He sadly couldn’t spot the crusader from before anywhere. He really could have used the kind encouragement the old man had given him. Before too long, the scarecrow’s time was up, his story told, and his judgement rendered. With a flourishing bow from the waist to both the judge and to the rest of the hall, the costumed caperer produced the violin from his case with a flourish and began to string a sad tune to play himself off. Unfortunately, the judge pulled a comically large lever, and the poor bastard fell to his doom in the trap door below, his stitched-too-many-times hat floating in the air and lazily drifted into the hole after its erstwhile master before the trap doors closed once more.