His lordship, instead of reading the whole of the sixteen names, omitted one, and read out only fifteen. He then politely, and with exquisite precision and solemnity, exhorted them severally to prepare for the awful doom that awaited them the following Monday, and pronounced on each the sentence of death.
They left the dock.
After they were gone the jailer explained to his lordship that there had been sixteen prisoners capitally convicted, but that his lordship had omitted the name of one of them, and he would like to know what was to be done with him.
"What is the prisoner's name?" asked Graham.
"John Robins, my lord."
"Oh, bring John Robins back—by all means let John Robins step forward. I am obliged to you."
The culprit was once more placed at the Bar, and Graham, addressing him in his singularly courteous manner, said apologetically,—
"John Robins, I find I have accidentally omitted your name in my list of prisoners doomed to execution. It was quite accidental, I assure you, and I ask your pardon for my mistake. I am very sorry, and can only add that you will be hanged with the rest."