TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR
When Judge Ferguson arrived at his office the next morning he found
Toby Clark awaiting him.
“What! You’ve not let Miss Halliday escape?” he exclaimed.
“Miss Phœbe is watching her,” returned Toby. “I felt it was
important for me to come here to report.”
“Very well; sit down and tell me what you have to say.”
“Early last evening,” began the youth, “I heard the woman in her room.
I watched her through the peephole Miss Daring had prepared. She was
gathering all the money from the hiding places. The bills and small
change she made into packages; the gold she left in the bags. Then she
went into another room--the room occupied by Mr. Eliot--and returned
with an armful of papers.”
“What sort of papers?” inquired the lawyer.
“They looked like legal documents, bonds, deeds and such things, sir.
All were neatly folded and tied in packages.”
“Ah! I wonder where they could have been hidden.”
“No telling, sir. They’ve been mighty clever, haven’t they? Well, sir,
she made those papers into two separate parcels. Then she wrapped
herself in a sheet which she took from her bed, hid the parcels under
it, and left the house.”
“She took only the papers?”
“Only the papers that time, sir. I tried to follow her, but the only
way I could get out of the house without noise was through the window.
I tied some sheets and blankets together and let myself down that way;
but I was too late. The woman had disappeared, and I could not tell in
what direction.”
“Too bad, Toby.”
“But I knew she would return, for there was the money to be lugged
away. So I hid by a hedge and waited till she came back. She went into
the house by the outside stair and soon brought out two bags of gold,
one in each hand. This time, I followed her. She went to the graveyard,
and I knew why she had draped herself in the sheet.”
“Why?”
“So, if anyone chanced to see her there, they would take her for
a ghost. Some one did see her there--three girls, also dressed in
sheets--your daughter, Phœbe Daring and Marion Randolph.”
“Well, I declare!” ejaculated the lawyer.
Toby told of the incident in the graveyard, and how Miss Halliday had
afterward made still another trip with the balance of the money.
“Did she put it all into the vault?” asked the judge.
“Yes, sir; and so I suppose she put the papers there, too. But I cannot
be positive of that.”
“But--good gracious, Toby!--what possessed the woman to hide all that
plunder in a vault?”
“She is quite clever, sir. The other hiding place had been discovered
by Phœbe; some of the money had been taken; it was best to hide it
elsewhere. Who would ever think of searching a graveyard for it?”
“You’re right, Toby. But what happened afterward?”
“Very little, sir. Miss Halliday went to bed and slept soundly, for I
heard her snore.”
“You climbed in at the window again?”
“Yes, sir; and had some sleep myself.”
“What a wonderful woman Elaine is!”
“I can’t help admiring her, sir.”
“And what about Mr. Eliot, Toby?”
“While waiting for the woman, when she escaped me the first time, I
stole up the stairs and looked in. Mr. Eliot was sitting quietly in his
chair, in the dark.”
“She left him there all night!” cried the judge, horrified.
“It seems so, sir.”
“That is cruelty. Even his helpless body must tire with remaining in
one position so long. Usually Elaine has taken better care of him than
that,” said Mr. Ferguson, indignantly.
“She was much excited last night; and the poor man can’t complain, you
know,” returned Toby, with a shrug.
“What did Miss Halliday do this morning?” asked the lawyer, after a
moment’s thought.
“She rose early and got her breakfast. I heard her walking around the
front rooms, putting them in order and waiting on Mr. Eliot. She seemed
quite composed this morning, and that may be due to the thought that
her money is now safe from discovery. When Miss Phœbe came home from
your house, Miss Halliday met her and handed her this note.”
Judge Ferguson took the paper. On it were scrawled the words: “At
twelve o’clock I will keep my word.”
“Miss Phœbe is very anxious, sir,” continued Toby. “So I thought it
best to come to you and report.”
The lawyer looked at his clerk, reflectively. Old Miss Halliday’s
persistent threat to prosecute Phœbe impressed him strongly. For,
had she not been able to prove her right to this secret hoard, the
woman would never dare to expose the affair to public notice. Mr.
Ferguson was quite positive that no such paper as Elaine had displayed
to Phœbe would hold good in a court of law; but the woman might
have other proofs that she was entitled to the property she claimed.
In any event the judge did not wish to be forced to act hastily in so
important a matter. Time was necessary.
Half an hour later he entered Mr. Spaythe’s private office at the bank
and said:
“Spaythe, I want to borrow three thousand, three hundred and ninety
dollars--and I want the money now.”
Mr. Spaythe gave a perceptible start, passed his hand over his
forehead, and cast a perplexed and annoyed glance at the lawyer.
“May I have it?” demanded the judge.
Eric had entered in time to hear this demand, and the sum mentioned
sent his face white and made his knees knock together. In his hand
was a paper he had intended asking his father to indorse, but it was
all forgotten as the boy stared blankly at Judge Ferguson. Did the
lawyer know? Then how many others knew? Eric had not yet recovered
from his fright, and his great fear was of his father’s anger. Why
had Mr. Spaythe said nothing to his son about the stolen money, and
what punishment was he planning? The son of the strict, inflexible
banker well knew the fault would not be forgiven nor condoned, and the
uncertainty of his position was becoming unbearable.
“Certainly you may have the money, Judge,” was Mr. Spaythe’s slow
reply. “For how long do you require the loan?”
“Perhaps only for a few days.”
“Then I’ll give you my personal check, and make no other record of the
transaction.”
As he drew his check book toward him Eric slipped back into the bank
and resumed his stool. He was trembling as with an ague.
Presently Mr. Ferguson came to the window and asked Mr. Boothe to give
him currency for the check. He spoke loudly enough for both Eric and
Phil to overhear him.
“How will you have it, sir?” asked the cashier.
“Fifteen hundred in gold and eighteen hundred and ninety in bills.”
Eric nearly fell off his stool, and Phil looked up with a start. The
effect upon the two boys was entirely different, however, for Daring
had nothing to fear. So Phœbe’s secret was out, thought Phil, and
Judge Ferguson was the person who had given her the money. But, in
that case, why was the judge now asking for a similar sum, and in the
same sort of money? The mystery was certainly beyond Phil Daring’s
ability to solve. He gravely continued his work, feeling certain that
everything would come right in the end. It hurt him, though, to feel he
was not in his twin’s confidence.
Mr. Ferguson took his money and departed. When he reached his office he
said to Toby Clark:
“Go back to the Eliot house and send Phœbe to me. You must remain to
watch Miss Halliday, but you can do that from the lane, or from some
other point of vantage. I don’t much care what the woman does while
she is at home, but if she attempts to leave the place be prepared to
follow her.”
“All right, sir.”
Phœbe came for the money and found it ready for her, tied in a neat
parcel.
“Don’t answer any questions during your interview with Elaine,” he
advised. “And take care to ask none. Above all, don’t let her suspect
you were playing ghost in the graveyard last night.”
Phœbe promised and went home again. At twelve o’clock she carried
the package around to the rear stairs, which she was about to mount
when Elaine appeared in the doorway above her.
“Stay where you are!” was the harsh command.
The girl resented the words and the tone, so with determination she
mounted the stairs. Elaine barred her way.
“You must count the money and give me a receipt,” said Phœbe.
“I’ll count it; but you’ll get no receipt, for you gave none, you
miserable little thief!” snarled the woman, rudely snatching the parcel.
“Then, I’ll wait here until you count it.”
“No you won’t. Go down--instantly! And if the money is not all here, to
jail you go.”
“I think I’ll see my grandfather,” asserted the girl, more to annoy
Elaine than because she wished to visit the helpless old man.
For answer Miss Halliday slammed the door in her face and locked it.
Phœbe slowly retreated and descended to the yard. There the thought
occurred to her that she might watch Elaine through the rear windows,
for she was curious to see how she acted when she found the money all
restored. So she slipped away into the lane, which being slightly
elevated enabled her to peer into the second story windows. There she
bumped against Toby Clark, who was standing half hidden by a clump of
bushes.
“Oh! You here?” she exclaimed.
“Yes. Anything up?” he inquired.
“I’ve just given Elaine the money, and she impudently locked me out. So
I thought I’d come here and watch the windows.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. Stand back here in the shade, Miss
Daring, so you won’t be seen. That’s it. Now look at that window. What
do you see?”
“Only gran’pa sitting in his chair.”
“Oh. Is that your grandfather!”
“Of course,” said Phœbe. “He sits there all day long, looking over
the country. Once, you know, he owned all the land as far as he can now
see.”
“And does he sit there all night, too?”
“No, indeed; Elaine puts him to bed at night.”
“Last night,” said Toby, reflectively, “she left him in his chair,
instead of putting him to bed. I saw him. The room was dark, but he was
so close to the window that the stars showed his form distinctly.”
“Then Elaine is neglecting poor gran’pa!” cried Phœbe, indignantly.
“And he is so dependent on her kindness, too!”
Toby gave a low, apologetic cough.
“Your eyes are good, Miss Daring?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Then look again, and carefully. Is that indeed your grandfather--is it
really Mr. Eliot in the chair?”
Phœbe was surprised at the question, but she looked carefully.
“Of course. I’ve seen him sitting that way every day, for months past.”
“Can you see his face?”
“Not very well, from here. It is muffled up in his dressing gown, you
know, so he won’t take cold.”
“It’s pretty warm to-day,” observed the lawyer’s clerk.
“But Gran’pa Eliot is paralyzed, and his blood doesn’t circulate
freely. He is always well wrapped up, whatever the weather.”
Toby whistled softly and looked down at the ground, where he was
digging up the earth with the toe of his shoe.
“It must be dinner time,” said Phœbe, suddenly remembering the fact.
“Phil will be coming home and I must go in.”
“Will you be very busy this afternoon, Miss Daring?”
“I think not. Why?”
“Can you come here for a half hour or so?”
“Yes, Toby, if I can be of any service.”
“I think you can. This is a queer affair, isn’t it?”
“It’s very queer, Toby.”
“Then I shall expect you,” he said with a sudden change of tone.
Phœbe went in, thinking the while how odd this boy was. She wondered
casually why Judge Ferguson had placed so much confidence in him. There
was still a good deal of mystery about this affair and Phœbe did
not yet know what the lawyer intended to do to checkmate old Elaine.
However, she was content to trust her father’s friend, and greatly
relieved to be able to return that dreadful money to the covetous woman.
After dinner she walked with Phil to the gate. Said he:
“Have you anything to tell me?”
“Not yet, Phil,” she answered softly. “Try to be patient, for all is
well, I’m sure, and we’re going to be very happy when these troubled
days are over.”
He said no more, but bent and kissed her and went on his way.
After accomplishing a few household duties and bandaging a cut on
Becky’s arm--it seemed the girl was always hurting herself--and helping
Don find his cap, which he always mislaid when he came in, Phœbe
remembered her promise to Toby Clark and slipped away unobserved to his
station in the lane.
She found the little clerk staring fixedly at the window where Gran’pa
Eliot sat. He gave a start as the girl approached, and then his
freckled face lit up with a smile.
“I want you to watch Miss Halliday for me, for half an hour,” he said.
“Where is she?”
“Somewhere in those upper rooms. She has just passed the window to
the left. But, although I’ve watched her for hours, she has never once
stopped at your grandfather’s side to do anything for him.”
“Poor gran’pa!”
“Now, listen, Miss Phœbe. The judge told me not to lose sight of
that woman. If she tries to leave the house I am to follow her. But I
want to get away, for just a little while, and I’d like you to watch in
my place.”
“But, what shall I do if she goes away?”
“Follow her, and I’ll find you both. But she won’t leave the house
to-day, I’m sure.”
“Very well; I’ll do the best I can, Toby.”
He nodded and walked away, going straight to the graveyard. When he
reached there he climbed nimbly over the high iron rail, at the risk of
breaking a limb, and faced the Eliot mausoleum. Pressing the spring, as
he had seen Elaine do, he opened the marble door and passed into the
tomb.
A few moments later he came out with a pale, startled face and closed
the door. A while he stood lost in reverie; then he clambered over the
railing again and went to relieve Phœbe.
“Thank you, Miss Daring,” he said quietly. “You may go, now. Anything
to report?”
“Why, a minute ago Elaine came to the window where gran’pa sits, and
after staring out, as if she suspected I was watching her, she turned
and shook up gran’pa’s pillows, and moved his chair back a little. So
you see we were wrong, and she is not really neglecting him.”
Toby chuckled.
“She’s a slick one, is Miss Halliday!” he murmured. “But I’ll keep an
eye on her now.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Phœbe, remembering he had been on duty
since the evening before.
He shook his head.
“Brought some bread and cheese with me, Miss Daring. Good-by.”
“Good-by, Toby.”
The afternoon passed slowly for Phœbe. She was still wrought up over
the exciting events of the past few days and felt that she was almost
as much in the dark concerning Judge Ferguson’s intentions as was
Phil. She tried to copy some manuscript on her typewriter, for she had
been neglecting the work lately, but somehow the girl had conceived an
undefined horror of her room. So she went to sit with Cousin Judith,
while she finished darning her stockings.
“Phœbe, dear,” said Miss Eliot, “there’s something mysterious going
on in this house.”
“Is there?” asked Phœbe, with downcast eyes.
“I think so. Phil has not been himself, lately. I’m sure he is worrying
dreadfully over something. Is anything wrong at the bank?”
“No, Cousin Judith. Phil is all right. He’s doing splendid work, as you
may know from the fact that Mr. Spaythe has raised his salary.”
“But the boy is unhappy, nevertheless,” persisted the Little Mother,
musingly.
Phœbe sighed. She knew it was true.
“As for you, my dear,” continued Judith, “you are a mere bundle of
nerves lately, and start and grow pale if anyone speaks to you. What
has happened, Phœbe?”
The girl darned industriously for a time. Then she said earnestly:
“You trust me, Cousin Judith, do you not?”
“You know I do, Phœbe.”
“Then please do not question me to-day. I don’t want to mislead you,
or deceive you, and Judge Ferguson has asked me not to confide in
anyone--not even you.”
“Judge Ferguson!” exclaimed Judith, relieved. “Is it his secret, then?”
“Just now it is,” answered Phœbe. “But there is nothing to worry
about, dear. That’s what I told Phil, just after dinner.”
Miss Eliot was really puzzled, but she felt it would be unkind to press
Phœbe further.
“Becky, Don and Sue know nothing of the matter, at least,” she
observed, after a moment’s reflection.
“No, indeed,” said Phœbe.