.
All of those stains I subjected to chemical tests and microscopic tests for the presence of blood, with absolutely negative results.
I was unable to detect any blood upon the claw-hammer hatchet.
Either on the handle or the blade.
The two axes I designated as ax A and ax B in order to distinguish them from each other, and marked those letters upon the end of the handle, so that I would know on referring to my notes which was which. The ax A had a good many stains which might, so far as appearance was concerned, or might not, have contained blood. This ax A has a large knothole in the front of the handle, which on examination with a glass contained some suspicious-looking spots, and it is easy to see a considerable amount of brownish-colored material staining the ax handle near the head.
Now that might or might not, so far as I could see or determine by inspection alone, have contained blood.
But the testing of the stains, both upon the head of the ax and the handle, showed them to be absolutely free of blood.
Precisely the same remarks may apply to the ax B. There was no blood upon either ax, and no blood on the claw-hammer hatchet.
Nor could the hatchet have been washed quickly so that traces of blood might not be found upon it. On account of those cavities in between the head and the handle. Also, the handle is quite rough and torn, ragged. And it will be noticed, too, that the handles of both these axes are exceedingly rough and do not fit into the iron head closely or accurately.
“Captain Desmond, upon the Monday following the murder, did you take part in any search at the Borden house?”
“I did, yes, sir.”
“Were you in command of the squad that went there to search?”
“I was, yes, sir.”
“What officers were present?”
“Connors, Medley, Quigley, Edson, myself and an outsider by the name of Charles H. Bryant, a mason.”
“You say, among others, Officer Medley was there?”
“He was.”
“I will call your attention to anything that Mr. Medley showed you during the process of the search in the cellar.”
“A small hatchet.”
“Did the hatchet which he brought you have any handle?”
“It had a small part in the iron. That is, it had been broken, and the wooden part had been left.”
“What do you say to this piece of iron and piece of wood?”
“I should say that it was the same thing that he showed me.”
“What did you do, Mr. Desmond, after he showed you this hatchet?”
“I looked it over, examined it quite closely.”
“Now will you describe everything about the hatchet? Take your own way of doing it, sir. Describe it as carefully as you can, as you saw it at the time.”
Well, it had been in some place which was not very clean. It was all dirty. That is, it was covered with a dust which was not of a fine nature. That is, it was too coarse to be called a fine — what I mean is, it wasn’t any sediment that might have collected on it from standing there any length of time. It was a loose, rough matter, which might be readily pushed off, or moved by pushing your finger on it.
The dust that we found in general throughout the cellar was nothing at all such as was on that hatchet. It was of a much finer nature, such as any sediment that would form in any cellar. Not the kind of dirt that was on that. This was a much coarser nature. This was a rough dirt here. I could take my finger and rub it off. I gave the hatchet to Officer Medley. I gave it to him wrapped in a newspaper. I got the paper from the water closet there, to do it up with.
“Well,” Robinson said, “here’s the hatchet,” and handed it to him. He went to the defense table, picked up a copy of that day’s Boston Globe, and carried it back to the witness box. “Won’t you wrap it up in about as large a piece of paper?”
“I shall have to get a full-sized newspaper to do it. Much larger than that, sir.”
“You got a piece out of the water closet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Brown paper?”
“No, sir, regular newspaper. But a larger paper than that.”
“You wrapped it in a newspaper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A very large newspaper?”
“Yes, quite a big newspaper.”
“Well, we won’t explore for a big one. But as large as that?”
“I think larger.”
“Larger than this Boston Globe?”
“Yes.”
“Well, lake that and give us the way you wrapped it up.”
Desmond opened the newspaper in his lap. He placed the hatchet head at one edge of it, and then rolled it into two sheets of paper.
“I wrapped it up in some such form as that,” he said, “and passed it to Officer Medley.”
“That is the way you did it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rolled it up like that and passed it to him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Made as big a bundle as that, did it?”
“No, sir. Not so large as that.”
“It was a bigger newspaper?”
“Yes, it was larger. I don’t think there was two sheets.”
“Oh, a single folio paper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t remember what the newspaper was?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Mr. Medley, how long do you think you were in the cellar before you left with this hatchet wrapped up in paper?”
“I don’t think over a half hour.”
“You went right off after showing it to Captain Desmond?”
“Yes, sir. I took it down to the city marshal’s office. After I wrapped it in paper.”
For a moment, Lizzie thought Robinson had missed this. His face showed no expression of surprise, his back did not stiffen the way it had earlier when he’d heard unexpected and conflicting testimony. She almost reached out involuntarily as if to touch Robinson — where he stood too far away to touch — nudge him, alert him to what Medley had just said. It was Officer Medley who had earlier testified that he had seen no footprints on the barn loft floor. If his testimony now could be shown to be in direct contradiction to what Desmond had said, would not his story about the barn seem untrustworthy as well? She kept watching Robinson. He had heard, she realized, he had heard.
“You wrapped it in paper,” he said softly. There was no emphasis on the “you”. He delivered his words not as a question but as a statement, a simple repetition of what Medley had just told him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you get your paper?”
Again no emphasis, the word “your” simply flowing unobtrusively into the rest of the sentence.
“In the basement.”
“A piece of newspaper?” Robinson asked.
“I think it was a piece of brown paper. I wouldn’t be sure as to that. It was a piece of paper, and that was all I remember surely.”