Jew’s purse got into my wallet I have not the least idea, I swear it!”
“Pshaw, fellow!” cried the judge; “thou standest convicted beyond a doubt. The purse clearly manifests thy guilt. Pay, then, to God and to justice the late respect of a free confession, and compel not the executioner to extort the truth by torture.”
The miserable Benedict only answered by renewed protestations of his innocence; but he addressed deaf ears. Everybody present regarded him as a hardened rogue, well deserving of the gallows.
Master Torturer, that formidable father confessor, was now called in, to see if, by his impressive eloquence, he could not induce the prisoner to acknowledge himself guilty, whether or no; and his presence produced the usual effect; the mere anticipation of the pain that threatened him deprived Benedict of all the support which his good conscience had hitherto afforded. When the thumb-screws were about to be applied, the unfortunate tailor, reflecting that this operation must for ever disable him from using his needle at all decently, and deeming it better to die by hanging than by hunger, consented to father a crime he had not committed. The court forthwith unanimously sentenced him to be hanged, and he was ordered for execution next morning at sunrise, for the purpose of at once promptly satisfying justice and of saving the town the expense of providing the ragamuffin’s breakfast.
