SHIFTING THE BURDEN
Watching her opportunity Phœbe slipped out of the house unseen and
hastened down town to Lawyer Ferguson’s office. The old man was just
putting on his hat to go out when the girl’s anxious, pleading face
confronted him.
“Are you busy, sir?” she asked, with hesitation.
“Very, my dear. I’m due at an important meeting within five minutes.”
Phœbe’s face fell.
“Anything wrong?” inquired the lawyer in a kindly tone. Phœbe was
one of his favorites.
“Oh, a great deal is wrong, sir!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “I’m in
great distress, and I’ve--I’ve come to you--for help.”
Judge Ferguson hung his hat on the peg again and went to the door of an
inner room.
“Toby!” he called.
“Yes, sir.”
Toby Clark appeared: a frowsy-headed, much freckled youth who served as
the lawyer’s clerk. He nodded to Phœbe and looked inquiringly at his
master.
“Go to Mr. Wells at the insurance office and tell him I cannot attend
the meeting to-day. Have it postponed until to-morrow,” said the judge.
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Toby, when you return stand guard over the private room and see
that I’m not disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
The youth vanished instantly and with a courteous gesture Mr. Ferguson
motioned Phœbe to enter his sanctum. Evidently, he had shrewdly read
her face and knew that something very unusual had happened to his ward.
“Now, then, explain yourself, my dear,” he said when they were seated.
Phœbe looked earnestly into the kind old face.
“I want to make a full confession of everything,” she began. “I want
you to understand me, and--and know just as much as I do.”
“That is a wise resolve, when you are dealing with a lawyer,” he
responded, smiling at her anxious look.
So she first told him of how she had discovered old Miss Halliday
counting the secret hoard, and of her reasons for keeping the knowledge
to herself. Next, she related Phil’s experiences at the bank, his
suspicions of Eric and the midnight adventure when together the twins
watched the banker’s son robbing the safe. All the details of Eric’s
plan to implicate Phil had been carefully treasured in the girl’s
memory, and she now related them simply, but convincingly, to the
lawyer.
It was more difficult to confess the rest, but Phœbe did not falter
nor spare herself. A way to save Phil had been suggested to her by
the discovery of her grandfather’s hoarded money--for she naturally
supposed it was his. Her description of the manner in which she had
secured exactly the same amount Eric had taken was dramatic enough
to hold her listener spellbound, and he even smiled when she related
Eric’s confusion at finding the money restored, and how he had eagerly
made restitution of the minor sums he had embezzled by “fixing” the
books.
Perhaps Judge Ferguson had never been so astonished and startled in
all his long experience as he was by Phœbe’s story. The thing that
really amazed him was Jonathan Eliot’s secret store of money. He had
not been without suspicion that the old man had grown miserly, but
so cleverly had the treasure been concealed that when Mr. Ferguson
searched the house--under the cunning guidance of Elaine, of course--he
had found nothing at all to justify that suspicion.
When, in conclusion, Phœbe told of her late interview with the old
housekeeper and recited as well as she could remember the terms of the
deed of gift from Mr. Eliot to Elaine Halliday, Judge Ferguson became
visibly excited.
“Was it really your grandfather’s signature?” he inquired.
“I cannot say, sir, for I have seldom seen his signature,” she replied.
“Were the names of any witnesses affixed to the document?”
“I did not notice any.”
“H-m. What then?”
“Then she threatened to put me in prison unless I returned the money,
and of course I cannot do that,” said Phœbe, plaintively. “She has
given me until to-morrow noon, and then I must go to jail.”
The lawyer sat for some time staring at a penholder which he tried to
balance upon his middle finger. He was very intent upon this matter
until a long-drawn sigh from Phœbe aroused him. Then he leaned back
in his chair, thrust his hands deep in his pockets and bobbed his head
at her reassuringly.
“We’ll not let you go to jail, Phœbe,” he asserted, in a tone that
carried conviction.
“But I--I’ve stolen her money!” she moaned.
“I don’t believe it. I know Jonathan Eliot. And I’ve known other misers
before him. Not one of them would ever give up a dollar of their
beloved accumulation as long as a spark of life remained in their
bodies--your grandfather, least of all. And to his housekeeper! Why
should he resign it to her, I’d like to know?”
“She seems to have a powerful influence over him,” remarked Phœbe,
thoughtfully. “She alone is able to communicate with him now, or make
him understand. She alone cares for him while he is helpless as a baby,
and he depends upon her promise to see that his body is finally laid
in the queer tomb he once built. Perhaps she obliged him to give her
everything, by threatening to leave him to die alone.”
“Don’t believe a word of it, my dear!” exclaimed the lawyer, pounding
his fist on the table for emphasis. “If Jonathan Eliot is clear-headed
enough to dictate that deed of gift, or to sign it, he is still shrewd
enough not to part with his money. Deeds of gift executed under
compulsion are illegal, too. But I believe this paper to be nothing
more than a rank forgery.”
Phœbe stared at him with wide open eyes.
“You do, sir?”
“I certainly do. Elaine is bluffing, and the bluff might succeed if she
had only a girl like you to deal with. You were quite right to come to
me, Phœbe. I’ll agree to settle this controversy with Elaine.”
“How?” she asked, feeling much encouraged by his confident tone.
“H-m. I cannot say, as yet. I must have time to think. Why, it’s five
o’clock,” looking at his watch. “Sit still! Don’t be in a hurry. Let’s
figure a little; let’s--figure.”
He was balancing the penholder again. Phœbe watched him with dreamy
curiosity. It was a distinct relief to shift the burden to other
shoulders.
After a while she said softly:
“Do you think I’ve been so--so _very_ wicked, Judge?”
Slowly he rose from his chair, came over to her and kissed her cheek.
“_Very_ wicked, Phœbe. All good, true women may be just as wicked,
to help those they love. God bless ’em!”
He turned away to face an old print of Abraham Lincoln that hung on the
wall, and seemed to study it intently.
“How is your grandfather’s health, lately?” he abruptly inquired.
“I saw him through the window yesterday. He seemed the same as usual.”
“A live carcass. An active mind in a dead body. If Elaine can rouse
that mind, can communicate with him, others may do the same.”
He seemed to be speaking to himself. Phœbe sat quietly and did not
interrupt his thoughts.
“So you counted the gold with Elaine. Are you sure of the sums you
mentioned? Could you see clearly through that peephole?”
“I may have made a mistake, of course,” she answered. “But I am almost
sure I counted right.”
“You took three thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars?”
“Yes, sir. Fifteen hundred in gold and eighteen hundred and ninety, in
bills.”
“H-m. H--m--! We must return that money, Phœbe.”
“Return it! Why, how can I, Judge?”
“You can’t, my dear; but I can. Let’s see. She has given you until
to-morrow noon--All right.”
Phœbe drew a long breath.
“Meet me here at ten o’clock in the morning,” he added.
“Very well, sir.”
She started to rise, but he motioned her to retain her seat.
“Can you give up your room for to-night, Phœbe--perhaps for a couple
of nights?”
“Why, I think so,” she said, astonished. “Perhaps I can sleep with
Cousin Judith; but--”
“We’re going to play a little game, Phœbe; but, in order to win we
must keep our secret. Tell no one at home the story you have told me.
Keep away from Elaine for to-night. Perhaps you’d better come over to
our house and stay with Janet--Yes; do that. It will lull suspicion.”
“Are you intending to use my room, yourself?” inquired Phœbe.
“No. I want to put a detective there. I’m almost sure there will be
something to see through that peephole to-night.”
“A detective!”
“A private detective; meaning Toby Clark.”
Phœbe stared at him. She had never imagined Toby could be a
detective.
“And now,” continued the lawyer, briskly, “it’s all settled, cut and
dried. You may go home to supper without a single worry. I’ll send
Janet after you with an invitation to spend the night at our house, and
Toby will take your place at home. You’ve given me proof that you’re
not a bad conspirator, Phœbe, so I depend upon your wit to get Toby
into your room unobserved.”
“I’ll try, sir,” she said.
“Don’t fret, my dear. We’ve got everything planned, now, and you have
nothing further to fear from this strange complication.”
She could not quite understand how that might be. Whatever plans Judge
Ferguson had evolved he kept closely guarded in his own bosom. But
Phœbe knew she might trust him, and carried away with her a much
lighter heart than the one she had brought to the lawyer’s office.
When she had gone Mr. Ferguson called Toby Clark into his private room
and talked with the young man long and earnestly.
Toby was considered one of the Riverdale “characters.” He had been
born in a shanty on the bank of the river, where his father had been a
fisherman and his mother had helped to eke out their simple livelihood
by washing for the ladies in the village. Both had died when Toby was
a small boy, and for a time he did odd jobs for the storekeepers and
managed in some way to keep body and soul together. He was a little
fellow, even now, when he was nineteen years old. His unruly hair was a
mop of tow color, and his form was not very sightly because his hands
and feet seemed overgrown. Out of his whimsical, freckled face peered
a pair of small, twinkling eyes, so good-humored in their expression
that the boy was a general favorite. But he never had much to say for
himself, although he was a keen observer and listened intently to the
conversation of others.
Some years ago Judge Ferguson had taken Toby Clark into his employ,
recognizing a shrewd wit and exceptional intelligence hidden beneath
his unprepossessing exterior. At first, the boy went to school and
took care of the judge’s furnace in winter, and his lawn and flower
beds in summer. Then he was taken into the office, where he was now
studying law. No one had really understood Toby except the old lawyer,
and the youth was grateful and wholly devoted to his patron.
In this interview the judge told Toby exactly what he was expected
to do after Phœbe had secretly introduced him into the Daring
household. The entire situation was explained to him with such
clearness that the amateur detective had no difficulty in understanding
what was required of him.
He asked no questions, but nodded his head to show that he comprehended
the situation.
“Above all,” was the final injunction, “do not lose sight of Miss
Halliday. Stick to her like a burr, whatever happens; but do not let
her know you are watching her. Is it all clear to you, Toby?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then run along, and be prepared to meet Phœbe at the house when
Janet calls for her.”