
The Sexton is Messina's town clerk, whose function in Act IV's examination scene is to impose just enough competence on Dogberry's proceedings to ensure the confession reaches Leonato — the play's slender administrative thread connecting the Watch's lucky arrest to Hero's vindication.
The Sexton — Messina's town clerk — appears in a single scene, but it is the scene on which the entire play's resolution turns. He arrives in Act IV, Scene 2 to record Dogberry's examination of Borachio and Conrade, and what he finds is a constable so comprehensively tangled in his own malapropisms that the examination is in genuine danger of producing no useful information at all. The Sexton provides the competence the scene would otherwise entirely lack: he knows who Borachio is, he knows that Don John has fled Messina, and he understands immediately that what he is writing down is not the petty night-watch business it was presented as but the confession that will clear Hero's name.
His role is brief and functional, but without it the truth Dogberry stumbled onto would never reach Leonato. Having extracted the substance of the confession from the chaos of the proceedings, the Sexton departs immediately — 'let these men be bound and brought to Leonato's' — to do exactly what needs doing, bypassing entirely the further comic proceedings Dogberry is likely to generate. He is the play's most efficient character: he arrives, understands the situation, takes the one necessary action, and leaves.
Shakespeare gives him no interiority and no private stake in the outcome — he is pure civic function, the bureaucratic mechanism by which accidental justice becomes actual justice. In a play preoccupied with the unreliability of evidence and the ease with which appearances deceive, the Sexton is the one figure whose role is simply to write things down correctly and make sure the right person receives the document.
The Sexton is motivated by professional duty — he records what he hears, identifies its significance, and ensures it reaches the appropriate authority, without any personal stake in the drama he is accidentally resolving.
The Sexton has the particular competence of a good official: he understands what he is hearing faster than anyone in the room except perhaps the prisoners, takes notes without being distracted by Dogberry's comic digressions, and departs the moment he has what he needs. He is neither warm nor cold — simply the most functional person in the play's most dysfunctional scene.