, I'd rather have been put out of the way at
once; for they will surely hang him."

Now in our day the respite is very rare: a criminal is hanged or
reprieved. But at the period of our story men were often respited for
short or long periods, yet suffered at last. One poor wretch was
respited for two years, yet executed. This respite, therefore, was
nothing unusual, and Cowen, though he looked thoughtful, had no
downright suspicion of anything so serious to himself as really lay
beneath the surface of this not unusual occurrence.

I shall, however, let the reader know more about it. The judge in
reporting the case notified to the proper authority that he desired His
Majesty to know he was not entirely at ease about the verdict. There
was a lacuna in the evidence against this prisoner. He stated the flaw
in a very few words. But he did not suggest any remedy.

Now the public clamored for the man's execution, that travellers might
be safe. The King's adviser thought that if the judge had serious
doubts, it was his business to tell the jury so. The order for
execution issued.

Three days after this the judge received a letter from Bradbury, which
I give verbatim.

THE KING vs. COX

"My Lord,--Forgive my writing to you in a case of blood. There is no
other way. Daniel Cox was not defended. Counsel went against his
wish, and would not throw suspicion on any other. That made it Cox or
nobody. But there was a man in the inn whose conduct was suspicious.
He furnished the wine that made the victim sleepy--and I must tell you
the landlady would not let me see the remnant of the wine. She did
everything to baffle me and defeat justice--he loaded two pistols so
that neither could go off. He has got a pass-key, and goes in and out
of the 'Swan' at all hours. He provided counsel for Daniel Cox. That
could only be through compunction.

"He swore in court that he slept that night at 13 Farringdon Street.
Your lordship will find it on your notes. For 'twas you put the
question, and methinks Heaven inspired you. An hour after the trial I
was at 13 Farringdon Street. No Cowen and no captain had ever lodged
there nor slept there. Present lodger, a City clerk; lodger at date of
murder, an old clergyman that said he had a country cure, and got the
simple body to trust him with a pass-key: so he came in and out at all
hours of the night. This man was no clerk, but, as I believe, the
cracksman that did the job