with Florence beside him had driven to Cole-
man barracks. Calling Lawson out he de-
manded where his son was.

“Lawson said he didn’t know,” Scott
read. “Then Pic said “You're going with me
to find him—you shot him.’ Lawson said
‘What of it?’ Then I heard two shots. One
grazed my leg and the other broke the wind-
shield. Pic was struggling with Lawson so
he couldn’t have fired them. Then I guess
I got scared and must've started shooting. I
fired a couple of shots in the air, but some-
one else shot Lawson.’

Scott surveyed the court. “It was her own
bullets, not those of Lawson or anyone else,
that smashed the windshield and speedo-
meter,” he stated. “I traced the lines of
trajectory. The bullets could only have come
from a person seated inside the car on the
far side of the front seat. And,” he paused.
“the empty shells found at the murder spot
were identical with those I discovered in
Florence Lassandrea’s bedroom. When Law-
son was shot even his tunic was in the bar-
racks and his revolver hanging in the ofice—
empty!”

T. F. Brown of Blairmore next deposed
that on the evening of the murder he had
met Pic in a state of great excitement and

her guards and preened herself like a canary
in a cage.

For the first time Emperor Pic discovered
that his money was no longer able to extri-
cate him from the toils. Meanwhile belief in
her immunity from the gallows had brought
the germ of an idea to Florence. If she
confessed to the accidental shooting of Law-
son, and admitted Pic’s complete innocence,
he’d be released—free to exert his wealth
and political connections to free her too.

Buoyed up by this conviction she signed
a confession and smilingly awaited word of
Pic’s release. But the days slipped by till
the shadow of the noose was only a short
week away. Then came word that an appeal
had been granted. Florence was radiant and
exultant. Her plan had worked. But soaring
hopes were rudely shattered when a granite-
faced Judge listened grimly and without
sympathy, and confirmed the death sentences
on the ground that both were in the murder
car and equally involved.

But hope still burned in Florence’s breast.
Still she clung to the assurances of lawyers,
wardens and friends that there would be a
last minute reprieve. It was a view shared by
the general public who had a feeling that
the girl had made a sporting attempt to sacri-

Fort Saskatchewan, where the last act in the drama of the Crows’ Nest Murder was enacted.

heard him swear “If any constable has shot

my boy I'll kill him tonight, by God!” Then

Pic had kissed his gun, climbed into his car
and drove off towards Coleman.

SENTENCED TO HANG '

A solemn hush pervaded the courtroom
as the jury filed back on the ninth day and
delivered their verdict—guilty! Like the
breath of doom came the Judge’s words sen-
tencing Pic and his daughter to be hanged
at Fort Saskatchewan on February 21st.
With a heart-rending moan Florence col-
lapsed weakly while Emperor Pic was led
away with unseeing eyes and stumbling feet.

As the bleak winter days sped by Picarello
fought desperately to establish his innocence.
Taking comfort in the assurance that it was
an unwritten law in Canada that no woman
should be hanged, and that a quarter of a
century had elapsed since a woman had gone
to the scaffold, Florence laughed, joked with

WINTER EDITION

fice herself to save her father, and some-
where along the line she’d been double-
crossed. Throughout the West women’s
organizations bombarded the Minister of
Justice with petitions and pleas for a re-
prieve. Yet May Ist broke with the shadow
of the gallows only twenty-fours hours away
and still no word of hoped-for clemency.

Behind the grilled bars Florence ceased to
smile. Like a frightened child she appealed
to the warden. “I didn’t do it,” she moaned.
“T said I did it to save Pic,” she wrung her
hands hysterically. ‘Pic lied and lied,” she
cried. “He said they’d never hang me He
did it,” her voice rose to a hysterical falsetto.
“Give me back that confession I signed. I
want to take it back.”

“Too late!” the warden told her.

A Last FRANTIC PLEA
A frightened chill shook her as she heard

the ominous thud of carpenter’s hammets.
With streaming eyes she sent for the police

matron. “You can’t hang me,” she cried.
“You'll be destroying two lives instead of
one.” But a grey-faced doctor failed to find
medical evidence to support the girl’s last
frantic plea.

As night fell, and prison lights flickered
under the rain that beat a dismal tattoo
against the barred windows of the death-
cells Father Fidelis moved on sandalled feet
twixt father and daughter. At every noise
the girl started. The reprieve at last! But
the leaden hours dragged by without the
hoped-for message.

At 5:10 am., Picarello, his fears cast

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