Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “To pay some of those infernal debts.”

  “How much better off will you be afterward, Eric? Wouldn’t you contract more debts right away?”

  “That’s my business,” growled the other.

  “Don’t you begin preaching to me, Phil Daring, for I won’t stand for it,” he added, glaring angrily at his fellow clerk.

  Phil said no more, but he was sad and ill at ease. Eric was no longer the genial, winning fellow of former days. Since he had begun to spend money so recklessly and to run into debt, his character and disposition seemed to have altered for the worse. The thing Phil dreaded more than anything else was another raid on the bank money, with more of those audacious false records to cover up the defalcations: He was helpless to interfere, but none the less was he sincerely sorry for both Eric and his father, knowing that exposure was bound to follow sooner or later.

  Singularly enough, Mr. Spaythe seemed blind to his son’s reckless extravagance. A thoughtful man, intent upon the intricate details of his banking business and absorbed in loans, notes and discounts, interests and important matters of a like character, the banker seemed not to notice Eric’s elaborate costumes or the fact that he passed much of his spare time in association with the fast set of the village, whose rendezvous was the hotel bar. On the contrary, Mr. Spaythe seemed contented with the thought that his son and heir was connected with his business and apparently doing his work faithfully and well.

  On Wednesday Mr. Boothe was suffering from a bad headache when he came to work. It soon became so much worse that Phil had to assist him to reach his home — a little cottage not far away — where the cashier lived with a maiden sister.

  When Phil came back he went into the private office and reported the matter to Mr. Spaythe. The banker at once telephoned Dr. Jenkins to attend Mr. Boothe, and then in person took his cashier’s place in the teller’s “cage.”

  Next day Mr. Boothe was still too ill to appear at the bank. Dr. Jenkins said it would be lucky if he managed to break up the fever, but in any event his patient could not resume his duties before the following Monday morning.

  While his father was taking the cashier’s place Eric was silent and attentive to his work. But, Mr. Spaythe could ill afford to devote his entire time to the counting room, so he often called his son to assist in cashing checks and receiving deposits. Eric attended to these details so intelligently that on Friday Mr. Spaythe gave him complete charge of that important department, thus gaining for himself the liberty of devoting his attention to other pressing matters that had accumulated on his own desk.

  That same afternoon, when the banker stepped into the counting room to secure a memorandum, Eric said to him:

  “Wouldn’t it be a good idea, sir, to give Phil the combination of the safe? We’re behind with the books, and he’ll have to come down nights and catch up with the work — at least until Boothe gets back into harness.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Spaythe; “you may give Daring the combination. Here is an extra key to the side door, also.” Then, he turned to his youthful clerk and nodded kindly. “I’m sorry to force this extra work upon you, Phil, but Mr. Boothe’s illness leaves us very short-handed, and you may expect compensation for your extra hours.”

  Phil was not only annoyed at this, but positively frightened. He had surprised a curious look upon Eric’s face when he asked his father to give Phil the secret combination of the safe. In a small establishment like Spaythe’s Bank both the books and the supply of currency were kept in the one big safe. At this juncture, when many uncomfortable suspicions were rife in his brain, Phil muGh preferred not to have such responsibility thrust upon him.

  “I ‘d rather not know the combination, sir,” he ventured to say, knowing he appeared confused and embarrassed.

  Mr. Spaythe was plainly surprised and gave him a hard look.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “It is a — a — great responsibility, sir,” the yonng man explained.

  “Nonsense, Daring. I trust you, fully. As fully as I do Eric or Mr. Boothe.”

  “Can’t I make up the work on the books some other way — during the noon hour?”

  “You’re silly, Phil,” declared Eric, sharply. “Better come down here quietly after supper and do the work in an easy and proper way. It isn’t likely to last but a night or two.”

  “I think Mr. Boothe will be able to resume his duties by Monday morning,” added Mr. Spaythe; and then, as if the matter was settled, he walked into his room.

  Phil resumed his work with an uneasy sense of impending misfortune. After banking hours Eric made up the teller’s account of receipts and disbursements and gave Phil a copy that he might enter the items on the books in detail. Then he counted the cash and put it away in the safe, explaining to his unwilling colleague the way to work the combination. After this Eric departed, leaving Phil alone in the bank, where he worked steadily until time for supper.

  “When he went home he confided to Phœbe this new complication that had arisen.

  “I’m almost certain that Eric has some desperate scheme in his head,” said he. “He needs money badly to pay his gambling debts, and I’m afraid he will try to get it in such a way as to implicate me and divert suspicion from himself.”

  “Why do you imagine that!” inquired his twin.

  “Because he was so anxious that I should know the combination and have a key to the bank. What ought I to do, dear?”

  “Your simple duty,” said Phœbe positively. “Why, Phil, no harm can possibly come to an honest fellow who does his duty! Don’t worry about Eric and his deeds. He could not injure you if he tried, and really, I don’t believe he will try. Eric has a kindly heart, and his main fault is that he has become a bit wild and reckless.”

  “He’s changed a good deal lately, Phœbe,” was the quiet answer.

  Phil promptly returned to the bank, let himself in by the side door, opened the safe and took out the books. For two hours he worked under the glare of the electric light, before his task was finished. No one came near to interrupt him. As he slid the big books into the compartment of the safe reserved for them he glanced at the neat piles of bills and bags of gold and an involuntary shiver of fear swept over him.

  Saturday morning the bank was very busy. Eric sat in Mr. Boothe’s cage and waited upon the customers in a very business-like manner. He was so quick and accurate in handling the money, with a pleasant word for each one who approached his wicket, that when Mr. Spaythe came in now and then to see that everything was progressing properly the boy won his father’s gratified praise.

  At one o’clock they closed the doors, as was usual on Saturdays, and it did not take Eric long to arrange his cash, pile it away in the safe and turn his statement of the day’s transactions over to PhD.

  “What, through already?” asked his father, coming in at that moment.

  “Yes, sir. Here’s the balance sheet you asked for, all made out correctly. I’m in a bit of a hurry, as I’ve arranged to go to St. Louis for over Sunday.”

  Mr. Spaythe frowned.

  “I did not know of this plan,” he said curtly. “Why are you making the trip, Eric?”

  “To visit Ned Thurber. He has invited me to stay with him, so it will only cost me railroad fares. I’ll be back in time for work on Monday, sir,” he added carelessly.

  Mr. Spaythe stood regarding his son silently for a moment. He reflected that the boy had behaved admirably these past few days, filling Mr. Boothe’s place quite effectively. The banker was also engaged with other matters that required his immediate attention. So he said: “Very well. Go, if you wish to.” Eric accompanied his father into the private office, merely bestowing upon Phil a nod of farewell. It was rather mean of him to take a vacation and throw all the work of bookkeeping upon young Daring, but Eric was not noted for his consideration to others.

  Pausing before his father’s desk he said in a hesitating way:

  “I suppose it’s all right to leave Phil in charge of
the cash?” Mr. Spaythe turned upon him, sharply. “Why not?” he said. “The Darings are honest enough. I would have trusted his father with every penny I owned, at any time.”

  “Oh, I suppose Phil’s safe,” returned Eric, carelessly. “But he’s a new clerk, and there’s a lot of currency on hand to carry over Sunday. So the thought struck me — ”

  He paused, for his father was paying no attention to what he said. Instead, his practiced eye was shrewdly scanning the balance sheet. It told the amount of cash on hand in bills, gold and silver, and recorded all checks, drafts and notes deposited during the day. Finding the tally correct Mr. Spaythe laid down the paper and turned again to his son.

  “I’ll trust Phil,” he said.

  Eric went away, smiling to himself. “Just what I wanted,” he muttered. “The gov’nor will remember this conversation afterward.”

  Passing down the street he told every acquaintance he met that he was off for St. Louis by the four o’clock train. At the station he made his journey known to the group of loungers and shouted a rather boisterous good-by when the train drew in and he boarded it. He even waved his hat from the back platform until he had passed out of sight. Among those who thus watched Eric’s departure was Donald Daring, who announced the fact at supper that Eric Spaythe had gone to St. Louis by the four o’clock train.

  “Must you work at those dreadful books tonight, Phil?” asked Phœbe.

  “Only for an hour or so, dear. I put in such steady work this afternoon that a little more will get things in shape.”

  “I’ll go down with you, then, and keep you company,” she announced.

  As they walked along the street together in the cool of early evening Phil was very thoughtful. Finally, he said to the girl:

  “I don’t believe Eric has gone to St. Louis, Phœbe.”

  “Why, he must have gone!” she exclaimed. “Don saw him on board the train.”

  “I know; but in spite of that I’ve a queer feeling — a sort of suspicion — that he’s playing us a trick.”

  “Have you, Phil? But why?”

  “I can’t explain it. You see, since Boothe has been away Eric has been free to do as he pleased. He’s in desperate need of money, just now; but, although I’ve been on the watch, not a single crooked transaction have I been able to discover — except one.”

  “What was that?”

  “I found on his desk yesterday a scrap of paper with my name scribbled over it in many styles of handwriting. Anyone seeing it would have thought I had been trying to create a lot of different signatures. I tore the paper in two, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the waste basket. But, afterward, I decided the thing ought to be burnt, and searched for the scraps. They weren’t among the other papers, for I went through the entire contents of the basket. Some one had taken them, and it could be no one but Eric.”

  Phoebe looked grave at this.

  “What does it mean, Phil?”

  “I’ve tried to think. I know of two or three forged deposit slips, aside from that one of Mr. Martin’s. Then there was the forged check of Mrs. Randolph — I’m positive it was forged.

  These things are sure to be discovered some day, and then the charge of forgery and embezzlement will lie between Eric and me.”

  “Oh, Phil!”

  “As Eric is Mr. Spaythe’s own son it will be easy for him to accuse me. If I tell Mr. Spaythe what I know he will ask why I didn’t report it at the time. I’mina net, Phœbe, and Eric knows it. If he can save himself at my expense, he won’t hesitate.”

  “I see!” she cried, clasping her hands tightly. “Isn’t it dreadful, Phil?”

  “That is why I now suspect that Eric is up to mischief. It surprised me that he told his father so bluntly he was going to St. Louis. It would be better policy for him to keep quiet about the trip; but he risked Mr. Spaythe’s anger with unusual boldness. And he took pains to advertise his going to the whole town — even to let people see him ride away in the train.”

  “What could be his object?” inquired Phœbe, much perplexed.

  “To be able to prove an alibi, I imagine.”

  The twins walked on in silence for a time and were just passing the railway station when Phil had an idea.

  “Come in with me,” he whispered, and followed by Phœbe he walked calmly up to the agent’s window. The man was not busy, as no trains were due at this time.

  “Hello, Wakefield,” called Phil, genially.

  “Hello, Phil. Good evening, Miss Daring,” responded the agent, recognizing them.

  “I came in to pay for Eric’s ticket to St. Louis. He happened to be short of currency, but said you ‘d let him have the ticket, and I could drop in and settle for it to-night.”

  Wakefield seemed surprised.

  “Mr. Spaythe didn’t buy a through ticket,” he explained. “He only took one to Canton. Said he ‘d buy his ticket and sleeper from there on. I remember thinking that was a queer way to do. If he was short of money, Eric knew I’d help him out.”

  Phœbe trembled as she pressed Phil’s arm.

  “Why, it’s all right, then, Wakefield,” said Daring, calmly. “Probably he changed his mind, and in that case I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Not a cent. Good night, Phil. Good night, Miss Daring.”

  “Good night,” they answered and walked away.

  “You see, I was right,” said the boy, when they were on the street again. “Canton is only ten miles away, and Eric plans to leave the train there and come back.”

  “When?”

  “Some time to-night. He means to rob the safe and get away with the money. That will implicate me, you see, as I’m the only one except Mr. Spaythe and Boothe that knows the combination — and the cashier is sick in bed.”

  “Oh, Phil! I’msure your suspicion is too horrible to be true.”

  “Why, it’s so simple that it must be true. Under the circumstances it is the natural thing for Eric to do. He isn’t so very clever, although perhaps he thinks he has laid a deep plot to ruin me. The queer thing about it is that it’s liable to succeed.”

  They had reached the bank now. Phil opened the side door and ushered Phoebe into the large back room where he did his work. He turned on the electric lights, pulled down the shades to all the windows and then opened the safe and got out the books. Phoebe, perched upon Eric’s vacant stool, watched him thoughtfully. Her face was pale as wax and she had nervous, trembling fits that she could not control.

  “I’m glad I am with you,” said she, presently. “If you are accused, I can swear you did not touch the money.”

  Phil bent over and kissed her, but made no reply. Putting all his mind upon the books he methodically pursued his work for an hour or so, until all the entries had been made and his task finished. Then he closed the ledgers with a sigh of relief, put them away, and locked the safe.

  “Who knows,” he said, turning to Phœbe with a wan smile, “but that this is the last bit of work I shall do for Spaythe’s Bank? If my suspicions are correct, on Monday morning the safe will be found to have been robbed, and then I must face accusations and probable disgrace.”

  By this time the girl had recovered most of her composure. She was still pale, but had been busily thinking during that tedious hour, trying to find some way to save her twin brother.

  “Do you know exactly how much cash is in that safe now?” she asked.

  “Of course, Phœbe. It is all entered upon the books, in black and white, and Mr. Spaythe has a copy of the amounts, besides.”

  She looked carefully around the room. At the very back of the building, facing the safe, was one window which opened upon an unused yard at the rear. The window was just then covered with a thick shade. Phœbe took the desk shears, walked deliberately to this window, and punched two small holes in the shade.

  “What on earth are you doing?” asked her brother, in amazement.

  “Phil, we’re going to play we’ re detectives, you and I. Go outside, and around to this windo
w, and find out if you can see the safe through the holes I have made. If not, I must make them larger.”

  Phil obeyed, still puzzled as to her meaning. When he returned to her, he reported that the holes were about on a level with his eyes, when he stood in the back yard, and that the safe was plainly visible through the tiny openings if one stood with an eye close to the windowpane.

  “Very well,” said she, nodding with satisfaction. “What time is it now?”

  “Nearly ten.”

  “We shall have a long wait, but we mustn’t mind that. Let us go, now.”

  Phil waited until she reached the door; then he put out the lights and joined her. As they passed out he locked the door and put the key away in his pocket.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Let us take a walk up the street, for a block or two,” she replied, in a whisper; and he followed her obediently. Although it was Saturday night, this part of the town was practically deserted. There was a light in the laundry office across the way and a girl stood in the door of a candy shop and nodded to the twins vacantly.

  Half a block up the street was the printing office, but the lights in it went out before they reached it, and Mr. Fellows, the editor, gave the Darings a pleasant “Good night!” as they passed by while he was locking the door.

  Phoebe crossed over into the next street, which was merely a lane, and turning about began to retrace her steps. Phil clung to her arm and let her lead him. Here there was no light to guide them save the dim glow of the stars. The moon would not be up for some hours yet. They had to feel their way carefully for a time, but ere long they had reached a position in the rear of the bank and entered the unused yard. From a pile of boxes dumped behind a neighboring grocery Phil brought two to serve as seats, for now he guessed Phoebe’s purpose and fully approved the venturesome undertaking.

  They sat in silence for a time, their backs against the brick wall of the bank.

  “How will Eric get back from Canton!” the girl inquired, musingly.

  “I don’t know. He might drive over, and return the same way. Let me see; there’s another train to St. Louis that passes here at one-thirty. It doesn’t stop at Riverdale, but it does at Canton.”