"
"Bless the man!"--Miss Belcher had turned to another peg, taken down
a loose weather-stained gardening-jacket, and was slipping an arm
into the sleeve--"you don't suppose, do you, that I'm the sort of
person to be scared by a dead body? Open the door, please, and lead
the way. This is a serious business, Jack, and I doubt if you have
the head for it."
Sure enough, the sight of the dead body on the hurdle shook Miss
Belcher's nerve not at all, or, at any rate, not discernibly.
"Humph!" she said. "Take him to the pavilion and cover him decently.
You'll find a yard or two of clean awning in the left-hand corner of
the scoring-box." She eyed Mr. Goodfellow for a couple of seconds
and swung round upon Mr. Rogers. "Is that the man you've arrested?"
Mr. Rogers nodded.
"Fiddlestick-end!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Fiddlestick-end! Look at the man's face. And you call yourself a
justice of the peace?"
"It was thrust upon me," said Mr. Rogers, modestly. "I don't say
he's guilty, mind you; and, of course, if you say he isn't--"
"Look at his face!" repeated Miss Belcher; and, turning, addressed
Mr. Goodfellow. "My good man, you hadn't any hand in this--eh?"
"No, ma'am; in course I hadn't," Mr.
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