"Nat'rally. But who done it? Not Ol' Hucks, fer he's too honest, an'
hasn't showed the color of a nickel sense. Not Joe; 'cause he had to
borrer five dollars of Bob West to git to the city with. Who then?"
"Perhaps," said Louise, slowly, "some burglar did it."
"Ain't no burglers 'round these parts."
"I suppose not. Only book agents," remarked Beth.
McNutt flushed.
"Do ye mean as I did it?" he demanded, angrily. "Do ye mean as I killed
Cap'n Wegg an' druv 01' Will crazy, an' robbed the house?"
His features were fairly contorted, and his colorless eyes rolled
fearfully.
"If you did," said Beth, coolly, "you would be sure to deny it."
"I kin prove a alybi," answered the little man, calming down somewhat.
"I kin prove my ol' woman had me locked up in the chicken-coop thet
night 'cause I wouldn't split a lot o' cordwood thet were full o'
knots." He cast a half fearful glance over his shoulder toward the
interior of the cottage. "Next day I split 'em," he added, mildly.
"Perhaps," said Louise, again, "someone who knew Captain Wegg in the
days before he came here followed him to his retreat and robbed and
murdered him."
"Now ye've hit the nail on the head!" cried the agent, slapping his fat
thigh energetically. "Thet's what I allus claimed, even when Bob West
jest shook his head an' smiled sort o' superior like.
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