The Daring Twins

“Are you busy, sir?” she asked, with hesitation.

“Very, my dear. I’m due at an important meeting within five minutes.”

Phœbe’s face fell.

“Anything wrong?” inquired the lawyer in a kindly tone. Phœbe was one of his favorites.

“Oh, a great deal is wrong, sir!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “I’m in great distress, and I’ve – I’ve come to you – for help.”

Judge Ferguson hung his hat on the peg again and went to the door of an inner room.

“Toby!” he called.

“Yes, sir.”

Toby Clark appeared: a frowsy-headed, much freckled youth who served as the lawyer’s clerk. He nodded to Phœbe and looked inquiringly at his master.

“Go to Mr. Wells at the insurance office and tell him I cannot attend the meeting to-day. Have it postponed until to-morrow,” said the judge.

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Toby, when you return stand guard over the private room and see that I’m not disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.”

The youth vanished instantly and with a courteous gesture Mr. Ferguson motioned Phœbe to enter his sanctum. Evidently, he had shrewdly read her face and knew that something very unusual had happened to his ward.

“Now, then, explain yourself, my dear,” he said when they were seated.

Phœbe looked earnestly into the kind old face.

“I want to make a full confession of everything,” she began. “I want you to understand me, and – and know just as much as I do.”

“That is a wise resolve, when you are dealing with a lawyer,” he responded, smiling at her anxious look.

So she first told him of how she had discovered old Miss Halliday counting the secret hoard, and of her reasons for keeping the knowledge to herself. Next, she related Phil’s experiences at the bank, his suspicions of Eric and the midnight adventure when together the twins watched the banker’s son robbing the safe. All the details of Eric’s plan to implicate Phil had been carefully treasured in the girl’s memory, and she now related them simply, but convincingly, to the lawyer.

It was more difficult to confess the rest, but Phœbe did not falter nor spare herself. A way to save Phil had been suggested to her by the discovery of her grandfather’s hoarded money – for she naturally supposed it was his. Her description of the manner in which she had secured exactly the same amount Eric had taken was dramatic enough to hold her listener spellbound, and he even smiled when she related Eric’s confusion at finding the money restored, and how he had eagerly made restitution of the minor sums he had embezzled by “fixing” the books.

Perhaps Judge Ferguson had never been so astonished and startled in all his long experience as he was by Phœbe’s story. The thing that really amazed him was Jonathan Eliot’s secret store of money. He had not been without suspicion that the old man had grown miserly, but so cleverly had the treasure been concealed that when Mr. Ferguson searched the house – under the cunning guidance of Elaine, of course – he had found nothing at all to justify that suspicion.

When, in conclusion, Phœbe told of her late interview with the old housekeeper and recited as well as she could remember the terms of the deed of gift from Mr. Eliot to Elaine Halliday, Judge Ferguson became visibly excited.

“Was it really your grandfather’s signature?” he inquired.

“I cannot say, sir, for I have seldom seen his signature,” she replied.

“Were the names of any witnesses affixed to the document?”

“I did not notice any.”

“H-m. What then?”

“Then she threatened to put me in prison unless I returned the money, and of course I cannot do that,” said Phœbe, plaintively. “She has given me until to-morrow noon, and then I must go to jail.”

The lawyer sat for some time staring at a penholder which he tried to balance upon his middle finger. He was very intent upon this matter until a long-drawn sigh from Phœbe aroused him. Then he leaned back in his chair, thrust his hands deep in his pockets and bobbed his head at her reassuringly.

“We’ll not let you go to jail, Phœbe,” he asserted, in a tone that carried conviction.

“But I – I’ve stolen her money!” she moaned.

“I don’t believe it. I know Jonathan Eliot. And I’ve known other misers before him. Not one of them would ever give up a dollar of their beloved accumulation as long as a spark of life remained in their bodies – your grandfather, least of all. And to his housekeeper! Why should he resign it to her, I’d like to know?”

“She seems to have a powerful influence over him,” remarked Phœbe, thoughtfully. “She alone is able to communicate with him now, or make him understand. She alone cares for him while he is helpless as a baby, and he depends upon her promise to see that his body is finally laid in the queer tomb he once built. Perhaps she obliged him to give her everything, by threatening to leave him to die alone.”

“Don’t believe a word of it, my dear!” exclaimed the lawyer, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “If Jonathan Eliot is clear-headed enough to dictate that deed of gift, or to sign it, he is still shrewd enough not to part with his money. Deeds of gift executed under compulsion are illegal, too. But I believe this paper to be nothing more than a rank forgery.”

Phœbe stared at him with wide open eyes.

“You do, sir?”

“I certainly do. Elaine is bluffing, and the bluff might succeed if she had only a girl like you to deal with. You were quite right to come to me, Phœbe. I’ll agree to settle this controversy with Elaine.”

“How?” she asked, feeling much encouraged by his confident tone.

“H-m. I cannot say, as yet. I must have time to think. Why, it’s five o’clock,” looking at his watch. “Sit still! Don’t be in a hurry. Let’s figure a little; let’s – figure.”

He was balancing the penholder again. Phœbe watched him with dreamy curiosity. It was a distinct relief to shift the burden to other shoulders.

After a while she said softly:

“Do you think I’ve been so – so very wicked, Judge?”

Slowly he rose from his chair, came over to her and kissed her cheek.

“Very wicked, Phœbe. All good, true women may be just as wicked, to help those they love. God bless ’em!”

He turned away to face an old print of Abraham Lincoln that hung on the wall, and seemed to study it intently.

“How is your grandfather’s health, lately?” he abruptly inquired.

“I saw him through the window yesterday. He seemed the same as usual.”

“A live carcass. An active mind in a dead body. If Elaine can rouse that mind, can communicate with him, others may do the same.”

He seemed to be speaking to himself. Phœbe sat quietly and did not interrupt his thoughts.

“So you counted the gold with Elaine. Are you sure of the sums you mentioned? Could you see clearly through that peephole?”