The Daring Twins

“Wha – what have you done?” he stammered.

“I’ve restored the missing cash. Lock the safe, Phil, before it’s robbed again.”

“Phœbe!”

“Don’t look so wild, dear. Can’t you understand you are saved – that there will be no exposure of a theft to-morrow morning? Lock the safe, and let us go home.”

He could not realize it, even yet. Still dazed and wondering he locked the safe and followed Phœbe into the street. They were halfway home before he asked:

“Where did you find Eric?”

“I haven’t seen Eric,” she replied.

“Then where did the money come from?”

“It’s my secret, Phil; you mustn’t ask.”

“But I must know, Phœbe. Why, it’s – it’s amazing!”

“Seems so, doesn’t it?”

“It’s impossible! Three thousand – ”

“ – Three hundred and ninety dollars,” she interrupted, with a laugh. “It’s all there, dear; all back in the safe.”

“It’s a fortune! Where did you get it?” he persisted.

“Now, Phil, I’ve forbidden you to ask questions, and I mean it,” she declared, very seriously. “It is a secret which I can’t reveal. Not now, anyway.”

“Did Cousin Judith – ”

“It’s no use, dear; I won’t tell.”

He strode along in silence, wondering if it were really true. They were dreadfully poor, he knew, and Cousin Judith’s money was tied up in an annuity. Where could Phœbe obtain three thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars in currency? – and on Sunday, too! Suddenly a thought caused him to start.

“You haven’t borrowed it of the Randolphs?” he demanded in a horrified tone.

The suggestion made Phœbe laugh again.

“Guess away!” she said, lightly.

“We would never be able to repay such a loan – not for years and years, if at all,” he said miserably.

“That need not worry you,” she observed. “Why don’t you give it up, Phil? Be content until the time comes when I can tell you everything. It’s the best way. Can’t you trust me – Phœbe – your twin?”

He caught her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, while the first sense of freedom he had experienced since the robbery swept over him.

“Trust you? Of course I can, my darling!” he said.

CHAPTER XIX

THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

Phil had a restless night; but he slept a little, nevertheless. His chief source of worry had been removed by his sister’s mysterious action, yet the wonderment of it all remained, carrying with it an intense excitement whenever he thought of the probable outcome of this strange adventure.

On Monday morning he was up bright and early, anxiously awaiting the time to go to work. Phœbe, looking at him with wistful eyes, kissed her brother good-by and said:

“Good luck, Phil. Whatever happens, remember that I, and all who love you, will stand by you to the end.”

But nothing exceptional happened at the bank.

Mr. Boothe, looking a little more pale and worn than usual, arrived at the same time Phil did, and while he was carrying the cash from the safe to his cage, preparatory to counting it, Eric sauntered in and took his seat at the desk.

He gave his fellow clerk a brief nod and looked curiously at Mr. Boothe. Said Phil, attempting to be cordial:

“Back from St. Louis already, Eric?”

“Yes.”

“How did you find Ned Thurber?”

“Oh, Ned’s all right.”

“When did you get home?”

“Six, this morning.”

Usually talkative, Eric seemed determined to be chary of speech on this occasion; but perhaps he was absorbed in watching Boothe count the money, for he never took his eyes off the cashier.

In his usual careful, painstaking manner, Boothe first counted the checks, drafts, and other notes of exchange, checking them off on the tally sheet beside him. Then he began on the currency. As packet after packet of the bank bills was counted and laid aside Eric grew nervous and his breath came in short gasps. He pretended to be bending over his books, but Phil saw the exhibition of nervous fear and was not without a share of excitement himself.

Check!

Eric grew pale and then red. He was astounded. Mr. Boothe rapidly counted the gold contained in the four sacks – positively, there were four, Eric noted with dismay, and there should have been but three. He saw the cashier pick up his pencil, glance at the tally sheet and check the amount as correct.

Eric swayed and almost fell from his stool. Great beads of perspiration stood upon his brow.

“Everything seems to check up all right,” called the cashier from his cage, speaking in a calm voice. “You’ve kept things pretty straight, Eric.”

“Good; very good!” cried a deep voice, and the two clerks were for the first time aware that Mr. Spaythe stood in the open door of his office watching the scene.

“Seems as if you could almost get on without me, sir,” said the cashier, apologetically.

“No,” answered the banker, “your absence caused us all a lot of extra work and worry – especially Phil.” He came around to young Daring’s side, put on his glasses and began a calm but thorough examination of the ledgers. “Feeling better this morning, Mr. Boothe?” he asked, without looking at the man.

“Quite myself again, sir.”

Phil stood aside, for it was evident Mr. Spaythe wished to carefully compare the books. Daring had been obliged to make entries in both his own set and Eric’s during the past few days; but there was little to criticise, he felt, and he welcomed the examination.