The Daring Twins

“Poor gran’pa!”

“Now, listen, Miss Phœbe. The judge told me not to lose sight of that woman. If she tries to leave the house I am to follow her. But I want to get away, for just a little while, and I’d like you to watch in my place.”

“But, what shall I do if she goes away?”

“Follow her, and I’ll find you both. But she won’t leave the house to-day, I’m sure.”

“Very well; I’ll do the best I can, Toby.”

He nodded and walked away, going straight to the graveyard. When he reached there he climbed nimbly over the high iron rail, at the risk of breaking a limb, and faced the Eliot mausoleum. Pressing the spring, as he had seen Elaine do, he opened the marble door and passed into the tomb.

A few moments later he came out with a pale, startled face and closed the door. A while he stood lost in reverie; then he clambered over the railing again and went to relieve Phœbe.

“Thank you, Miss Daring,” he said quietly. “You may go, now. Anything to report?”

“Why, a minute ago Elaine came to the window where gran’pa sits, and after staring out, as if she suspected I was watching her, she turned and shook up gran’pa’s pillows, and moved his chair back a little. So you see we were wrong, and she is not really neglecting him.”

Toby chuckled.

“She’s a slick one, is Miss Halliday!” he murmured. “But I’ll keep an eye on her now.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Phœbe, remembering he had been on duty since the evening before.

He shook his head.

“Brought some bread and cheese with me, Miss Daring. Good-by.”

“Good-by, Toby.”

The afternoon passed slowly for Phœbe. She was still wrought up over the exciting events of the past few days and felt that she was almost as much in the dark concerning Judge Ferguson’s intentions as was Phil. She tried to copy some manuscript on her typewriter, for she had been neglecting the work lately, but somehow the girl had conceived an undefined horror of her room. So she went to sit with Cousin Judith, while she finished darning her stockings.

“Phœbe, dear,” said Miss Eliot, “there’s something mysterious going on in this house.”

“Is there?” asked Phœbe, with downcast eyes.

“I think so. Phil has not been himself, lately. I’m sure he is worrying dreadfully over something. Is anything wrong at the bank?”

“No, Cousin Judith. Phil is all right. He’s doing splendid work, as you may know from the fact that Mr. Spaythe has raised his salary.”

“But the boy is unhappy, nevertheless,” persisted the Little Mother, musingly.

Phœbe sighed. She knew it was true.

“As for you, my dear,” continued Judith, “you are a mere bundle of nerves lately, and start and grow pale if anyone speaks to you. What has happened, Phœbe?”

The girl darned industriously for a time. Then she said earnestly:

“You trust me, Cousin Judith, do you not?”

“You know I do, Phœbe.”

“Then please do not question me to-day. I don’t want to mislead you, or deceive you, and Judge Ferguson has asked me not to confide in anyone – not even you.”

“Judge Ferguson!” exclaimed Judith, relieved. “Is it his secret, then?”

“Just now it is,” answered Phœbe. “But there is nothing to worry about, dear. That’s what I told Phil, just after dinner.”

Miss Eliot was really puzzled, but she felt it would be unkind to press Phœbe further.

“Becky, Don and Sue know nothing of the matter, at least,” she observed, after a moment’s reflection.

“No, indeed,” said Phœbe.

CHAPTER XXIV

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.”