The Daring Twins

She counted out the gold next, and as this sack chanced to contain only pieces of twenty dollars each there was much more than she required. At the bank, while Phil was discovering the extent of Eric’s theft – when the vague idea of saving him first began to dawn in her mind – Phœbe had seen a pile of canvas bags, used to contain gold, lying upon a shelf. One of these she had quietly abstracted, for on it was printed in black letters: “Spaythe’s Bank of Riverdale.” It was a similarly marked sack which Eric had taken, and now the girl brought out the bag, placed the proper amount of gold in it, and neatly tied it up. Then she made a package containing both the gold and the bills and after winding it securely with cord placed it in a drawer of her bureau.

This much being accomplished she breathed easier; but it was necessary to replace the surplus gold and bills in the hiding places from whence she had taken it. She felt no hesitation in employing a portion of Gran’pa Eliot’s hoarded wealth to save her brother from an unjust accusation. It seemed to her quite a proper thing to do, for the family honor was at stake. Gran’pa could never use the money, and his granddaughter was defiant of old Elaine’s self imposed watch upon the treasure. Yet Phœbe would not touch a penny more than stern necessity compelled her to.

Her heart bounded and then stopped beating as the housekeeper was heard to enter the next room and renew her nervous pacing up and down – up and down. Elaine was not likely to discover her loss, just yet; only at dead of night was she accustomed to pander to her miserly instincts by counting over the money. So Phœbe took courage.

A long time the girl sat silently awaiting an opportunity to restore the balance of the treasure. Meantime, she wondered again what had come over the usually methodical, self-possessed housekeeper to make her act in so queer a manner. No doubt some important event had occurred in her life; but what could it be?

A chorus of merry voices announced the return of Cousin Judith with her brothers and sisters. She hesitated, half expecting Elaine would now leave her room, but the woman wholly disregarded the Darings and continued her monotonous pacing. So Phœbe concealed the money under her pillows and noiselessly quitting the room went down to meet the family.

The sense of triumph now experienced by the girl made her regard Phil’s gloomy looks with complacency, if not with cheerfulness. She bustled about, helping Auntie to set the table for dinner and listening to the chatter of the children, and all the time the warm glow in her heart was reflected in her sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

Phil looked at his sister astonished and somewhat reproachful. Her glad laughter and flippant remarks made him feel that his twin was forgetting the terrible fate that menaced him. Over the boy’s devoted head hung a veritable Sword of Damocles, and it was destined to fall as soon as the bank was opened Monday morning. Yet here was Phœbe, merry and eager, joking with Becky and Don as she flitted through the rooms, and seemingly as unconscious of trouble as a dancing sunbeam.

Judith, a little surprised at the girl’s high spirits, kissed her affectionately as she came in to dinner. She thought Phœbe had never looked more lovely than she did to-day. Phil remarked that fact, too. “The Belle of Riverdale,” as she was often called, was really a beautiful girl; yet, those who knew Phœbe best recognized the fact that her chief charm lay not in her fascinating smile, her dainty complexion, nor her magnificent eyes, but in the kindly, sympathetic heart that had never yet failed to respond to the demands of friendship.

After dinner they were all seated on the front lawn in the shade of the big oaks, when Phœbe noticed old Elaine standing motionless in the back yard, grimly watching the group. The girl seized the opportunity to run to her room, grab the money from beneath her pillows and replace the bills in the cupboard back of the mantel and the remainder of the gold beneath the trap in the floor. She acted with breathless haste, not knowing how much time would be allowed her; but she soon found there was no need of hurry. Returning to the lawn she saw that Cousin Judith had gone to the housekeeper and was engaging Elaine in conversation.

“My uncle is better, you say?” asked Miss Eliot.

“I did not say that,” retorted the woman. “I merely stated that he suffers no pain.”

“Is his mind still befogged, as when I last saw him?” continued Judith.

“His mind has never been befogged,” said Elaine, with unnecessary anger. “You will find he is clear-headed enough to defend himself from annoyances, if intruded upon.”

Judith sighed. This creature was absolutely impossible to conciliate. She turned away without further remark and preferred not to see the half sneering, half triumphant leer on Elaine’s pinched features. Phœbe put her arms around the Little Mother and said:

“Never mind, dear. She’s old and unreasonable; but she takes good care of gran’pa, so we needn’t mind her uncivil ways.”

“Koots! I’m half afraid of her,” remarked Becky, making a face at the thin figure of the housekeeper.

“I’m not,” declared Phœbe, laughing at the recollection of her late audacity. “Miss Halliday is nothing more than a favored servant, who has forgotten her proper place. There’s nothing fearsome about her, I’m sure.”

Toward evening the girl’s high spirits began to falter and she wandered about the house in an uneasy mood. Perhaps Phil’s dismal looks – for he could not force his countenance to seem pleasant while his heart was breaking – had something to do with his twin’s growing depression. Even Sue accused Phœbe of being cross when she sent her small sister to bed somewhat earlier than usual.

When all the household had retired except the twins and Judith, they sat on the porch conversing until Miss Eliot noticed for the first time an air of restraint that was unusual. Fearing she might herself be responsible for this she pleaded some letters to be written as an excuse to go to her room, and bade them good night.

“Cheer up, dear,” said Phœbe, when their cousin had gone in. “Didn’t I promise to save you?”

“Yes; but you can’t do that, little sister. No one can save me.”

“There is one way,” announced the girl, decidedly.

Phil sat thinking.

“Yes,” he said; “if Eric would confess, that would end it all. Do you imagine he will?”

“No, indeed.”

“Nor I. I have thought of everything; but the snare is too strong to be broken.”

Phœbe did not reply at once. She sat looking out into the night, lost in thought. Presently she roused herself and whispered:

“Phil, will you take a little walk with me?”

“I don’t mind. I’m not liable to sleep much to-night, so there’s little use in going to bed.”

“Wait for me a moment,” she said.

Phil waited. She soon returned with a bulky newspaper packet partly concealed beneath her cloak.

Together they strolled down the street toward the town. It was after ten o’clock, and on Sunday evening Riverdale was like a deserted village.

“We’re getting to be regular night owls, aren’t we?” asked Phœbe, with a nervous tremor in her voice.

“Yes, indeed. But why are we prowling around town to-night? Wouldn’t it be more pleasant to walk in the lanes?”

“We’re going to the bank,” said the girl.

Phil stopped short to look at her, but the overhanging branches of a tree hid her face. With a sigh he walked on, deciding to let her have her way. But he could think of no good reason for this absurd whim.

When they reached the bank Phœbe said:

“We will go in, Phil. Unlock the door.”

Mechanically he obeyed. Dully be wondered what she was going to do. But it did not matter, and he would soon know.

“Now,” continued the girl, when they were inside, “open the safe.”

“Why, Phœbe!” he gasped, glancing at her fearfully. “You’re not going to – ”

“No; I’m not going to rob Mr. Spaythe. Open the safe, Phil – quick!”

He leaned over and set the combination. Then slowly the heavy door swung open.

Phœbe breathed a sigh of relief. Hastily unwrapping her bundle she placed a bag of gold on one shelf and a thick packet of bank bills on another – in just the places from whence Eric had abstracted the money the night before.

“All right, dear; you may lock the safe now.”

Phil was bewildered. His eyes roamed from his sister’s smiling face to the safe, and back again.

“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.

Meantime Eric sat as if turned to stone, pale and red by turns, the perspiration oozing from every pore. His eyes, as they fell upon his father, were full of terror; when he looked at Phil it was with suspicion and fear combined. For a moment’s thought had convinced Eric that his theft had been discovered. How, or in what way, he had not the faintest idea. Until now, he had confidently believed he had covered up every trace of the crime with supreme cleverness. Yet in his brief absence someone had detected the robbery and replaced the money in the safe so that Mr. Boothe would find the bank’s accounts correct.

There was only one person able to do this – his father. For it was not to be supposed for an instant that Phil Daring, or any of his friends, could raise so large a sum without recourse to the bank itself.

Then came the thought that if Mr. Spaythe was aware of his son’s embezzlement, someone had betrayed Eric to him. The traitor could be none other than Phil Daring, the one he had naturally expected would be accused of the crime.

Hardly knowing which way to turn or what to do or say, reading condemnation in every face and fearing exposure at any moment, Eric Spaythe was indeed in a pitiable plight. Why was his father inspecting the books so carefully? It could not be that he mistrusted Phil. Was he then looking for those former defalcations of which his son had been guilty? Eric had intended to accuse Phil of those things, when the logical time came. Perhaps Phil knew that, and had saved himself by denouncing Eric.

There was nothing to be learned from Daring’s face. It was grave and serene, as if he had the situation well in hand. Mr. Spaythe seemed stern and vigilant, his practised eye running up and down the entries, observing every item with intelligent care. Boothe was imperturbable as ever and paid no attention to the group in the back room.

Eric writhed on his stool and kept silent. He was fully prepared for the impending denunciation and intended to deny everything and stick to the lie to the last. But no denunciation came.

Mr. Spaythe finished his examination and then turned to Phil with a satisfied nod.

“Daring,” said he, “you have done well – very well indeed, considering your brief experience. I believe you are destined to prove of considerable future value to this bank, and hereafter your salary will be fifteen dollars a week.”

Without a word or a look toward his son he reëntered his office and closed the door. He was still angry with Eric for foolishly making that long and expensive trip to St. Louis for a day’s stay, and moreover he resented the unkind insinuations his son had made about young Daring’s honesty. But Eric attributed his father’s displeasure to entirely different causes.

Phil resumed his work, paying no attention to his companion. Eric waited for a while for him to speak, and then grew savage.

“Think you’ve caught me at it, I suppose?” he growled, with reckless disregard of the fact that he had betrayed himself. The restoration of the money was evidence enough that the cat was out of the bag.

“You are caught, Eric,” was the quiet answer. “There is no need for me to assure you of that.”

Eric glared.

“Where’s the proof?” he demanded, uneasily.

Phil looked up with a smile.

“Has it never occurred to you that money may be marked, and also a record kept of the numbers of bank notes?”

“Oh, that was it, was it?” returned the other, plainly discomfited by the suggestion, which had been hazarded merely to tease him. “Then you’ve been trying to trap me for a long time, it seems. Grateful return for my getting you the job here, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t trapped you at all, Eric. The fault is your own from beginning to end,” said Phil, seriously.

Eric walked to the window and stood looking out. He was trying to understand why his father had not frankly accused him of stealing the money. The banker’s reticence was vastly more terrifying to the boy than prompt exposure and denunciation would have been. Perhaps he had hesitated to let the world know that his only son was a thief. Yes; that must be the explanation. Therefore, Eric was destined to receive his scourging in the private office, and he experienced a distinct sense of relief at this thought, for he could stand any paternal tongue-lashing if his disgrace was but kept from the knowledge of his fellows. Eric’s disgrace would mean to an extent his father’s disgrace. Come to think of it, he had no great cause to worry, in any event. His protection lay in his father’s regard for his own good name.

Following this clue, Eric decided that Phil Daring’s raise of salary was merely a bribe not to expose the secret. But the culprit’s momentary satisfaction in this solution of the problem was promptly dampened when he remembered another of Mr. Spaythe’s characteristics – to let no fault go unpunished. He well knew his father’s stern nature, and shuddered a little as he wondered what punishment would be decreed for so grave an offense.

“What’s the program, Phil?” he inquired, coming back to the desk.

“I don’t know.”

“Not in the gov’nor’s confidence, eh?”

“Not entirely, I imagine.”

Eric stared at him thoughtfully. Strangely enough, Daring had not reproached him or gloated over his downfall. Daring had always been a very decent fellow. Perhaps he would prove a friend, even yet. Eric’s attitude changed from one of defiance to that of entreaty.

“We’ve always been pretty good chums, Phil,” he said, in a hesitating tone. “Tell me what to do, there’s a good fellow.”

Phil reflected.

“You might help yourself in one way,” he suggested.

“What is it?”

“Have you any of that money left?”

Eric nodded, trying to read the other’s solemn face.

“Then I advise you to fix up those little irregularities in the books.”

“What irregularities?”

“That check of Mrs. Randolph’s, for instance. It will be sent to her the first of the month, and she will claim it’s a forgery. Then, there’s that deposit of Martin’s, and several other little things. It would be policy for you to straighten out those tangles at once, Eric, before you are made to do it.”

Eric pondered a while, then drew a sheet of paper toward him and began to figure. He seemed pleased with the results and at once set to work to correct the books. It took him until noon to finish his task, for he had undertaken a delicate matter, and some transactions were difficult to cover up or gloss over.

While Mr. Boothe was at dinner Eric took occasion to make the cash straight, in such a way that it would not arouse the cashier’s suspicion. Phil took no part in the matter and let Eric make restitution in his own way.

“I’ve made good, Phil,” the young culprit whispered, eagerly. “Every customer’s account is now as square as a die, as far as I know, and I’ve charged my own account with some of the withdrawals and credited it with the money I’ve just turned over to the bank.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Phil, greatly relieved. But he spoke coldly, for he knew the banker’s son had acted only from fear, and not because it was the right thing to do. Involuntarily, however, Eric had saved Phil Daring from the possibility of being accused of those dangerous defalcations.

During the afternoon Eric glanced continually at the door of his father’s office, expecting any moment a summons into that stern presence. The strain upon his nerves was terrible, and Phil knew that he was already beginning to suffer punishment. At one time Eric asked anxiously:

“What ought I to do with the rest of the money, Phil?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply; for Phil thought of Phœbe and her secret and was unable to advise Eric because he had no idea where the money had come from that his sister had put in the safe.

CHAPTER XX

ACCUSED

Phœbe had been watching impatiently for her brother’s return and ran to meet him. He told her of the scene at the bank – of Eric’s astonishment and terror, and how Mr. Spaythe had raised Phil’s salary quite materially. Then he related the manner in which he had worked upon the culprit’s fears and induced him to apply a part of the stolen money to replacing his former embezzlements, thus saving Phil from the possibilities of future complications.

Tears stood in Phœbe’s eyes as she murmured: “I’m so glad. Oh, I’m so glad!”

“But the greatest mystery is not yet cleared up,” said her brother. “I’m as much as ever in the dark concerning your own share in this puzzling affair. Phœbe, where did that money come from?”

She shook her head, smiling through her tears, and accompanied him to dinner. But afterward, when Phil had gone back to work, the girl sat in her room facing the consequences of her act. Conscience stirred at last and gained control of her and its vivid accusations made her cringe. Her dearly beloved brother, her twin, had been saved from impending disgrace, but in saving him Phœbe had herself been guilty of a theft equal to that of Eric Spaythe. She had robbed her grandfather in exactly the same way that he had robbed his father, and if Eric had earned such bitter condemnation, Phœbe could not expect to escape censure. True, their motives were different. Eric stole for selfish reasons; Phœbe, to save her twin from unmerited obloquy.

Searching her heart with candid inquiry, she wondered if she were really guilty of a crime. Civil laws might condemn her, but would not the great moral laws of humanity uphold her for what she had done?

“I’m not wicked, I know,” she told herself, positively. “I have wronged no one by my act. There is more than enough of Gran’pa Eliot’s hoard remaining to last him during his brief lifetime. And what better use could a share of that idle money be put to than saving his grandson from humiliation and shame?”

But, Phœbe’s obdurate conscience was not to be appeased by such sophistry as this. “What right had you to take that money? – what right had you?” the small voice constantly asked, and at last she grew distressed by the vague, yet persistent fear that she had done an evil deed that good might come of it. Was that a sufficient excuse? she asked herself, and feared it was not.

“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.