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Phoebe Daring
“Are you sure of that?” she inquired.
“We can’t deny it. The regular officers of the law discovered it, where it was hidden. We can, and shall, deny that the accused placed it there, and – ”
“And also we shall deny that it was Mrs. Ritchie’s box,” she added.
He stared at her, not understanding.
“I will give you a hint, to assist you,” she continued. “Ask them to prove it was Mrs. Ritchie’s box they found.”
“Why, it had her name painted on the end,” said Holbrook.
“I know that. I believe I could myself paint a name on a tin box, such as the hardware store keeps in stock for Judge Ferguson and Mr. Kellogg to use when they required them.”
“Kellogg?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Yes; he uses the same kind of boxes for valuable papers that Judge Ferguson did. But none of the locks of those boxes are ever duplicated; the keys are all different. At the trial, if you ask Mrs. Ritchie to produce her key, which must match the key kept by Judge Ferguson and now in the possession of Mr. Spaythe, you will find it will not fit the lock of the box discovered in Toby Clark’s back yard.”
Mr. Holbrook leaped from his chair and paced up and down the room, evidently excited.
“Good!” he cried. “Excellent, Miss Daring. That is exactly the kind of information I have been seeking – something that will disprove the evidence. But are you sure of your statement?”
“I have seen the genuine box,” said Phoebe quietly.
“Since it was stolen?”
“Yes.”
He sat down again and glanced into her face curiously.
“Yet you do not care to say where you have seen it?” he asked in a hesitating voice.
“No, sir.”
Mr. Holbrook drew a long sigh, as of relief.
“You are quite right to keep the secret,” he asserted firmly. Then, after a moment, he added in a low tone: “Has she told you everything, then?”
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW MR. SPAYTHE CONFESSED
It was Phoebe’s turn to start and draw a long breath, but she managed to stifle her surprise and retain her self-possession. In an instant she knew that the young man, deceived by her reference to the box, had inadvertently committed himself and she determined to take advantage of his slip. Mr. Holbrook’s question was so astonishing that for a moment it fairly bewildered her, yet the pause before she answered might well be mistaken for a natural hesitation.
“Not everything,” she calmly replied. “But I had no idea you – knew – so much – of the truth, Mr. Holbrook,” she continued, with a searching look into his face.
“I admit that I have been in a quandary how to act,” he said confidently, yet in an eager tone. “But it gives me great relief to know that you, who are in the secret, can understand my motives and sympathize with my dilemma. At the very outset of my career in Riverdale I have a case thrust upon me that bids fair to ruin my prestige in the town, for unless I can disprove the evidence against young Clark, without implicating the real criminal, I shall be considered an unsuccessful lawyer. You and I realize that I can’t implicate the guilty person, for that would arouse the indignation of all Riverdale; and unless I clear Clark, who has the sympathy of all, I shall be generally condemned. Just see what an impression that parade of the children made! I’ve puzzled over the matter continually, striving to find a solution, but until you came with your hint about a substituted box I was completely at a loss what to do. Can you tell me anything more?”
“I should not have told you so much, sir,” she answered.
“I understand. We must be cautious what we say, we who know.”
“How did you discover that – she – took the box?” Phoebe asked, breathing hard as she pronounced the word “she” but outwardly appearing calm.
The lawyer glanced at Nathalie, who had remained silent but amazed.
“Your friend knows?” he asked Phoebe.
“Not all,” she said. “Not – the name.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll avoid the name,” he continued, evidently eager to explain. “I was sauntering along the deserted street late at night – it was the night before the judge died, you remember – engaged in considering whether I should settle in Riverdale and undertake the practice of law, when two lawyers were already in the field, when my attention was arrested by a flash of light from the upper windows of the building opposite me – this building. It was not a strong light; not an electric light; more like a match that flickered a moment and then went out. I stood still, but was not particularly interested, when the flash was repeated, shaded this time and not so bright. It occurred to me there was something suspicious about that. The electric lights at the street corners proved that the current was still on and if it were Judge Ferguson, visiting his office so late, there was no reason he should not turn on the incandescents. If not the judge, some one else was in his office – some one who did not want too much light, which might be noticed, but enough for a certain purpose.
“I waited and saw the third match struck, which flickered a moment, like the others, and then went out. The doorway of the drug store, just opposite here, was quite dark; so I withdrew into its recess and watched the stairway of this building. Presently – she – came down, glanced cautiously into the street, and finding it deserted began walking hastily toward the east. She carried something under her arm, hugged tightly but too large to be completely hidden. I slipped out of the doorway and followed, keeping in the shadows. As she passed under the light at the corner I saw that what she held was an oblong box painted blue. I could even discover some white letters on the end but was unable to read what they spelled. Being quite positive, by this time, that there was something wrong in the stealthy actions of the – person, I kept her in sight during her entire journey, until she reached her home and let herself into the dark house with a latchkey.
“At that time I did not know who lived in the place; indeed, it was not until the Ritchie box was reported missing that I cautiously inquired and found out who it was I had caught pilfering. Toby’s arrest followed, and the discovery of the evidence against him. Then, to my regret, Mr. Spaythe engaged me to defend Clark and my worries and troubles began, as you may easily guess, Miss Daring. I had no idea, until now, that another box had been substituted; but if that was done, then the evidence that was meant to convict my young client will do much to prove a conspiracy against him and therefore his innocence.”
Phoebe had listened with intense interest to every word of Mr. Holbrook’s explanation, which he made under the impression that she knew the whole truth concerning the theft of the box. She regretted that in order to lead him on to talk freely she had been obliged to say that Nathalie did not know the name of the mysterious “she”; for otherwise he might inadvertently have mentioned it, and she would have been in possession of the entire truth.
But Phoebe had learned a great deal; more than she had ever dreamed of, and she left the lawyer’s office greatly elated over her discovery.
Nathalie, completely bewildered by Mr. Holbrook’s admissions, as well as by Phoebe’s reference to a duplicate box, began to ply her friend with questions as soon as they were on the street; but Phoebe earnestly begged her to wait patiently until she could tell her all.
“I’m as ignorant as you are, Nathalie, as to who the ‘she’ is whom Mr. Holbrook saw take the box,” she declared. “He got an impression, somehow, that I know more than I really do, and spoke so frankly on that account that he let me into his secret – in part – unawares. I shall now be obliged to ferret out the rest of the mystery, but with my present knowledge to guide me that ought not to be very difficult.”
“Why should he have such a strong desire to shield her?” asked Nathalie thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. She may be some very respectable woman.”
“Would a respectable woman steal?”
“Well she might yield to some extraordinary temptation to do so,” replied Phoebe, thinking of Sam Parsons’ plea.
“And the box was stolen before Judge Ferguson died,” said Nathalie, wonderingly.
“Yes; so it seems. The general impression has been that it was taken afterward, as the result of his death. I wonder how this affair would have turned out had the dear old judge lived. He was worth any ten common lawyers and a dozen detectives.”
“So he was,” replied Nathalie. “Mr. Holbrook seems an honest and gentlemanly fellow, but he never can fill Judge Ferguson’s place.”
Phoebe, after parting from her girl friend, reflected that her feelings toward the young lawyer had changed under the light of to-day’s discoveries. She could imagine his perplexity when called upon to defend Toby, and could see how his desire to shield the guilty female or his fear of denouncing her would account for his lack of activity in the case. Doubtless Mr. Holbrook agreed with Sam Parsons – of whose opinion he was wholly ignorant – that it was better to let Toby suffer than to accuse the guilty one. These two men, Phoebe reflected, were influenced alike by motives of gallantry or consideration for the female sex; for, had not the guilty one been a woman – or perhaps a young girl – neither man would have undertaken to shield him from the consequences of his crime.
But Phoebe was inclined to condemn one of her own sex as frankly as she would a man. She was even indignant that an honest boy was to be sacrificed for a dishonest woman. She became more firmly resolved than ever to prevent such a miscarriage of justice.
She was greatly pleased, however, with Mr. Holbrook’s assertion that by proving the box found on Toby’s premises a fraud, the defense would stand a good chance of winning the trial. If that evidence fell down, all the rest might well be doubted, and for a time the girl seriously considered the advisability of abandoning any further attempt to bring the guilty party to justice, relying upon the lawyer to free his client. But the thought then occurred to her that merely to save Toby Clark from conviction would not be sufficient to restore to him his good name. Some would still claim that justice had miscarried and the suspicion would cling to him for all time. The only thing that could reinstate the accused in the eyes of the world was to prove beyond doubt that some one else had committed the crime.
Forced to reconstruct all her former theories, Phoebe abandoned her “list of suspects” and wrote a new memorandum. It outlined the facts now in her possession as follows:
“1 – The guilty one was a woman or a girl, of respectable family. 2 – Some one deliberately attempted to incriminate Toby Clark by placing a fraudulent box in the boy’s rubbish heap. 3 – Sam Parsons now had the genuine box in his possession and wouldn’t tell how he got it. 4 – The theft was committed on the night before Judge Ferguson’s sudden death. 5 – Both Sam and Mr. Holbrook knew the identity of the criminal but would not disclose it; therefore information must be sought elsewhere.”
After taking a day or two to consider these points Phoebe suddenly decided to see Mr. Spaythe and have a talk with him. The banker was now freed of any suspicion that might attach to him and he was the one person in Riverdale who had boldly defied public opinion and taken the accused boy under his personal protection. Therefore she might talk freely with Mr. Spaythe and his judgment ought to assist her materially.
She decided to go to the bank rather than to the Spaythe residence, where Toby might be in the way, so late in the afternoon she waited on the banker, who was in his private office. This was a room quite separate from the bank proper, which it adjoined and with which it was connected.
Mr. Spaythe admitted Phoebe at once and placed a chair for her with an inquiring look but no word of question. The girl knew him well, for her twin brother, Phil Daring, had once worked in Spaythe’s Bank and, in common with many others in Riverdale, the Darings had cause to respect the banker very highly.
“I am trying hard, Mr. Spaythe, to solve the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Ritchie’s box,” she began. “I am not posing as a detective, exactly, but as an interested investigator. My object is to bring the guilty one to justice and so clear Toby’s good name. It seems like a very complicated affair and I’ve an idea you can assist me to untangle it.”
Mr. Spaythe, leaning back in his chair with his eyes fixed full upon the girl’s face, was silent for a time, evidently in deep thought. He was thinking of the time when Phoebe had handled another difficult matter in so delicate and intelligent a way that she had saved him a vast deal of sorrow and humiliation. He was a reserved man, but Phoebe Daring was the banker’s ideal of young womanhood. Finally he said quietly:
“What do you wish to know?”
“Who stole the box, for one thing,” she said, smiling at him. “But in default of that information I will welcome any detail bearing on the theft.”
He considered this a moment, gravely.
“I stole the box, for one,” said he.
Phoebe gave a great start, staring wide-eyed.
“You, Mr. Spaythe!”
“Yes, Phoebe.”
“But – Oh, it’s impossible.”
“It is quite true, my dear. Some of the contents of the box are still in my possession.”
She tried to think what this admission meant.
“But, Mr. Spaythe, I – I – don’t – understand!”
“Of course you don’t, my child; nor do I. Let me explain more fully. On the afternoon following Judge Ferguson’s death I wanted to see Toby Clark on a matter connected with the funeral, of which I had assumed charge because I believed I was the judge’s closest friend. I did not know where to find Toby, but thinking he might be in the office I walked over there and entered, the door being unlocked. The place was vacant. Seeing the door of the smaller room ajar I walked in and found lying upon the table Mrs. Ritchie’s box. It was open and the lid was thrown back. I saw it was empty except for a yellow envelope with the end torn off and a legal document. This last attracted my attention at once, because of the names written on it. I knew that Mrs. Ritchie had been accustomed to keep many valuables in her box and had often warned Judge Ferguson that it was not wise to make a safety deposit vault of his law office; therefore the circumstance of finding the practically empty box on his table made me fear something was amiss. I tried the cupboard, but found it locked; so I wrapped the box in an old newspaper and carried it away to this office, without mentioning the fact to anyone. At my leisure I examined the paper found in the box and deciding it was of great importance I put it away in the bank safe, where it is still in my keeping. I may as well add that I believe this is the missing paper which Mrs. Ritchie is so anxious to regain – and I well understand her reasons for wanting it.”
His voice grew harsh as he said this and he paused, with a frown, before resuming in a more gracious tone:
“Later in the day, on my visit to the Ferguson house, Janet handed me her father’s keys. When I returned to the office I found the key that fitted Mrs. Ritchie’s box and locked it, although there was nothing then in it but the yellow envelope which once contained the paper I had seized. Soon after I was called into the bank a moment and when I returned, the box which had been lying on this table, had disappeared.”
“Stolen!” cried Phoebe in a hushed voice.
“Evidently. Stolen for the third time, I imagine. I did not see it again until it was found hidden in Toby Clark’s rubbish heap.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl and then checked herself. She knew it was not the same box, but a moment’s thought warned her not to mention that fact just yet. Sam Parsons must have stolen the box from Mr. Spaythe’s office and hid it in his own home. Did Sam believe Mr. Spaythe the thief and was it the banker he was trying to protect? The bank was the repository of all the money in the village; to arrest the banker for theft would create a veritable panic and perhaps cause much suffering and loss.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW TOBY CLARK FACED RUIN
While the girl was revolving these bewildering thoughts in her brain there came a knock at the door of the private office and a boy from the bank brought in an envelope and laid it upon the table before Mr. Spaythe, retreating again immediately.
“Stop!” called the banker, after a glance at the envelope. “Who left this letter?”
“I don’t know, sir; we’ve just found it in the mail box. Must have been pushed in from outside, sir; but it wasn’t there at one o’clock, when I took in the afternoon mail.”
“You may go,” said Mr. Spaythe briefly. Then he sat staring at the envelope. “I’m almost afraid to open this, Phoebe,” he declared in a low, uncertain voice. “Once before I received just such a missive and it said: ‘Look among the newspapers in the back room of Toby Clark’s house for the property stolen from Mrs. Ritchie.’ It was not signed and the awkward writing was evidently disguised. I paid no attention to that note but some one else must have received the same hint, for the house was searched by the police and all the documents found except the one I took myself.”
“But not the money or the bonds,” said Phoebe.
“No. Now, here is another anonymous letter, for I recognize the same cramped writing. Shall we open it, Phoebe?”
“I think so, sir,” she replied, for she was curious.
He opened the envelope very carefully, using a paper-cutter. Then he unfolded a sheet of common note paper and read the contents aloud:
“‘Between the mattress and the straw tick on Toby Clark’s bed in his old house you will find the money and bonds he stole from Mrs. Ritchie and hid there.’”
That was all. The banker lifted his eyebrows and smiled.
“Ah, they’re giving up the money now,” said he. “They realize there is danger in keeping it.”
“Whom do you mean by ‘they’?” asked Phoebe.
“The original thieves.”
“Were there more than one?”
“I don’t know. There was one, at least, before me, and some one stole the box from this office – with a purpose. How shall we treat this suggestion, Phoebe?”
“Let us go and get the money at once, sir, and restore it to Mrs. Ritchie.”
“She will demand an explanation.”
“Then we will show this letter.”
Mr. Spaythe reflected a moment.
“You are right,” he decided. “It will be best that the money is restored by me, acting on behalf of Judge Ferguson’s estate, rather than by some one else. The only thing I fear is that they will claim I induced Toby to give it up.”
“Won’t they accept your word – and mine – and the letter, sir?”
“Perhaps. We will risk it. Will you come with me now? It’s growing late.”
Phoebe rose with alacrity. Mr. Spaythe took his hat from a hook, locked the door leading into the bank and, when they were outside, locked the street door also.
“Since the disappearance of that box I am growing cautious,” he said.
The old Clerk shanty stood quite beyond the village at a bend in the river, but even at that the distance was not so great that a fifteen minute walk would not cover it. Mr. Spaythe and Phoebe walked briskly along, both silent and preoccupied, and presently had left the village and turned into a narrow but well trodden path that led across the waste lands or “downs,” as they were called, to the shanty.
But before they reached it a group of men came rushing out of Toby’s house, gesticulating and talking together in an excited manner. Among them were Lawyer Kellogg and Sam Parsons, the constable.
Mr. Spaythe stopped short, an angry frown upon his face. Phoebe halted beside him, feeling so disappointed she was near to crying. They waited for the others to approach.
“Do – do you think they got a letter, too?” asked the girl.
“Of course; just as before; and they’ve lost no time in acting upon it,” was the grim response.
Lawyer Kellogg came up, triumphantly waving his hand, in which was clasped an oblong packet.
“We’ve got it!” he cried, his round fat face well depicting his joy. “We’ve found the money and bonds where Clark hid ’em.”
“Clark?” replied Phoebe, coldly. “How dare you make such a statement? Toby Clark had nothing to do with hiding that money, and you know it.”
“He’ll get his stripes for it, just the same,” declared the little lawyer. “I’ve got plenty of witnesses, and the finding of this property will settle Toby Clark’s case for good and all. There’s no power on earth can save him now.”
The banker was staring fixedly at Sam Parsons, the only one of Kellogg’s party who was not jubilant.
“Well?” he asked.
“The money was there, all right,” growled the constable; “but Toby didn’t put it there.”
“Of course not,” said Phoebe; “no more than he put that blue box in the rubbish heap.”
It was a chance shot but the little lawyer turned upon her with a fierce gesture, his hands clenched, his eyes ablaze with anger and fear.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“Nothing at all, sir,” said Sam Parsons quickly, as he cast a warning look at the girl. “Miss Daring is a friend of Toby Clark, that’s all, and she’s annoyed over this new discovery.”
“You must excuse Miss Daring,” added the banker smoothly. “She is naturally agitated. Come, my dear,” he added, tucking her arm beneath his own, “let us return.”
They followed behind the others, who were mostly eager to get to the village and spread the news, and Sam Parsons remained with them. Phoebe was ready to bite her tongue with vexation for letting Mr. Kellogg suspect she knew about the substituted blue box. She saw that she might have destroyed all Toby’s chance of acquittal by putting the lawyer on his guard. When they were alone she expected her companions to reproach her for her indiscretion, but they both remained silent.
“Kellogg came for me and I had to go,” explained Sam, as they reëntered the village.
Mr. Spaythe merely nodded.
“It’s a hard blow for Toby,” added the constable, with a sign.
“It is merely a part of the conspiracy against him,” asserted Phoebe indignantly.
“I know. But they can prove their charge, having now evidence enough to satisfy a jury, and Toby can’t disprove anything. This thing spells ruin to the boy, to my notion,” said the constable.
He left them at the bank and Phoebe again entered the office with Mr. Spaythe.
“Will you let me take that anonymous letter, sir?” she asked.
“If you like,” said he; “but the writing is purposely disguised.”
“I know; but I’d like to study it, just the same.”
The banker handed her the letter. Then he said:
“Wait a moment and I’ll get you the other.”
He unlocked a drawer of his desk and found it, holding the two together a moment for comparison.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “The same person wrote them both.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” inquired Phoebe.
“That I am unable to determine. Preserve these letters, for we may need them as evidence.”
“I will, sir.”
She carried them home and placed them in her desk, for as it was nearly suppertime she had no opportunity to examine them at present. That evening she related to Cousin Judith the latest evidence found against Toby Clark; “manufactured evidence” the girl called it, for she knew Toby had never touched the contents of Mrs. Ritchie’s box. She also told the Little Mother of Mr. Spaythe’s confession, laying stress on his assertion that at least three different persons, including himself, had stolen the box.
“But Mr. Spaythe did not really steal it, you know,” she added. “When he found it open on the office table, and the cupboard locked, he merely took the box away for safe keeping.”
“He took Mrs. Ritchie’s document, however, and is still holding it, without her knowledge or consent,” returned Judith thoughtfully. “I wonder why?”
“I am sure he had a good reason for that,” declared Phoebe. “The fact that Mrs. Ritchie is making such a fuss over that one paper, and that Mr. Spaythe is carefully guarding it, makes me think it is more important than the money.”
“That is probably true,” said Judith; “yet I fear there is nothing in that fact to save Toby. For, if Mr. Spaythe admits all the truth – so far as he knows it – at the trial, it will not clear Toby of the accusation that he first rifled the box of its contents.”
“No,” answered Phoebe, “and for that reason I must continue my search for the criminal. I had hoped that we had information to upset the entire evidence, until that dreadful development of to-day. It is the strongest proof against Toby they have yet secured, and I see no hope for the boy unless we can discover the guilty one.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Ritchie will refuse to prosecute Toby, now that she has recovered all her property but one paper,” suggested Judith.
“That would be worse for Toby than to stand his trial,” answered Phoebe, with conviction. “If he hopes again to hold up his head in the world he must prove his innocence – not be allowed to go free with the suspicion of his guilt constantly hanging over him.”
“Goodness me! what a staunch champion you are, Phoebe,” said Judith, smiling. “You must have thought very deeply on this subject to have mastered it so well.”
“It is a very interesting subject,” answered the girl, blushing at the Little Mother’s praise. “I seem to love a mystery, Cousin, for it spurs me to seek the solution. But I fear I’ve been neglecting my household duties of late and throwing the burden on your shoulders, Little Mother.”
“No, dear; I cannot see that you are at all lax in your duties; but, if you were, I would consider it excusable under the circumstances. I hope that in some manner you may light upon the truth and manage to solve your complicated problem.”
But when Phoebe went to her room to think over the discoveries of that eventful day, she was in a quandary how to act. The mystery seemed to have deepened, rather than cleared, and nothing had transpired to give her a clew of any sort.
Except the anonymous letters.
