The Daring Twins

“But, I’d do it again!” she declared, pressing her lips firmly together as she thought of Phil. “I’d do it again this moment, if it were necessary.”

While the girl thus fought with an accusing conscience she heard Elaine come into her room. At once the spirit of antagonism toward this dragon, who guarded Gran’pa Eliot’s treasure, hardened her into a belief that she was fully justified in what she had done.

Drawing her darning basket toward her she began mending some of the family stockings, and from her seat by the window listened to the sounds made by the old housekeeper, as she moved about in the next room.

Suddenly there was a sharp cry, followed by a fall. Phœbe was startled for a moment. Then she realized it was not Elaine who had fallen, but that the trap door in the floor had been carelessly dropped into place. Her heart beat a little faster then, but she kept her seat and even attempted to thread a needle. Her alert ears heard Elaine run to the mantel. There was a long pause; then a wailing cry of distress.

Phœbe smiled grimly and went on with her work. The discovery had come a little sooner than she had expected. What curious whim could have urged Elaine to examine the treasure now, in the middle of the afternoon? She had never done this before, reflected Phœbe.

In the adjoining room a dead silence prevailed. “She’s counting,” mused the girl. “She’s trying to find out how much is gone, and who took it. Perhaps she’ll lay it to ghosts. Anyhow, she won’t have the slightest idea that I know her secret.”

Then something happened that gave her a shock. Without warning the handle of the connecting door turned and the next moment Elaine stood on the threshold confronting her.

The woman’s face was dark and contorted with rage. She clasped and unclasped her talon-like fingers spasmodically, as if longing to take the girl by the throat and strangle her then and there.

Phœbe glanced at her, frowned, and calmly bit off her thread of darning cotton.

“What are you doing in this room, Miss Halliday?” she asked, not even a tremor in her voice.

For a moment Elaine was daunted. Then she recovered, and advancing a pace toward Phœbe cried in tones of concentrated fury:

“I want my money!”

“Do I owe you anything?” was the stern demand.

The woman’s glaring eyes were fixed upon Phœbe’s upturned face, trying to read her inmost thoughts. The girl dropped her lashes a bit, examining her work, and a slight flush stole into her cheeks in spite of her efforts to appear composed. In a flash the woman detected these signs, and her confidence was instantly restored.

“You can’t fool me, Phœbe Daring!” she exclaimed harshly. “You unlocked that door – the door I had forbidden you to open.”

“Miss Halliday! you forget yourself. My grandfather’s servant has no right to dictate in this house,” said the girl, haughtily.

Elaine gave a short laugh, full of venom and disdain.

“Servant, eh?” she retorted. “And whose house do you suppose this is?”

The challenge roused Phoebe to anger and swept away the last vestige of her composure.

“It belongs to Jonathan Eliot, my grandfather; and everything in it – money and all – belongs to him!” she asserted with pride. “As for you, Elaine Halliday, we have submitted to your insufferable insolence long enough – but only because you understood gran’pa, and were good to him, were you allowed to remain. Your temper and your airs have become unbearable, however, and we will at once secure another servant to take your place.”

The housekeeper stared at her as if she could not believe the evidence of her own ears. Then she laughed – a hard, cackling laugh that was horrible to hear.

“I’ll not be turned out, my girl,” she said scornfully; “but you Darings will get out of here, neck and crop, or I’ll call in the law to help me.”

“The law, Elaine?”

“Yes; the law! This house is mine. It does not belong to Jonathan Eliot. And all its contents are mine, deeded to me in black and white as the reward of my faithful services. The money you have stolen, thief that you are, is mine, too, and unless you return every penny of it you’ll go to jail, Phœbe Daring.”

It was Phœbe’s turn to stare. Could the woman be speaking the truth?

“Where is the proof of your statement?” she asked.

Without a word Elaine turned and reëntered her room. A few minutes later she came back with a paper – a dreadful, legal-looking document – which she unfolded and held before Phœbe’s face for her to read, grasping it tightly the while and prepared to snatch it away if the girl made any movement to secure it.

Phœbe, frightened and horrified, made an effort to read the writing. It was not very distinct, but seemed to state in legal jargon that Jonathan Eliot, being of sound mind and owing no person a debt of any sort, did of his own free will and accord give and transfer to Elaine Halliday all his worldly possessions, including his residence in Riverdale and all its contents of whatsoever kind or description, in return for faithful service rendered him and duly acknowledged.

“Have you read it?” asked the woman, hoarsely.

“I – I think so!” gasped Phœbe.

“Look at the signature.”

Phœbe looked. The paper was signed “Jonathan Eliot” in a crabbed, stiff hand. She could not tell whether it was her grandfather’s writing or not; she was not familiar with it. But, the dreadful truth was forced upon her at last, and Elaine’s scornful assurance was fully explained. She owned the house; she owned that secret hoard. Phœbe had not stolen from her grandfather, as she had supposed, but from Elaine Halliday!

The old woman noted her blanched cheeks and smiled with ruthless joy. Carefully refolding the paper she said:

“I’ve been robbed, and by you. There’s no use denying it, for I’ve got proof in that unlocked door. But I don’t care to send you to prison. I’d rather get my money back.”

“I haven’t it,” murmured Phœbe, staring fearfully into the other’s pitiless face.

Elaine scowled and shrugged her shoulders.

“That’s all nonsense, girl! Give it up,” she advised.

“I can’t; I haven’t it.”

“You’re lying. You took the money yesterday. You can’t have spent it already. Give it up!”

Phœbe was silent. She sat staring helplessly at her tormentor.

“A liar and a thief! You’ll spend your life in prison for this, Phœbe Daring, unless you come to your senses and return my money.”

Phœbe answered not a word. There was nothing to be said. Elaine waited impatiently. Don was calling loudly for Phœbe from some of the lower rooms. Perhaps he would come here in a few minutes.

“See here,” said the housekeeper, suddenly, “I’ll give you till to-morrow – at noon – to bring me that money. Unless I get it – every penny, mind you – I’ll send the constable for you and have you arrested and jailed.”

With this threat she walked into her own room, closing and securing the door after her. Phœbe sat in a stupor. Her mind refused to dwell upon this amazing discovery. She was glad Don had ceased calling to her and vaguely wondered what he had wanted. The stockings must be darned; but really there was no hurry about it; they would not be needed for a day or two.

A sharp blow upon the door startled her out of this rambling reverie. Elaine was driving nails. Viciously she pounded them into the door with her hammer, utterly regardless of the certainty of disturbing Gran’pa Eliot. She intended to assure herself that Phœbe would be unable to get at the hidden treasure again.

And now the full horror of the situation burst upon the girl’s mental vision, making her cringe and wince as if in bodily pain. Jail! Jail for helping Phil! Well, it was far better that she should suffer than her twin – a boy whose honor was all in all to him. She would try to be brave and pay the penalty for Phil’s salvation unflinchingly.

For a while the poor girl sat cowering in the depths of despair. What could she do? where could she turn for help? Then a sudden thought came to her like an inspiration. Judge Ferguson had once made her promise to come to him if she was in any trouble. Of course. Judge Ferguson was her father’s old friend. She would see him at once, and perhaps he would be able to advise her in this grave emergency.

CHAPTER XXI

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.