TOBY CLARK’S HEROISM
Late that night Toby Clark heard a man pacing slowly up and down the
street, passing the Eliot house each time. Peering through the shadows
the boy thought he recognized the straight, erect figure. Creeping
close to a hedge that bordered the highway he whispered:
“Mr. Ferguson!”
“Yes, Toby. I’ve been looking for you,” replied the judge in a low
voice, as he paused beside the hedge.
“Something’s going to happen to-night, sir.”
“So I suspected. What is it?”
“Miss Halliday’s getting ready to flit, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s been packing up for the last hour, sir.”
“And intends to leave poor Mr. Eliot alone! How dreadful!”
“Would you mind going for Sam Parsons, Mr. Ferguson?”
The lawyer gave a start. Parsons was the village constable.
“Parsons! Dear me; do you think he’s needed, Toby?”
“Better have everything ship-shape, sir.”
The judge reflected. Had he a right to arrest Elaine? She was merely
a servant, after all, and it was not a felony to throw up such a
position. But, there was the money--that secret hoard which she had
claimed as her own and hidden away in the tomb. She had claimed to own
the property, as well, yet was voluntarily preparing to leave it--a
circumstance which led the shrewd lawyer to suspect that she knew her
claim to be illegal. Had she, then, any better right to the money, the
bonds and papers? Judge Ferguson decided he would get the constable.
“There is no time to be lost, sir,” suggested Toby Clark, uneasily.
“I’ll meet you here shortly. Sam doesn’t live far away, and he’ll be at
home now; probably in bed and asleep.”
“I’d like you to hurry, if you please. And if I’m not here when you
return, come to the graveyard.”
“The graveyard!”
“She’ll want to put away the money that Miss Phœbe gave her to-day,
you know.”
“Of course, Toby. I’ll hurry.”
He turned and walked swiftly away, while the clerk went back to his
post of observation. A candle was burning in one of the upper rooms and
it dimly lighted the form of Jonathan Eliot, seated beside his favorite
window. Now and then Miss Halliday passed one of the windows. She had
on a shawl and bonnet.
The judge was prompt. He encountered the constable just coming home
from town, and immediately dragged him away, explaining the case as
they walked.
Sam Parsons was a man of few words and he knew Judge Ferguson. He asked
no questions, understanding he was merely to arrest old Miss Halliday
if she tried to get away. The judge knew the reason for this action,
and that was all that was necessary, for the time being.
Toby met them and posted them beside the path Elaine must take to get
to the tomb. From their cover they gazed curiously at the muffled form
of old Jonathan Eliot; but the examination was brief, for suddenly the
light went out.
“She’s coming!” whispered Toby. “I’ll follow her first, and then you
must follow me at a safe distance.”
“Why not arrest her now?” asked the lawyer.
“Oh, no--not now, sir!” protested Toby in an eager voice. “Wait, sir;
wait.”
He could say no more, for they discerned Elaine’s angular form coming
down the stairway. In one hand she carried an old-fashioned satchel.
Under the other arm was the package of money which Phœbe had
returned to her.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs the woman cast penetrating glances in
every direction. Then, evidently reassured, she stealthily traversed
the back yard and passed through the gate into the lane. It was quite
dark under the shadow of the trees, and Elaine had no suspicion that
three silent watchers stood almost within arm’s reach as she hurried
along the well-known path. Presently Toby Clark glided away in her
wake, and before his dim form became wholly invisible the constable and
the lawyer started after him.
Thus the extraordinary procession advanced to the very borders of the
graveyard. Once or twice Toby halted suddenly, and the others perforce
followed suit; but that was only when Elaine paused to shift her
luggage from one hand to the other; then they all resumed the silent
march.
When she unlocked the gate of the iron grating surrounding the tomb she
did not wait to fasten it behind her; so, as soon as she had entered
the mausoleum Toby slipped inside the railing and signaled the others
to follow him. The three being now within the enclosure, the young man
closed the gate and turned the key in the lock just as Elaine again
appeared.
The starlight rendered the three forms clearly visible.
The woman gave a low cry and rushed to the grating, which she shook
with impotent rage. Then, turning to confront her captors, she
exclaimed:
“Who are you? How dare you come here?”
“A graveyard is not private property,” said the judge.
“Mr. Ferguson!”
“Yes, Miss Halliday. Let me return your question: why are you here?”
She glanced at the door of the mausoleum, which she had left ajar
in her first panic at being discovered. Then her eyes fell upon the
satchel she had left beside the gate. These people had surprised her,
but she reflected that they could know nothing of her secret, or of
her present purpose. All she needed was to gain time. Before any could
prevent her she sprang to the marble door and forced it shut. It closed
with a sharp click as the spring bolt shot into place. The secret of
opening it had been known only to Jonathan Eliot and herself.
Toby gave a little laugh, and the lawyer roused himself and said
sternly:
“I am awaiting your explanation, Miss Halliday.”
“Well, I guess you’ll wait for it awhile,” she retorted, a note of
triumph in her voice. “You’ve no right to detain me here, Judge
Ferguson. Open that gate, and let me go!”
“I fear, madam, you have broken the law, and we must therefore arrest
you,” said the lawyer.
“I’d like to see you do it!” she cried, but she drew in her breath
sharply and pressed one hand to her heart.
“You will be gratified, Miss Halliday. Officer, do your duty.”
As the constable advanced she shrank back against the iron gate.
“No, no!” she said. “Don’t arrest me. I’ve done nothing to be arrested
for. Come to the house in the morning and I’ll explain everything.”
The lawyer hesitated.
“You may go to the house, if you wish; but Mr. Parsons will go with
you, and guard the place until morning,” he said.
Toby Clark was pulling his sleeve.
“One moment, sir, before you decide,” he pleaded.
“What is it, Toby?”
“Come with me, please.”
The boy went to the door of the mausoleum, touched the secret spring,
and the marble block swung out. Elaine gave a cry that was half a sob
and pressed her hands to her heart again.
“Come in, please--all of you, if you will,” said the clerk.
Parsons and Mr. Ferguson followed him into the black interior of the
tomb. The air was close and bore a peculiar, sickening odor.
“One moment,” said Toby.
He struck a match, holding it shielded between his hands until it
flared up and lighted the confined space. On a marble slab in the
center of the tomb lay a dead body.
“Good God!” cried the judge, recoiling; “it’s Jonathan Eliot!”
An echoing cry came from Toby. Dropping the match he made a bound
for the door just as the heavy slab was swinging into place, urged
by Elaine’s most desperate efforts. There was no way to open it from
the inside, and the danger was imminent. In an instant the young man
had thrust his foot into the crack that was now barely large enough
to receive it, while Elaine, crowding the weight of her body against
the marble, crushed and mangled the heroic boy’s flesh in a last vain
effort to entomb her three captors and condemn them to a horrible death.
The next instant the burly form of Sam Parsons thrust back the door.
Then he wrapped his arms around the struggling woman and caught her in
a firm clasp. Judge Ferguson, trembling with horror, raised Toby from
the ground, where he had fallen and lay writhing and moaning with the
pain of his maimed and wounded foot.
Snap--snap! went the handcuffs that encircled Elaine’s wrists, while
she fought, scratching and biting, to resist capture.
“I’ll carry Toby down to the doctor’s, sir,” said the constable. “You
can march ahead with that tigress. There’s no danger, Judge; she can’t
escape us now, and we’ll soon land her in jail.”