"What of it?" the Judge said. "I can't be tried twice for the same crime, can I? Didn't my lawyer tell me? I guess I know my rights. Ho, ho, the joke is on you, Judge. I saw your eyes looking at me for a week. I knew you would like to see me hung and Roddy there,--he nearly got me. But I'm safe now--safe as you are." The reporter laughed a little--a strange laugh. "You killed her, after all?" he asked. "Yes," answered the other in a husky and cheerful voice. "I did. That's where the joke is on you. I did the trick! Me! And what have you two got to say? Who takes the bacon--me or you?" "You don't know what you say," the Judge cried. "Yes, I do," roared the man. "I tell you I did the trick and got tried once, and I'm free forever. There isn't anybody can touch me. I tell you the joke is on you, because I did it." I could see Mr. Roddy's green eyes grow narrow then. He turned to the Judge. "Is that so?" he asked. "He can't be arrested again?" The Judge shook his head. I can see this minute how his face looked. "Well," said Mr. Roddy, with a long sigh, "I'm beat! I've seen a lot of criminals in my day. Some were very clever. The joke is on me, Chalmers, for I'm obliged to say that you are the cleverest, slickest person I've ever seen, and you beat me! I've a lot of respect for you, Chalmers. Here's my fist--shake!" The other walked to meet him and they clasped hands in the middle of the room. It was only for a second; for as quick as a flash, Mr. Roddy seemed to stiffen every muscle in his body. He pulled the other man toward him with one arm and shot out his other fist. It made a dull sound like a blow struck on a pan of dough. And the wretched murderer slumped down onto the floor like a sack of bran, rolled over on his back, and was still. "There!" said Mr. Roddy, with his cheerful smile. The Judge had jumped forward, too, with a shout. "Just a minute, Judge," said the reporter. "Let me explain. You remember that I found out that two years ago our clever friend was at Bridgeport. That summer a girl was found in the park there--murdered. I was on the case. They never found out who did it. Have we or have we not just heard the confession of the man who killed her?" "You mean to testify that this brute confessed to that other murder?" asked the Judge, choking out the words. "You mean to hang this man for a crime he never committed?" "Why not?" asked Mr. Roddy. "It's between us and it can be done. It's justice, isn't it?" "My God!" said the Judge. He began to bite his knuckles as if he was tempted sorely enough. What made me step over to look at the unconscious man's face? I do not know, unless it was the design of Fate. White it was--white and terrible and stamped with evil and dissipation and fearful dreams. But there was a smile on it as if the blow had been a caress, and that smile was still the smile of a child who sees before it all the endless pleasures of self-indulgence.