“It isn’t signed with my name.”
“Your eyesight, Mr. Raggan, is truly remarkable. I have not shown you the end of this letter, purposely did not do so, and yet you are able to say that it is not signed with your name. How do you know that it is not — supposing your assertion is correct?”
“I didn’t sign it.”
“Oh! So you recognize this letter, this particular and individual letter, with sufficient certainty to remember that you refrained from signing it?”
“Nothing of the sort! You are twisting my meaning!”
“If I am it is without intent, and I beg your pardon. But you have not replied to my question.”
“Some of your questions are so, involved that I cannot answer them. I don’t know what you are driving at.”
“That is the second time I have earned the same rebuke from you, Mr. Raggan. If you do not know what I am ‘driving it’ — though I think you do only too well for your own peace of mind — I will make it most clear very soon. Meanwhile I ask you again: Do you recognize this letter as having been written by you and recall the circumstance with sufficient clarity to remember that you did not sign it?”
“I don’t remember anything at all about it.”
“Then why did you declare, without having seen the ending, that it was without signature?”
“I guessed it wasn’t.”
“On what previous knowledge did you base that ‘guess’?”
“I wouldn’t be such a fool as to sign that kind of a letter.”
“Another step ahead. You ‘wouldn’t be such a fool as to sign’ such a letter as this, you say. How do you know what kind of a letter it is?”
“I can see — I can read part of it from here.”
“So? We are getting on. A little more and the end of our long journey should be in sight. Will you kindly repeat to the jury that portion of the letter that you can read?”
“No.”
“You refuse?”
“Of course I refuse.”
“Why?”
“You have not proved that I wrote that letter.”
“That is for the jury to decide, not for you or me, Mr. Raggan. But, if you did not write it, why should you refuse to read it aloud — such portion or portions as you can decipher?”
“It — the jury would receive a wrong impression.”
“Because you read it, or because you wrote it?”
“Because they would think I wrote it.”
“Why should they think you wrote it, if you swear that you did not do so? You do swear that you did not write it, don’t you?”
“No.”
“ ‘No’ what? Which fact is it that you are denying?”
“Both.”
“You deny having written the letter and deny also that denial? I am afraid, Mr. Raggan, that the jury will fail to understand just what you are intending to swear to. Come, for the sake of the jury and brevity, I will go back to first principles and reword my question. Did you, Randolph Raggan, write this letter that I intend to offer in evidence, and which I again show you?”
“I refuse to answer.”
“On what grounds?”
“Insufficient identification.”
“Then it is at least possible that you might have written this letter — otherwise you would have no hesitancy in denying its authorship?”
“Anything is ‘possible.’ ”
“You are right, Mr. Raggan, though I had thought, previous to this case, that there were certain things beyond human possibilities — such a letter as this, for instance, such a sequel as followed the writing of this letter, for another. But I will proceed to my next question. Why do you refuse to repeat aloud in this courtroom the part of this letter which you are able to read?”
“Because — because it would have a tendency to incriminate and degrade me.”
“The letter — or the reading of it? But — never mind. I will not force the issue. I am more interested, and I am sure the gentlemen of the jury are likewise, to have you identify the hand-writing of this letter as being yours. Is it or is it not?”
“I said before that it looks like mine.”
“Sufficiently like your handwriting that, if it should be a forgery, as you previously suggested, it would be a very clever one?”
“Yes.”
“I see that you have your fountain pen in your pocket, Mr. Raggan. May I look at it? Thank you... Your Honor, I offer this pen belonging to Randolph Raggan in evidence...
“This pen is your personal property, Mr. Raggan?”
“It is.”
“I now ask you if this letter in question is or is not written in the same color of ink — a peculiar and unusual shade of green — as that contained in this pen?”
“I suppose so. Something like it.”
“ ‘Something like it’ is not sufficiently definite, Mr. Raggan. You do not happen to be color blind, do you?”
“No. I told you before there is nothing the matter with my eyes.”
“Thank you. That is one thing I wanted to establish. Then — here — I will make several marks on the margin of this letter, using the pen that is your property. Are these marks and the body of the letter written with the same color of ink?”
“Yes.”
“It is a peculiar shade of ink, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know that it is. There must be plenty like it.”
“Do you know of anyone who uses the same color of ink — habitually, as I will be able to show, if necessary, that you have?”
“No.”
“Then, if the letter is written in a hand that is a facsimile of your own, and with ink that is the same as that which you use, and which no one else that you know uses habitually, and the pen was a heavy stub as this belonging to you, and you recognized the contents sufficiently to ‘guess’ that you ‘would not be such a fool as to sign’ a letter of this kind — if these are the facts which they appear to be, will you kindly tell the jury, basing your opinion on your, wealth of experience in similar cases, who could have written this letter if you did not?”
“I told you I don’t know anything about it. You are conducting this examination, not I.”
“Indeed! I had an impression exactly to the contrary, as to who was conducting this case, Mr. Raggan. But, if you persist in denying all knowledge of this letter or its author I now will offer it in evidence and, with the Court’s permission, read it to the jury, allowing them to decide who wrote it...
“This letter, gentlemen of the jury, reads, in part, as—. But before I read it I will ask the indulgence of the Court, to allow me to take the stand for a few moments, that I may state, under oath, how this letter came into my possession and some of the attendant circumstances. I am endeavoring to avoid the calling of other witnesses, though I am prepared to do so, to substantiate my testimony, if His Honor so directs... I would request, Your Honor, that Randolph Raggan be instructed not to leave this courtroom, as I shall recall him to the stand when I have made my statement regarding this letter...
“This letter was handed to me by Mrs. Charles Garford. She has made affidavit that she found it on the floor of the living-room of my home at the time she discovered the body of my wife, that it was partly hidden by the dress of the deceased, and that she, Mrs. Garford, thought the deceased had it in her hand when she was killed. Mrs. Garford asserts that she had allowed her curiosity to overcome her discretion to such an extent that she carried the letter home with her and read it, and then was too frightened, at first, to bring it to the attention of the authorities, as she should have done, as, from my standpoint, it is very fortunate that she did not do.
“Viewing her action from the strictly technical point of the law there can be, of course, no excuse for this suppression of vitally important evidence on the part of Mrs. Garford. But for the ultimate ends of justice she could not have done better. She should not have taken the letter in the first place. Having taken and read it she should have, as a matter of duty and right, turned it over to the Prosecuting Attorney. But again I repeat that her technical error in act and judgment was, possibly, the result of that Divine guidance upon which the just administration of the law so often must depend. ‘God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.’