"Do you wish to defend yourself?"
The judge adjusted the wig on his head and looked at Arthur with a cautious expression.
At the Old Bailey, it was not unheard of for a defendant to present his own evidentiary defense, but it was exceedingly rare.
Such a thing occurred only when a person had absolute confidence in his logic and eloquence.
Sir Phillips let out a mocking snort.
In his eyes, this was nothing more than the defendant's final, desperate struggle—something he was more than happy to witness, for it would only make the man look ridiculous.
"I have no objections, Your Honour," Sir Phillips said, spreading his hands as if magnanimous. "I too am curious to hear what marvelous tale this young inventor is about to tell."
With the court's permission, Arthur stepped out of the defendant's bench and walked to the center of the courtroom.
In that moment, he no longer looked like a man on trial—he looked like a conductor orchestrating the entire scene.
His calm, confident blue eyes swept across the jury, then the spectators, before finally settling on the broken sewing machine.
"Gentlemen," he began—his voice not loud, yet echoing clearly throughout the chamber—"Sir Phillips is correct: mere verbal denial is pale and powerless.
Therefore, I shall use another method to prove my claim."
"Another method?" That word left most of the onlookers puzzled.
"Yes, another method." Arthur opened his briefcase and produced a thick, text-dense report, which he handed to the judge and the jury foreman.
"From the very first day my factory was established, I set up a small laboratory to test the quality of all raw materials we purchased," he explained calmly. "This is a report of the 'comparative composition analysis' for the metals used in our sewing machines—and for this sewing machine, the one involved in the incident."
He knew that explaining nineteenth-century chemistry to this audience would be futile.
So he chose the most intuitive, most easily understood analogy.
"Gentlemen, imagine taking two glasses of water from two different places.
Both appear clear and transparent, yet one contains river water while the other is spring water from the Scottish Highlands.
With certain special methods, one can 'taste' the extremely subtle and almost imperceptible differences between them."
"We did the same with the metal!" Arthur's voice rose sharply. "We discovered that some parts of this sewing machine are completely different from the metals we currently use in our production!
Some components did not originate from the English region where we source our materials—but from somewhere far away: a specific area of southern India!"
"In other words, these two seemingly identical sewing machines have components of entirely different origins!"
That simple "taste of water" analogy instantly clarified an otherwise complex scientific principle.
The jurors examined the report in their hands. They did not understand the chemical symbols—but they did understand the conclusion: the parts came from different places.
A gasp rippled through the courtroom.
For the first time, Sir Phillips's expression changed.
He had not expected evidence from such an unconventional angle—evidence he could not refute.
In the corner, Martin—the scar-faced man—felt his heart plummet.
He remembered well that, to perfect the sabotage, Sir Conroy had purchased look-alike but inferior components from an East India Company merchant, to replace the originals.
He had never imagined that this would become the very point that destroyed them.
"This… this is absurd!" Sir Phillips protested, struggling to maintain composure. "Flavors, metals—what nonsense! All of it is one-sided! Who can say your report isn't forged?"
"A very good question, Sir Phillips." Arthur smiled lightly, as if he had anticipated the objection. "Which is why the next evidence I present will be something that cannot be falsified—evidence based on human behavior."
He turned to the judge.
"Your Honour, my first deduction concerns the missing worker, Tom Stones.
I assert that he was the one who replaced the parts on the production line.
And there was only one reason he would do so: he needed money."
"As you know, Tom's mother is gravely ill and requires an imported medicine costing £10 to survive.
A common laborer cannot afford such a sum."
Arthur signaled to his lawyer.
The lawyer immediately rose and submitted new documents. "Your Honour, this is the official testimony from Wellington Pharmacy of London, along with their sales records.
These records show that three days before the incident, an anonymous gentleman paid £100 in cash—at once—to purchase enough of that medicine for a full treatment cycle, and ordered it to be delivered to the address of Tom Stones's mother.
Here is the handwritten testimony of the coachman who delivered it."
£100!
The spectators erupted in murmurs.
An anonymous gentleman had paid a fortune, right before the incident, on behalf of the suspect's mother!
The implication was unmistakable.
"A coincidence explains nothing," Arthur continued, his voice calm and authoritative, like a hunter tightening a snare. "My second deduction concerns Tom's whereabouts."
"Think, gentlemen: what would a worker do after receiving a large sum of money and committing a crime?
He would flee immediately.
And the fastest way out of London is by ship to France."
"This is the passenger manifest obtained from a contact in the port authority," Arthur said, as his lawyer presented another document. "It shows that on the morning of the second day after the incident, aboard the first ferry to Calais, there was a passenger named 'John Brown'—whose physical description matches Tom Stones almost perfectly.
Furthermore, he purchased an expensive first-class ticket."
"I believe that once the court issues a formal request for assistance to the French authorities, we will soon find Mr. Tom enjoying his illicit profits in some Parisian tavern."
Evidence after evidence unfolded—each one linked flawlessly to the next, forming an almost unbreakable chain of logic.
Beads of sweat formed on Sir Phillips's forehead.
He no longer seemed to be facing a defendant—he was facing a master of legal deduction.
The atmosphere of the courtroom had shifted completely.
Everyone now believed there was a vast conspiracy behind the case.
But Arthur did not stop.
Blaming everything on Tom was not enough.
He wanted the mastermind to feel the consequences down to his bones.
"Gentlemen, my deductions are not yet finished."
Arthur's voice suddenly sharpened; his blue eyes flashed like lightning as they fixed themselves on the girl at the witness stand—Anna—who was trembling with her head bowed.
"Tom executed the scheme," Arthur declared, "but he was not the only accomplice.
There is another key figure in this tragedy."
"Miss Anna!" His voice thundered through the courtroom. "I understand your circumstances—but compassion will not be wasted on those who deceive this court with lies!"
"You claimed your eyes were struck by debris and that you are permanently blind.
But my investigation discovered that the night before the incident, you were seen speaking secretly in an alley with a man who has a scarred face!
And shortly after, your neighbors heard your mother exclaiming in shock that God had performed a miracle—because suddenly, your family had the money to treat your younger brother's illness!"
"I ask you again!" Arthur's voice shook with authority. "Is your so-called blindness true or false?
Under that bandage—are there bloody wounds… or your perfectly healthy eyes, filled with fear and lies?!"
Finally, Arthur turned abruptly toward the judge and delivered the finishing blow:
"Your Honour, on behalf of the defendant, I formally request—
that this session be suspended immediately,
and that the most authoritative, impartial medical examiner from the Royal College of Surgeons be summoned at once
to conduct a full, public, irrefutable examination of Anna Jenkins's alleged injuries—right here in this courtroom!"
BOOM!
"Public medical examination!"
The four words detonated through the Old Bailey like an explosion.
The courtroom erupted into chaos.
No one had expected the case to take such a dramatic turn—one that overturned the very foundations of traditional legal practice.
Could the injured worker have been faking?
Anna, upon hearing the phrases "scar-faced man" and "public examination," broke instantly.
She screamed—"Wah!"—and collapsed from the witness chair, writhing and shouting incoherently:
"No… no! I didn't! It wasn't me! They forced me! They forced me!"
Her reaction was proof enough.
Sir Phillips turned deathly pale—he knew he had lost, utterly and completely.
And in the corner, the scar-faced Martin, hearing Arthur utter "scar-faced man," instantly realized he had been exposed.
His blood froze. He had only one thought—escape.
He spun around, trying to slip away through the panicked crowd.
But how could Arthur allow that?
"There! Stop that man with the scarred face!" Arthur shouted, pointing directly at the fleeing figure. "He is the culprit who bribed witnesses and orchestrated this conspiracy!
Do not let him escape!"
The courtroom exploded into chaos.
Arthur had delivered a breathtaking, textbook-perfect reversal—
a twenty-first-century-style deduction
performed in the solemn courtroom of the Old Bailey.