‘Sirs,’ I reply, ‘I have come to you willingly and most humbly. I was revived naturally, or by some Act of God, in my coffin some hours ago, but I didn’t abscond.’

Sheriff McAllister raises his eyebrows.

‘I could have taken off and gone into hiding, but I did not. Instead I have come to you in honesty. For what kind of a life would that have been – to be forever hiding?’

‘With that gash on your throat, you would not have been able to hide for long,’ notes another of the sheriffs.

I press on. ‘I have come to beg you to consider my case. To tell you that I have served my sentence, for I was hanged this very morning, as you will have watched. And I am here to beg you to judge that now I am free to go.’

Once I was terrified of men in robes and would quake at the sight. But that was before I saw with my own eyes that they are simply men who like to argue and debate and can be persuaded of the most unlikely things. They have a habit, see, of arguing with each other on every point. If one says black, another will say white; and if one says wrong, another will say right. It’s a habit they learn at their law schools and it can be most irritating. But now I hope it will serve me well.

‘You were sentenced to death,’ says Sheriff McAllister. ‘’Twas me who made the pronouncement. And you stand before us alive and well. Too well.’

‘I was sentenced to be hanged,’ I reply. ‘And hanged I was. Look, here is my very own death-certificate.’

I offer the scroll. They do not reach out for it. Instead another sheriff takes the bait.

‘Hanged she was,’ he says slowly.

‘And yet she stands before me, begging for her life,’ says Sheriff McAllister, ‘telling me she could have run away instead, and expecting me to have mercy.’

‘But her ramblings are irrelevant,’ says his pal. ‘What matters is that the sentence was carried out. We might have to retire to the library and see what the books say on this topic.’

Now the third sheriff chimes in. ‘This kind of thing has happened before. The hangmen need to get their act together. This whole affair is an embarrassment.’

‘Where is your legal representative?’ asks Sheriff McAllister. ‘The solicitor who spoke in your defence. You should not speak for yourself. You should have your man of the law speaking on your behalf on a matter as grave as this – the one who pleaded your case in court.’

On this point, they all nod and agree.

‘We shall send for him if we need him,’ I say. ‘But I hope we do not, for I only ask you to consider that my sentence has been served. Did you not all sit in the White Hart Inn and watch me hang?’