“Who, madame?” politely asked Squire Tuck. “Undoubtedly that person is equal to the operation.”
“I mean—him!” declared Aunt Lydia, boldly pointing toward B. Baggs. “Before we came in here, my nephew here and me were a–comparin’ idees, and from what he says and the way this note looks, I think Beelzebub—I think—yes, I’ll stick to it, that’s his name—came into the store, took that note where he must have found out my husband kept sich things, his Bible in the store—”
“You certainly did know, Mr. Baggs,” said Uncle Boardman. “I remember you asked me about the time I gave the note, if I had a safe where I kept things, and I said I was apt to tuck notes and things into my Bible in the store,—a careless way I allow.”
“From his Bible, took the note,” resumed Aunt Lydia, “cleared out through the winder in my sittin’–room, and there’s the rag your coat—now in the entry—left behind when you climbed out and tore the linin’!” Here Aunt Lydia held up before Baggs the little rag that she had so carefully retained.
All but Baggs had risen and were eagerly scrutinizing the note. Inwardly, Baggs was in a turmoil; outwardly, his face was flushed and his crooked eye was rolling like a vessel in a storm. When he spoke, he showed great self–control. His voice was placid as ever, and he waved his great, fat hands as if quieting an unnecessary tumult.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, what’s all this fuss for? I have doc—doc—doc—”
“Doctor?” suggested Varney, wishing to help up his stumbling client. “Want the doctor?”
“No—no! What kind of evidence do you call it? Doc—doc—”
“Documentary?” suggested Squire Tuck.
“Thank you, Squire,” said Baggs, bowing low. “I have dockermentry evidence about this note, and it’s in the coat that Madame Blake spoke about.”