And the murders did not tell any tales on her either. There was no blood on her, and blood speaks out, although it is voiceless; it speaks out against the criminal. Not a spot on her from her hair to her feet, on her dress or person anywhere. Think of it. Think of it for an instant. Yes, there was one drop of blood on the white skirt as big as the head of the smallest pin, says Prof. Wood. Less than a sixteenth of an inch in diameter; and that is every particle of blood that was found upon her clothing. And that was not where you could expect it to be; not in the front of the skirt that must, if she had it on and had done these foul deeds, have first come in contact, but around back down toward the bottom near the placket, as I believe the women call it, out of the way. I do not know but the government are going to say that she turned her skirt round hind side before, before she began, in order to get at it in a practical way. I don’t know what they are going to say yet. I shall have occasion to speak of that by and by. But Prof. Wood does not claim now—I don’t know as there is a Fall River policeman, from the top down, that claims now—that that little fly speck, as it were, of blood tells any tale here. I forbear to allude to what is proved in this case—Miss Borden’s illness, monthly illness, at that time—and to tell you or remind you that Prof. Wood said he would not undertake to say that that blood was not the menstrual blood. You know the facts. I need not give them in detail. You know enough in your own households; you know all about it. You are men and human. You have your feelings about it. I am not going to drag them up, but you must not lose sight of these things. Then there was some talk about a roll of burned paper in the stove, where Mr. Philip Harrington, I believe, was the officer. He took off the cover and saw what he said looked like the embers of a rolled up piece of paper, burned, that is all. And there was some sort of dark insinuations here floating around that didn’t clothe themselves in words, but there was something in the manner that meanly intimated that Dr. Bowen was doing something about it—Dr. Bowen—I suppose they don’t make any allegation that he committed these murders, or helped to cover up, or assisted in doing anything about it. When the evidence is heard, it seems that Mr. Philip Harrington says that Dr. Bowen was throwing in some pieces of an old letter that had nothing to do with these transactions, something about his own family matters of no account. And Mr. Harrington, I think I am right in the name of the officer, when they were thrown in, saw some little piece of paper, rolled up paper, about an inch in diameter, that had been rolled up and was lying there, the embers of it, and there was a small, low fire. Well, we thought the handle was in there. We thought that was the plan that the government possessed itself with the idea that that handle was rolled up by the defendant in a piece of paper and put down in there to burn; and it had all burned up except the envelope of paper. Did you ever see such a funny fire in the world? What a funny fire that was. A hard stick inside a newspaper and the hardwood stick would go out beyond recall, and the newspaper that lives forever would stay there. What a funny idea; what a theory that is. And we wrestled with that proposition here, on the part of the defense, through weary nights, troubled about it, until Fleet and Mullaly got here together, and then we were relieved from every doubt. For the handle is in it, and it is out of it. Fleet did not see it; Mullaly did see it. Fleet did not take it out of the box, and Mullaly saw him do it. And it is in the box now, and they run over to Fall River to get it, or they wanted to, and can’t get into our house, and explain about it. So we rather think that the handle is still flying in the air, a poor orphan handle without a hatchet, flying around somewhere. For heaven’s sake get the one hundred and twenty-five policemen of Fall River and chase it till they can drive it in somewhere and hitch it up to its family belongings. Then, too, upon the best testimony of the experts, and probably in your own common sense, whoever committed that murder of Mrs. Borden stood astride her body. She was a large, stout, fleshy woman, weighing two hundred pounds. Conceive of the situation. You looked at the place. You saw the little gap between the bureau and the bed, stated to be about thirty to thirty-four inches, and you are to conceive of the murderer standing over the body in this way. Here she lies, there, and the murderer standing over her and literally chopping her head to pieces. I shall have more to say about that by and by, but I call it to your attention. And they all agreed that Mr.