IN THE TOILS
When Eric and Phil met at their desks on Monday morning the banker’s
son was “savage as a meat-ax.” He scowled and muttered over his work
and slammed the big books here and there as if he owed them a grudge.
Phil paid no attention to this exhibition of temper, which he believed
due to the failure of Riverdale to win the boat race. He knew that Eric
had been betting heavily with his cronies and the Bayport people, and
since the young man was already deeply in debt these added losses might
affect him, seriously. So Phil devoted himself quietly to work and let
Eric rave.
Gradually the young fellow quieted down. He was in no mood for work
that day, and paid little attention to the books. But he smoked so many
cigarettes, one after another, that the air was blue, and Mr. Boothe
left his coop long enough to request Eric to desist from choking him
with the offensive fumes.
“I am not well,” added the cashier; “so I ask you to be considerate.”
Eric tossed his cigarette away and Mr. Boothe returned to his coop.
“Phil,” said Eric, abruptly, “do you know where I can borrow some
money?”
“Perhaps your father will let you have it,” was the reply.
“The gov’nor! Never. He’d haul me over the coals if he knew I was hard
up on my princely salary of eighteen a week.”
Phil made no comment. Said Eric, after a period of thought:
“I’m told the loan-sharks in St. Louis will advance a fellow money on
his prospects. I wonder if they’d help me out of this hole. I’m the
only son of a well-to-do banker, and will inherit a respectable lump of
money, some day. Do you suppose they’d help me, Phil?”
“I don’t know, Eric. Such money lenders would be sure to demand a heavy
interest.”
“That’s all right. It’s worth something to get my fist on the money
when I want it.”
“What is it for?” asked Daring. “Why do you need this money?”
“To pay some of those infernal debts.”
“How much better off will you be afterward, Eric? Wouldn’t you contract
more debts right away?”
“That’s _my_ business,” growled the other. “Don’t you begin preaching
to me, Phil Daring, for I won’t stand for it,” he added, glaring
angrily at his fellow clerk.
Phil said no more, but he was sad and ill at ease. Eric was no longer
the genial, winning fellow of former days. Since he had begun to spend
money so recklessly and to run into debt, his character and disposition
seemed to have altered for the worse. The thing Phil dreaded more than
anything else was another raid on the bank money, with more of those
audacious false records to cover up the defalcations. He was helpless
to interfere, but none the less was he sincerely sorry for both Eric
and his father, knowing that exposure was bound to follow sooner or
later.
Singularly enough, Mr. Spaythe seemed blind to his son’s reckless
extravagance. A thoughtful man, intent upon the intricate details
of his banking business and absorbed in loans, notes and discounts,
interests and important matters of a like character, the banker seemed
not to notice Eric’s elaborate costumes or the fact that he passed much
of his spare time in association with the fast set of the village,
whose rendezvous was the hotel bar. On the contrary, Mr. Spaythe seemed
contented with the thought that his son and heir was connected with his
business and apparently doing his work faithfully and well.
On Wednesday Mr. Boothe was suffering from a bad headache when he came
to work. It soon became so much worse that Phil had to assist him to
reach his home--a little cottage not far away--where the cashier lived
with a maiden sister.
When Phil came back he went into the private office and reported the
matter to Mr. Spaythe. The banker at once telephoned Dr. Jenkins to
attend Mr. Boothe, and then in person took his cashier’s place in the
teller’s “cage.”
Next day Mr. Boothe was still too ill to appear at the bank. Dr.
Jenkins said it would be lucky if he managed to break up the fever,
but in any event his patient could not resume his duties before the
following Monday morning.
While his father was taking the cashier’s place Eric was silent and
attentive to his work. But, Mr. Spaythe could ill afford to devote
his entire time to the counting room, so he often called his son to
assist in cashing checks and receiving deposits. Eric attended to these
details so intelligently that on Friday Mr. Spaythe gave him complete
charge of that important department, thus gaining for himself the
liberty of devoting his attention to other pressing matters that had
accumulated on his own desk.
That same afternoon, when the banker stepped into the counting room to
secure a memorandum, Eric said to him:
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea, sir, to give Phil the combination of the
safe? We’re behind with the books, and he’ll have to come down nights
and catch up with the work--at least until Boothe gets back into
harness.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Spaythe; “you may give Daring the combination. Here is
an extra key to the side door, also.” Then, he turned to his youthful
clerk and nodded kindly. “I’m sorry to force this extra work upon you,
Phil, but Mr. Boothe’s illness leaves us very short-handed, and you may
expect compensation for your extra hours.”
Phil was not only annoyed at this, but positively frightened. He had
surprised a curious look upon Eric’s face when he asked his father to
give Phil the secret combination of the safe. In a small establishment
like Spaythe’s Bank both the books and the supply of currency were
kept in the one big safe. At this juncture, when many uncomfortable
suspicions were rife in his brain, Phil much preferred not to have such
responsibility thrust upon him.
“I’d rather not know the combination, sir,” he ventured to say, knowing
he appeared confused and embarrassed.
Mr. Spaythe was plainly surprised and gave him a hard look.
“Why not!” he asked.
“It is a--a--great responsibility, sir,” the young man explained.
“Nonsense, Daring. I trust you, fully. As fully as I do Eric or Mr.
Boothe.”
“Can’t I make up the work on the books some other way--during the noon
hour?”
“You’re silly, Phil,” declared Eric, sharply. “Better come down here
quietly after supper and do the work in an easy and proper way. It
isn’t likely to last but a night or two.”
“I think Mr. Boothe will be able to resume his duties by Monday
morning,” added Mr. Spaythe; and then, as if the matter was settled, he
walked into his room.
Phil resumed his work with an uneasy sense of impending misfortune.
After banking hours Eric made up the teller’s account of receipts and
disbursements and gave Phil a copy that he might enter the items on the
books in detail. Then he counted the cash and put it away in the safe,
explaining to his unwilling colleague the way to work the combination.
After this Eric departed, leaving Phil alone in the bank, where he
worked steadily until time for supper.
When he went home he confided to Phœbe this new complication that
had arisen.
“I’m almost certain that Eric has some desperate scheme in his head,”
said he. “He needs money badly to pay his gambling debts, and I’m
afraid he will try to get it in such a way as to implicate me and
divert suspicion from himself.”
“Why do you imagine that?” inquired his twin.
“Because he was so anxious that I should know the combination and have
a key to the bank. What ought I to do, dear?”
“Your simple duty,” said Phœbe positively. “Why, Phil, no harm can
possibly come to an honest fellow who does his duty! Don’t worry about
Eric and his deeds. He could not injure you if he tried, and really, I
don’t believe he will try. Eric has a kindly heart, and his main fault
is that he has become a bit wild and reckless.”
“He’s changed a good deal lately, Phœbe,” was the quiet answer.
Phil promptly returned to the bank, let himself in by the side door,
opened the safe and took out the books. For two hours he worked under
the glare of the electric light, before his task was finished. No
one came near to interrupt him. As he slid the big books into the
compartment of the safe reserved for them he glanced at the neat piles
of bills and bags of gold and an involuntary shiver of fear swept over
him.
Saturday morning the bank was very busy. Eric sat in Mr. Boothe’s cage
and waited upon the customers in a very business-like manner. He was
so quick and accurate in handling the money, with a pleasant word for
each one who approached his wicket, that when Mr. Spaythe came in now
and then to see that everything was progressing properly the boy won
his father’s gratified praise.
At one o’clock they closed the doors, as was usual on Saturdays, and it
did not take Eric long to arrange his cash, pile it away in the safe
and turn his statement of the day’s transactions over to Phil.
“What, through already?” asked his father, coming in at that moment.
“Yes, sir. Here’s the balance sheet you asked for, all made out
correctly. I’m in a bit of a hurry, as I’ve arranged to go to St. Louis
for over Sunday.”
Mr. Spaythe frowned.
“I did not know of this plan,” he said curtly. “Why are you making the
trip, Eric?”
“To visit Ned Thurber. He has invited me to stay with him, so it will
only cost me railroad fares. I’ll be back in time for work on Monday,
sir,” he added carelessly.
Mr. Spaythe stood regarding his son silently for a moment. He reflected
that the boy had behaved admirably these past few days, filling Mr.
Boothe’s place quite effectively. The banker was also engaged with
other matters that required his immediate attention. So he said:
“Very well. Go, if you wish to.”
Eric accompanied his father into the private office, merely bestowing
upon Phil a nod of farewell. It was rather mean of him to take a
vacation and throw all the work of bookkeeping upon young Daring, but
Eric was not noted for his consideration to others.
Pausing before his father’s desk he said in a hesitating way:
“I suppose it’s all right to leave Phil in charge of the cash?”
Mr. Spaythe turned upon him, sharply.
“Why not?” he said. “The Darings are honest enough. I would have
trusted his father with every penny I owned, at any time.”
“Oh, I suppose Phil’s safe,” returned Eric, carelessly. “But he’s a new
clerk, and there’s a lot of currency on hand to carry over Sunday. So
the thought struck me--”
He paused, for his father was paying no attention to what he said.
Instead, his practiced eye was shrewdly scanning the balance sheet. It
told the amount of cash on hand in bills, gold and silver, and recorded
all checks, drafts and notes deposited during the day. Finding the
tally correct Mr. Spaythe laid down the paper and turned again to his
son.
“I’ll trust Phil,” he said.
Eric went away, smiling to himself. “Just what I wanted,” he muttered.
“The gov’nor will remember this conversation afterward.”
Passing down the street he told every acquaintance he met that he was
off for St. Louis by the four o’clock train. At the station he made his
journey known to the group of loungers and shouted a rather boisterous
good-by when the train drew in and he boarded it. He even waved his hat
from the back platform until he had passed out of sight. Among those
who thus watched Eric’s departure was Donald Daring, who announced the
fact at supper that Eric Spaythe had gone to St. Louis by the four
o’clock train.
“Must you work at those dreadful books to-night, Phil?” asked Phœbe.
“Only for an hour or so, dear. I put in such steady work this afternoon
that a little more will get things in shape.”
“I’ll go down with you, then, and keep you company,” she announced.
As they walked along the street together in the cool of early evening
Phil was very thoughtful. Finally, he said to the girl:
“I don’t believe Eric has gone to St. Louis, Phœbe.”
“Why, he must have gone!” she exclaimed. “Don saw him on board the
train.”
“I know; but in spite of that I’ve a queer feeling--a sort of
suspicion--that he’s playing us a trick.”
“Have you, Phil? But why?”
“I can’t explain it. You see, since Boothe has been away Eric has been
free to do as he pleased. He’s in desperate need of money, just now;
but, although I’ve been on the watch, not a single crooked transaction
have I been able to discover--except one.”
“What was that?”
“I found on his desk yesterday a scrap of paper with my name scribbled
over it in many styles of handwriting. Anyone seeing it would have
thought I had been trying to create a lot of different signatures.
I tore the paper in two, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the waste
basket. But, afterward, I decided the thing ought to be burnt, and
searched for the scraps. They weren’t among the other papers, for I
went through the entire contents of the basket. Some one had taken
them, and it could be no one but Eric.”
Phœbe looked grave at this.
“What does it mean, Phil?”
“I’ve tried to think. I know of two or three forged deposit slips,
aside from that one of Mr. Martin’s. Then there was the forged check of
Mrs. Randolph--I’m positive it was forged. These things are sure to be
discovered some day, and then the charge of forgery and embezzlement
will lie between Eric and me.”
“Oh, Phil!”
“As Eric is Mr. Spaythe’s own son it will be easy for him to accuse me.
If I tell Mr. Spaythe what I know he will ask why I didn’t report it
at the time. I’m in a net, Phœbe, and Eric knows it. If he can save
himself at my expense, he won’t hesitate.”
“I see!” she cried, clasping her hands tightly. “Isn’t it dreadful,
Phil?”
“That is why I now suspect that Eric is up to mischief. It surprised
me that he told his father so bluntly he was going to St. Louis. It
would be better policy for him to keep quiet about the trip; but he
risked Mr. Spaythe’s anger with unusual boldness. And he took pains to
advertise his going to the whole town--even to let people see him ride
away in the train.”
“What could be his object?” inquired Phœbe, much perplexed.
“To be able to prove an alibi, I imagine.”
The twins walked on in silence for a time and were just passing the
railway station when Phil had an idea.
“Come in with me,” he whispered, and followed by Phœbe he walked
calmly up to the agent’s window. The man was not busy, as no trains
were due at this time.
“Hello, Wakefield,” called Phil, genially.
“Hello, Phil. Good evening, Miss Daring,” responded the agent,
recognizing them.
“I came in to pay for Eric’s ticket to St. Louis. He happened to be
short of currency, but said you’d let him have the ticket, and I could
drop in and settle for it to-night.”
Wakefield seemed surprised.
“Mr. Spaythe didn’t buy a through ticket,” he explained. “He only took
one to Canton. Said he’d buy his ticket and sleeper from there on. I
remember thinking that was a queer way to do. If he was short of money,
Eric knew I’d help him out.”
Phœbe trembled as she pressed Phil’s arm.
“Why, it’s all right, then, Wakefield,” said Daring, calmly. “Probably
he changed his mind, and in that case I don’t owe you anything.”
“Not a cent. Good night, Phil. Good night, Miss Daring.”
“Good night,” they answered and walked away.
“You see, I was right,” said the boy, when they were on the street
again. “Canton is only ten miles away, and Eric plans to leave the
train there and come back.”
“When?”
“Some time to-night. He means to rob the safe and get away with the
money. That will implicate me, you see, as I’m the only one except Mr.
Spaythe and Boothe that knows the combination--and the cashier is sick
in bed.”
“Oh, Phil! I’m sure your suspicion is too horrible to be true.”
“Why, it’s so simple that it _must_ be true. Under the circumstances it
is the natural thing for Eric to do. He isn’t so very clever, although
perhaps he thinks he has laid a deep plot to ruin me. The queer thing
about it is that it’s liable to succeed.”
They had reached the bank now. Phil opened the side door and ushered
Phœbe into the large back room where he did his work. He turned on
the electric lights, pulled down the shades to all the windows and then
opened the safe and got out the books. Phœbe, perched upon Eric’s
vacant stool, watched him thoughtfully. Her face was pale as wax and
she had nervous, trembling fits that she could not control.
“I’m glad I am with you,” said she, presently. “If you are accused, I
can swear you did not touch the money.”
Phil bent over and kissed her, but made no reply. Putting all his mind
upon the books he methodically pursued his work for an hour or so,
until all the entries had been made and his task finished. Then he
closed the ledgers with a sigh of relief, put them away, and locked the
safe.
“Who knows,” he said, turning to Phœbe with a wan smile, “but
that this is the last bit of work I shall do for Spaythe’s Bank? If
my suspicions are correct, on Monday morning the safe will be found
to have been robbed, and then I must face accusations and probable
disgrace.”
By this time the girl had recovered most of her composure. She was
still pale, but had been busily thinking during that tedious hour,
trying to find some way to save her twin brother.
“Do you know exactly how much cash is in that safe now?” she asked.
“Of course, Phœbe. It is all entered upon the books, in black and
white, and Mr. Spaythe has a copy of the amounts, besides.”
She looked carefully around the room. At the very back of the building,
facing the safe, was one window which opened upon an unused yard at the
rear. The window was just then covered with a thick shade. Phœbe
took the desk shears, walked deliberately to this window, and punched
two small holes in the shade.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked her brother, in amazement.
“Phil, we’re going to play we’re detectives, you and I. Go outside, and
around to this window, and find out if you can see the safe through the
holes I have made. If not, I must make them larger.”
Phil obeyed, still puzzled as to her meaning. When he returned to her,
he reported that the holes were about on a level with his eyes, when he
stood in the back yard, and that the safe was plainly visible through
the tiny openings if one stood with an eye close to the windowpane.
“Very well,” said she, nodding with satisfaction. “What time is it now?”
“Nearly ten.”
“We shall have a long wait, but we mustn’t mind that. Let us go, now.”
Phil waited until she reached the door; then he put out the lights and
joined her. As they passed out he locked the door and put the key away
in his pocket.
“What now?” he asked.
“Let us take a walk up the street, for a block or two,” she replied,
in a whisper; and he followed her obediently. Although it was Saturday
night, this part of the town was practically deserted. There was a
light in the laundry office across the way and a girl stood in the
door of a candy shop and nodded to the twins vacantly. Half a block
up the street was the printing office, but the lights in it went out
before they reached it, and Mr. Fellows, the editor, gave the Darings a
pleasant “Good night!” as they passed by while he was locking the door.
Phœbe crossed over into the next street, which was merely a lane,
and turning about began to retrace her steps. Phil clung to her arm
and let her lead him. Here there was no light to guide them save the
dim glow of the stars. The moon would not be up for some hours yet.
They had to feel their way carefully for a time, but ere long they had
reached a position in the rear of the bank and entered the unused yard.
From a pile of boxes dumped behind a neighboring grocery Phil brought
two to serve as seats, for now he guessed Phœbe’s purpose and fully
approved the venturesome undertaking.
They sat in silence for a time, their backs against the brick wall of
the bank.
“How will Eric get back from Canton?” the girl inquired, musingly.
“I don’t know. He might drive over, and return the same way. Let me
see; there’s another train to St. Louis that passes here at one-thirty.
It doesn’t stop at Riverdale, but it does at Canton.”
“That’s it!” she exclaimed, eagerly. “That’s his plan, Phil, I’m sure.
Eric will get a livery horse at Canton, drive over here, and return in
time to catch the one-thirty flyer for St. Louis. It will be due at
Canton at about two o’clock, won’t it?”
“Sooner than that. The flyer will make the ten miles in fifteen
minutes, easily.”
“But it will take Eric an hour and a half to drive it, in the night.
That means he must get here, do what he has to do, and leave by twelve
o’clock--or soon after. Why, we won’t have long to wait, after all.”
“Not if we are figuring right, Phœbe. After all, this is only
guesswork on our part.”
“I’m sure we are right, Phil. As you say, the natural thing for one
in Eric’s position to do is just what we expect he will do. Let us
be patient, and we will soon know the truth. If nothing happens by
half-past twelve, then we may go home and go to bed.”
“And rest in peace,” he added, with a light laugh that was not
mirthful. “I hope that will be our fate.”
“So do I, Phil--with all my heart.”
It was a tedious wait, however, for they were keyed up to a high pitch
of excitement and the minutes seemed to drag with teazing languidness.
But suddenly, as they talked together in soft whispers, Phœbe
glanced around toward the window and then seized Phil’s arm in a
warning grasp. The back room of the bank was lighted.
The girl put her eye to one peephole and the boy looked through the
other. They saw Eric standing in the room and glancing about him with
fearful, yet keenly observant eyes. The inspection seemed to satisfy
him, for after tying his handkerchief over the one electric light
globe which he had ventured to turn on, in order to dim the strength
of its rays, he went straight to the safe and began to fumble with the
combination. A few moments later the heavy door swung open.
Again Eric glanced around, but could not know that two intent eyes were
regarding his slightest movement. He hastily turned over the packets of
bills until he found the one he desired, which he thrust into an inner
pocket. Then he took a canvas sack, filled with gold, and this filled
his coat pocket completely and had to be crowded in. The next moment he
closed the door and set the lock.
It was all done so quickly that Phœbe found she had held her breath
during the entire scene. While she panted with excitement and her heart
fluttered wildly, Eric removed his handkerchief from the globe and
turned off the light.
They both listened eagerly now, but so stealthy were the young man’s
movements that no further sound reached their ears. He must have
effected his escape from the bank a long time before the twins ventured
to stir.
“Phœbe,” said Phil bitterly, “it is evident that I’ve stolen a stack
of bills and a bag of gold. The fact can easily be proven against me,
anyhow.”
“Not yet,” returned the girl, in a firm, decided tone. “Come with me,
Phil.”
She began to make her way around the building to the side door.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’m going to block Eric’s wicked conspiracy and save you,” she
replied. “Open that door, and let us go in.”