«Jerry Stokes»

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"Your letter did it," he said slowly, fixing his eyes
on the hangman. "I couldn't stand that. It broke me down utterly. All night long
I lay awake and knew I had sent him to the gallows in my place. It was terrible
— terrible! But I wouldn't give way: I'd made up my mind, and I meant to pull
through with it. Then the morning came — the morning of the execution, and with
it your letter. Till that moment I thought nobody knew but myself. I wasn't even
suspected. When I saw you knew, I could stand it no longer. You said: 'If you
let this innocent man swing in your place, I, the common hangman, will refuse to
execute him. If he dies, I'll avenge him. I'll hound you to your grave. I'll
follow up clues till I've brought your crime home to you. Don't commit two
murders instead of one. It'll do you no good, and be worse in the end for you.'
When I read those words — those terrible words! — from the common hangman, 'Ah,
heaven!' I thought, 'I need try to conceal it no longer.' All's up now. I've
come to confess. Thank heaven I'm in time! Sheriff, let this man go. It was I
who poisoned her!"

There was a dead silence again for several seconds. Jerry Stokes was the first
of them all to break it. "I knew it," he said solemnly. "I was sure of it. I
could have sworn to it."

"And I am sure of it, too," the condemned man put in, with tremulous lips. "I
was sure it was he; but how on earth could I prove it?"

The sheriff looked about him at all three in turn. "Well," he said deliberately,
with a sigh of relief, "I must telegraph for instructions to Ottawa immediately.
Prisoner, you are not reprieved; but under these peculiar circumstances, as Dr.
Wade makes a voluntary confession of having committed the crime himself, I defer
the execution for the present on my own responsibility. Jailer, I remit Mr.
Ogilvy to the cells till further instructions arrive from the Viceroy. Policeman,
take charge of Dr. Wade, who gives himself into custody for the murder of Mrs.
Ogilvy. Stokes, perhaps you did right after all. Ten minutes' delay made all the
difference. If you'd consented to hang the prisoner at first, this confession
might only have come after all was over."

The doctor turned to Jerry, with the wan ghost of a grim smile upon his worn and
pallid face. The marks of a great struggle were still visible in every line. "And
you won't be balked of your fee, after all," he added, with a ghastly effort at
cynical calmness, "for you'll have me to hang before you have seen the end of
this business."

But Jerry shook his head. "I ain't so sure about that," he said, scratching his
thick, bullet poll, and holding his great square neck a little on one side. "I
ain't so sure of my trade as I used to be once, sheriff and gentlemen. I always
used to hold it was a useful, a respectable, and a necessary trade, and of
benefit to the community. But I've began to doubt it. If the law can string up
an innocent man like this, and no appeal, except for the exertions of the public
executioner, why, I've began to doubt the expediency, so to speak, of capital
punishment. I ain't so certain as I was about the usefulness of hanging. Dr.
Wade, I think somebody else may have the turning of you off. Mr. Ogilvy, I'm
glad, sir, it was me that had the hanging of you. An onscrupulous man might ha'
gone for his fee. I couldn't do that: I gone for justice. Give me your hand, sir.
Thank you. You needn't be ashamed of shaking hands once in a way with a public
functionary — especially when it's for the last time in his official career.
Sheriff, I've had enough of this 'ere work for life. I go back to the lumbering
trade. I resign my appointment."

It was a great speech for Jerry — an oratorical effort. But a prouder or happier
man there wasn't in Kingston that day than Jeremiah Stokes, late public
executioner.

(End.)