“Great Doctors!” he exclaimed, “I’ll call court right hyar an’ inquire inter this. Young feller, in ther name of ther great an’ sov’ran commonwealth of Massachusetts, do you—wa’al, what yer got ter say fer yerself?”
“Just this, sir,” and Jack related a plain, straightforward story, while in that odd, flame-lit courtroom the rugged-faced farm men and women pressed eagerly about.
The judge appeared impressed.
“Got ther numbers of them thar notes?” he asked sharply, referring to Jack’s declaration that they were in Duke’s pocket.
“Yes, sir.”
Jack produced a memorandum and read off the numbers of the stolen notes. The old squire checked them off as Jack read them, in a battered old sealskin wallet with silver trimmings worn with age.
“Orf’cer Hake.”
The order came as Jack finished reading, repeating each number to make sure that the squire jotted them down right.
“Go look in that feller’s pockets an’ see if you kin find them banknotes.”
While Duke, pale as ashes, struggled and swore, he was rigidly searched. The notes were found in his inside pocket just as Jack had said they would be.