'This is yesterday--to you.'

'Certainly it is. But my mind is confused, these days: there are reasons for it.... Is this the beginning of the procession?'

'Oh, no; it began to move an hour ago.'

'Is there much more of it still to come?'

'Two hours of it. Why do you sigh?'

'Because I should like to see it all.'

'And why can't you?'

'I have to go--presently.'

'You have an engagement?'

After a pause, softly: 'Yes.' After another pause: 'Who are these in the splendid pavilion?'

'The imperial family, and visiting royalties from here and there and yonder in the earth.'

'And who are those in the adjoining pavilions to the right and left?'

'Amba.s.sadors and their families and suites to the right; unofficial foreigners to the left.'

'If you will be so good, I--'

Boom! That distant bell again, tolling the half-hour faintly through the tempest of wind and sleet. The door opened, and the governor and the mother and child entered--the woman in widow's weeds! She fell upon her husband's breast in a pa.s.sion of sobs, and I--I could not stay; I could not bear it. I went into the bedchamber, and closed the door. I sat there waiting--waiting--waiting, and listening to the rattling sashes and the bl.u.s.tering of the storm. After what seemed a long, long time, I heard a rustle and movement in the parlour, and knew that the clergyman and the sheriff and the guard were come. There was some low-voiced talking; then a hush; then a prayer, with a sound of sobbing; presently, footfalls--the departure for the gallows; then the child's happy voice: 'Don't cry now, mamma, when we've got papa again, and taking him home.'

The door closed; they were gone. I was ashamed: I was the only friend of the dying man that had no spirit, no courage. I stepped into the room, and said I would be a man and would follow. But we are made as we are made, and we cannot help it. I did not go.

I fidgeted about the room nervously, and presently went to the window and softly raised it--drawn by that dread fascination which the terrible and the awful exert--and looked down upon the court-yard. By the garish light of the electric lamps I saw the little group of privileged witnesses, the wife crying on her uncle's breast, the condemned man standing on the scaffold with the halter around his neck, his arms strapped to his body, the black cap on his head, the sheriff at his side with his hand on the drop, the clergyman in front of him with bare head and his book in his hand.

'I am the resurrection and the life--'

I turned away. I could not listen; I could not look. I did not know whither to go or what to do. Mechanically and without knowing it, I put my eye to that strange instrument, and there was Peking and the Czar's procession! The next moment I was leaning out of the window, gasping, suffocating, trying to speak, but dumb from the very imminence of the necessity of speaking. The preacher could speak, but I, who had such need of words--'And may G.o.d have mercy upon your soul. Amen.'

The sheriff drew down the black cap, and laid his hand upon the lever. I got my voice.

'Stop, for G.o.d's sake! The man is innocent. Come here and see Szczepanik face to face!'

Hardly three minutes later the governor had my place at the window, and was saying:

'Strike off his bonds and set him free!'

Three minutes later all were in the parlour again. The reader will imagine the scene; I have no need to describe it. It was a sort of mad orgy of joy.

A messenger carried word to Szczepanik in the pavilion, and one could see the distressed amazement in his face as he listened to the tale.

Then he came to his end of the line, and talked with Clayton and the governor and the others; and the wife poured out her grat.i.tude upon him for saving her husband's life, and in her deep thankfulness she kissed him at twelve thousand miles' range.

The telelectroscopes of the world were put to service now, and for many hours the kinds and queens of many realms (with here and there a reporter) talked with Szczepanik, and praised him; and the few scientific societies which had not already made him an honorary member conferred that grace upon him.

How had he come to disappear from among us? It was easily explained. HE had not grown used to being a world-famous person, and had been forced to break away from the lionising that was robbing him of all privacy and repose. So he grew a beard, put on coloured gla.s.ses, disguised himself a little in other ways, then took a fict.i.tious name, and went off to wander about the earth in peace.

Such is the tale of the drama which began with an inconsequential quarrel in Vienna in the spring of 1898, and came near ending as a tragedy in the spring of 1904.

II

Correspondence of the 'London Times' Chicago, April 5, 1904

To-day, by a clipper of the Electric Line, and the latter's Electric Railway connections, arrived an envelope from Vienna, for Captain Clayton, containing an English farthing. The receiver of it was a good deal moved. He called up Vienna, and stood face to face with Mr. K., and said:

'I do not need to say anything: you can see it all in my face. My wife has the farthing. Do not be afraid--she will not throw it away.'

III

Correspondence of the 'London Times' Chicago, April 23, 1904

Now that the after developments of the Clayton case have run their course and reached a finish, I will sum them up. Clayton's romantic escape from a shameful death stepped all this region in an enchantment of wonder and joy--during the proverbial nine days. Then the sobering process followed, and men began to take thought, and to say: 'But a man was killed, and Clayton killed him.' Others replied: 'That is true: we have been overlooking that important detail; we have been led away by excitement.'

The telling soon became general that Clayton ought to be tried again.

Measures were taken accordingly, and the proper representations conveyed to Washington; for in America under the new paragraph added to the Const.i.tution in 1889, second trials are not State affairs, but national, and must be tried by the most august body in the land--the Supreme Court of the United States. The justices were therefore summoned to sit in Chicago. The session was held day before yesterday, and was opened with the usual impressive formalities, the nine judges appearing in their black robes, and the new chief justice (Lemaitre) presiding. In opening the case the chief justice said:

'It is my opinion that this matter is quite simple. The prisoner at the bar was charged with murdering the man Szczepanik; he was tried for murdering the man Szczepanik; he was fairly tried and justly condemned and sentenced to death for murdering the man Szczepanik. It turns out that the man Szczepanik was not murdered at all. By the decision of the French courts in the Dreyfus matter, it is established beyond cavil or question that the decisions of courts and permanent and cannot be revised. We are obliged to respect and adopt this precedent. It is upon precedents that the enduring edifice of jurisprudence is reared. The prisoner at the bar has been fairly and righteously condemned to death for the murder of the man Szczepanik, and, in my opinion, there is but one course to pursue in the matter: he must be hanged.'

Mr. Justice Crawford said:

'But, your Excellency, he was pardoned on the scaffold for that.'

'The pardon is not valid, and cannot stand, because he was pardoned for killing Szczepanik, a man whom he had not killed. A man cannot be pardoned for a crime which he has not committed; it would be an absurdity.'

'But, your Excellency, he did kill a man.'

'That is an extraneous detail; we have nothing to do with it. The court cannot take up this crime until the prisoner has expiated the other one.'

Mr. Justice Halleck said:

'If we order his execution, your Excellency, we shall bring about a miscarriage of justice, for the governor will pardon him again.'

'He will not have the power. He cannot pardon a man for a crime which he has not committed. As I observed before, it would be an absurdity.'

After a consultation, Mr. Justice Wadsworth said:

'Several of us have arrived at the conclusion, your Excellency, that it would be an error to hang the prisoner for killing Szczepanik, instead of for killing the other man, since it is proven that he did not kill Szczepanik.'

'On the contrary, it is proven that he did kill Szczepanik. By the French precedent, it is plain that we must abide by the finding of the court.'