This accurate statement of matters seemed to steady the Justice's nerves somewhat. "How ... how did you get in here, may I ask?" he demanded.
George boosted himself away from the wall and sauntered indolently toward the bar. "None of your fat-necked henchmen dragged me in," he said.
The Justice's gavel wavered uncertainly a moment, then remained at rest. The Justice regarded it dolefully. Somehow, in the last few minutes it had lost some of its appeal.
"As someone seems to have remarked," the Justice observed sadly, "we now have two of them." He sighed deeply. "Will someone volunteer to tell the court which is which?"
"It's a trick!" the bank president yelled. "We have the one that was arrested in front of my bank." He pointed to Marc. "That's the one we want!"
The crowd seemed inclined to agree. Marc, so far, had provided them with a splendid target for their injured feelings, and they were loath to give him up ... even for a replacement that was like him in every detail. Besides, this newcomer seemed the type that would fight back.
"But," the Justice put in wearily, "there appears to be a margin of doubt in this whole business ... a mighty wide margin, too. The court must be fair. A positive identification must be established." He pinched the ridge of his nose for a moment, then glanced up hopefully. "Can anyone here point to either of these men and state positively that he is the miscreant?"
"I can!"
All eyes turned to one of the waitresses as she started forward. It was the young lady who had suffered the water cure at the hands of Toffee. She placed herself stolidly before the bar, sneered briefly at Toffee, then pointed to Marc.