In this demand poor Mr. Fellows found he had gone a step too far. Mr. Spaythe, angry and resentful, called on him and requested him not to publish any more such foolish ideas. Sam Parsons called on him and politely but firmly requested him to mind his own business. Mr. Holbrook called on him and sarcastically asked if he preferred to undertake the case, with its responsibilities, rather than trust to the judgment of a competent attorney. The bewildered editor tore up the article he had written for the next edition and resolved to keep silent thereafter, as a matter of policy.
Lawyer Kellogg was also keeping very quiet, relying upon the evidence he had on hand to convict the accused. He was greatly annoyed at times by Mrs. Ritchie, who drove to town every few days — usually in the evenings — and urged him to get back her money and the missing paper. This the lawyer was unable to do, even when she offered him a thousand dollars for the recovery of the paper alone.
“What was the paper?” he asked.
“That don’t concern you,” she retorted.
“It does, indeed, Mrs. Ritchie,” protested the man. “How can I find a paper if I am totally ignorant of its character? Was it a deed, a mortgage, or what?”
She looked at him uneasily.
“I wish I could trust you,” she muttered; “but you’re such a lyin’ scoundrel that I’ve no confidence in you.”
“I’m honest to my clients, at all times, and as honest as most men in other ways,” he assured her. “I’ve often observed that those who can’t trust their lawyers are not honest themselves.”
“Meaning me, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re right. That paper might cause me trouble if it got into the wrong hands,” she frankly stated. “Even Judge Ferguson never knew what it was, for I kept it sealed up in a long yellow envelope just marked ‘private’ on the outside. When the box was stolen the envelope and all disappeared.”
“What was the paper?” he asked again.
“A — a will.”
“Oh! Mr. Ritchie’s will?”
“No. But it was a will, giving me power over property. If you run across it, and see my name, don’t read the paper but bring it straight to me and the thousand dollars is yours — with the understanding you keep your mouth shut forever.”
He smiled at her complacently. Here was a streak of good luck that well repaid the unscrupulous attorney for undertaking Mrs. Ritchie’s case and submitting to all her abuse. She admitted she was not an honest woman. She admitted the lost will would be damaging evidence against her. Very well, she was now in his power and as she was a rich woman he could extort money from her whenever he pleased, by simply resorting to threats.
Mrs. Ritchie read the smile correctly and nodded with grim comprehension.
“I’ve told you this for two reasons,” she said. “One is so you can identify the paper if you find it, and bring it to me. The other reason is because I can put you in jail if you try to blackmail me.”
“Oh; you can?”
“Easy. It was you that put that box in Toby Clark’s rubbish heap, so the police could find it there. You got a box, painted it blue, to look like mine, put my name on the end, and then smashed the lock, battered the box all up an’ carried it to the rubbish heap.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. I found the blue and white paints in your office closet. I’ve seen several such boxes in your possession when you opened your safe. The lock of the box found in Toby’s yard won’t fit my key, for there were two keys to my box and I carried one and Judge Ferguson the other. Last of all, I was driving home one night when I saw you sneaking along the dark road. I got out of my buggy an’ followed you, an’ I saw you go into Toby’s yard an’ hide the box.”
“Why did you say nothing of this until now?”
“Because I’d like to see Toby go to prison. It’s a dead sure thing he stole my box, for no one else would have taken just that yellow envelope and hid the other papers where they might be found. So I mean to make him do time for that trick, behind prison bars, and the sort of evidence you fixed up will help send him there. But I want that paper back, and I want the money, an’ you’ve got to get ‘em for me, Abner Kellogg. If you don’t, I’ll tell about the box. That act of yours was conspiracy, accordin’ to law, and it’ll mean state’s prison for you.”
Mr. Kellogg, rather uneasy to find the tables turned on him so cleverly, took time to rearrange his thoughts. Then he said:
“I didn’t hide your papers in the boy’s room. I received an anonymous letter, telling me where to look for them. Did you write that letter?”
“Don’t be a fool. If I’d known, I’d have got the papers myself. I don’t accuse you of hiding the papers, but I do know you manufactured that box evidence.”
“Yes, for a purpose. If I had known the papers would be found I wouldn’t have bothered about the box, for the papers are really the strongest proof against young Clark. But I wonder why, when he hid the other papers, he kept out the yellow envelope containing the will.”
“He wanted to keep that,” she said.
“Then you think he intended the other papers to be discovered? Nonsense! You’re more clever than that, Mrs. Ritchie.”
She frowned.
“Well, what then, sir?” she asked.
“This case is more complicated than you dream of,” he replied. “I’ve a notion that others besides Toby Clark are implicated. If you were not so anxious for that paper, I’d say the safest plan we can follow is to convict Toby, put him in prison, and then let the matter drop. What harm will the loss of the paper do? No one would dare use it, for it would proclaim him the accomplice of the thief. If it’s a will, a legal document, it has been probated and recorded, so no one will question your right to the property it conveys. Keep quiet about the loss and you will be safe. It seems to me that the only danger is in stirring things up.”
She thought this over.
“Find it if you can,” she said, rising to go, “but don’t mention to a soul that it’s a will you’re looking for. Try and get Toby to confess; that’s the best plan. Promise him a light sentence; promise him anything you like if he’ll give up the yellow envelope, or tell you where it is. When we’ve got our hands on it we can forget all our promises.”
The lawyer nodded, with an admiring smile for his confederate.
“I’ll try,” he said, but with a doubtful accent. “A thousand dollars for you if you succeed,” she repeated, and went away.
CHAPTER XVII
HOW PHOEBE SURPRISED A SECRET
While Phoebe freely applauded the generous efforts of the children on behalf of Toby Clark, she realized that it would require something more than, Marching Clubs to save the boy from prison.
According to Sam Parsons, Toby ought to go to prison, as a scapegoat for others; but Phoebe could not reconcile herself to the decree of so dreadful a fate for a helpless and innocent waif — just because he had no near relatives to grieve over his sacrifice.
She had promised Sam not to tell his secret, unless by telling it she could save Toby, yet after much earnest thought she decided to relate an abstract case to Cousin Judith and ask her advice. So, outlining just how much she dared say and still be true to her promise, she went one afternoon to the Little Mother’s room, taking her sewing with her, and while Judith painted, Phoebe led the conversation toward Toby Clark.
“I’m afraid,” she remarked, after pursuing the subject for a time, “that we’re not helping Toby as energetically as we ought. No one seems so much interested as we are, for neither Mr. Spaythe nor Lawyer Holbrook appear to be doing anything to find the real criminal. If things jog along this way, December will soon arrive and Toby will be tried and convicted before we realize it.”
“True,” said Judith. “I can’t account for the seeming inactivity of Mr. Holbrook and Mr. Spaythe; yet it may be all seeming, Phoebe. Have you conceived any idea on the subject?”
“I’ve speculated about it, of course. Suppose, Cousin, these m
en should not wish to discover the real criminal. Suppose they know who took the box, but want to shield the guilty one from disgrace, and so are willing to let Toby suffer?”
“Why, Phoebe, what a queer notion that is!”
“But it isn’t impossible, is it? Suppose one with many friends and relatives — a prominent and respectable person, you know — in a moment of weakness stole Mrs. Ritchie’s box. To save that person from the consequences, false evidence against Toby was manufactured. We know it is false evidence if Toby is innocent. Wouldn’t those in the secret think it better to let a poor and friendless boy suffer the disgrace and the prison sentence, rather than denounce one whose disgrace Would drag down many others?”
Judith looked at her with a startled expression.
“Really, my dear, you may possibly have stumbled upon the truth,” she said slowly. “That is quite a reasonable hypothesis. How did you happen to think of it?”
Phoebe flushed at the necessity of dissimulating.
“Some one is guilty,” she replied evasively, “and there seems to be a conspiracy to defend the guilty one from discovery. But would it be right and just for them to do that, Cousin Judith? Would it be honest to let an innocent boy suffer for another’s crime?”
Judith reflected before answering.
“I think not,” she said. “Certainly not unless the innocent one willingly and voluntarily undertook to shield the guilty. There have been such instances of generous self-sacrifice, which all the world has applauded; but to condemn the innocent without his knowledge or consent seems to me as great a crime as the theft of the box — even a greater crime.”
“That is exactly how it seems to me!” cried Phoebe eagerly. “If I knew of such a thing, Cousin, and was able to foil the plot, would I be justified in doing so?”
The Little Mother looked at the girl thoughtfully.
“I suppose, Phoebe, that you have discovered something that warrants this suspicion, but are not ready to confide in me wholly at the present time,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, Cousin Judith; but — ”
“Never mind. I am not offended, Phoebe. I know your frank and true nature and can trust you to do right, as you see the right. But move cautiously in this matter, my dear. Study the arguments on both sides of the question very carefully; then boldly follow the dictates of your heart. Without knowing more than I do of the matter, I should consider two courses of action open to you — if, indeed, you prove to be right in your surmise. One is to let Toby himself decide.”
“Oh; but that would settle it at once!” exclaimed Phoebe. “Toby is generous to a fault and, although he is proud, he keenly realizes his humble position. To ask him to suffer that another might be saved would be the same as thrusting him into prison. I know he wouldn’t refuse; and you know it, too, Cousin Judith.”
“Yet under some conditions it might be best, even then,” asserted Judith. “Best, I mean, from a politic point of view. But that would depend largely on who the guilty person is. The other alternative is to obtain proof against the real criminal, of a character sufficient to clear Toby, and then let the punishment fall where it belongs, regardless of consequences. That would be strict justice, for those who err should alone pay the penalty.”
“How about the friends who would share the disgrace?”
“That should prevent one from committing a fault, but once the fault is perpetrated it is no argument for mercy. Nor do I think that anyone is really disgraced because a friend or relative does wrong. People never condemn a woman because her husband is a drunkard; rather do they pity her. Nor is a relative properly held responsible for one’s crime. It is true that the taint of crime and prison attaches — unjustly — to one’s children and frequently ruins their lives, for many believe in heredity of disposition. Such belief is, in my opinion, erroneous.”
“Suppose the guilty one fell in a moment of weakness and is now sincerely sorry?” suggested Phoebe.
“The more reason he should bravely bear whatever punishment the law provides. Really, Phoebe, in the abstract I can see but one way to look at this thing. There may be exceptional circumstances that would induce us to sacrifice Toby Clark to avoid a greater evil; but such an act would not be just; it could only claim policy as its excuse.”
Cousin Judith’s ideas coincided with those of Phoebe. The girl tried to argue on the side of Sam Parsons, but could not convince herself that he was right. Sam doubtless believed he was acting nobly and generously, and he knew more than did Phoebe about the case, but she resented injustice in any form and finally determined to sift the affair to the bottom, if possible, and save Toby at any cost. Was not his good name as precious to him as her own was to herself? What right had anyone to destroy it, that some weak offender of the law might escape?
Having once firmly decided her course of action, Phoebe resumed her careful, painstaking methods of deduction, such as she had formerly employed. In the light of her latest information many of her conclusions must be modified. Mr. Spaythe was not the guilty one, assuredly, for he had but one relation, his son Eric, and no close friends since the death of Judge Ferguson. Mr. Holbrook was such an utter stranger to Riverdale that Sam Parsons’ clemency could not apply to him. Will Chandler was the next on the list; a man of large family, a postmaster by the grace of the president of the United States himself, one of the village council, a highly respected citizen, a leading churchman and a warm personal friend of the constable. Both Sam Parsons and Will Chandler were officers of the local lodge — an argument that Phoebe did not appreciate the importance of. But it was impossible to suspect Will Chandler. Had his nature been weak enough to succumb to temptation, he might have robbed the post office at any time during the past twenty years of sums far greater than that contained in Mrs. Ritchie’s box. Mrs. Miller, the charwoman, was a person of so little reputation that Sam would never think of shielding her had she stolen the box.
There remained, then, of all Phoebe’s list of suspects, only Sam Parsons himself. If he had stolen the box — which she had discovered in his possession — the arguments he had advanced to induce her to keep silent would be just such as might be expected from a shrewd but uncultured man.
Yet Phoebe’s knowledge of character was sufficient to induce her instantly to abandon any thought of connecting the constable with the crime. It was absolutely impossible for Sam Parsons to be guilty of the theft of money. She knew that intuitively. The man was an honest man, if honest men exist.
Phoebe soon came to realize that she must seek the guilty party outside the circle of probabilities she had formerly outlined. She knew, at least by sight and reputation, practically every inhabitant of the village. So she began to consider which one might have an object in taking the money, which one was a member of a large and respectable family, and which was weak enough in character to yield to sudden temptation. Sam had hinted at an unexpected chance to rifle the box, which chance had furnished the temptation resulting in the theft; but Phoebe knew nothing of such a sudden opportunity and, after puzzling her brain for several days over the problem, she decided to start out and attempt to secure some additional information which, in view of her recent discoveries, might guide her to the truth.
Many girls develop a native talent for unraveling mysteries and, both in modern journalism and in secret service, women have proved themselves more intelligent investigators than men. There was nothing abnormal in Phoebe Daring’s desire to discover the truth underlying the complex plot of which Toby Clark seemed the innocent victim. She was sufficiently interested in the unfortunate boy to have a sincere desire to assist him, and she furthermore felt under deep obligations to Toby for his past services to her family, at a time when the Darings were in much trouble. It was her bounden duty, she considered, to save him if she could, for his interests seemed to be sadly neglected by those who should have strained every effort in his behalf. So she constituted herself his champion and the disappointments and rebuffs she met with only made her the more dete
rmined to persevere. In a little town like Riverdale she could go and come without comment and, as a matter of fact, the young girl’s investigations were conducted very quietly and secretly. No one but Cousin Judith was in her secret; even the children had no idea that Phoebe was “playing detective” in Toby’s interest. She might have to be a little more bold and aggressive than before, if she was to succeed, but she felt that tact and a cool head would carry her through any emergency and these qualities she believed she possessed.
It would be useless to deny the fascination inherent in the task of solving a mystery such as this and although Phoebe Daring had sufficient reasons for undertaking it she became so intensely interested that the desire to succeed often overshadowed her primary object to help Toby Clark.
For one thing, she was anxious to know why Mr. Holbrook had shown so little interest in clearing his client of the accusation against him. The young lawyer scarcely knew Toby Clark and could not be personally inimical to his interests; so she determined to interview him again.
This time she induced Nathalie Cameron to accompany her. Nathalie was one of Toby’s strongest sympathizers and without letting her suspect her real purpose Phoebe frankly told her friend that she wanted to bring Mr. Holbrook to book for not being more strenuous in the defense of his client.
The girls found the lawyer in his office and he received them with his usual polite deference.
“I’d like to know,” said Phoebe, “what your plans are for destroying the evidence against Toby, at the coming trial.”
The young man smiled and then looked grave. He saw that the girl was quite serious and, unwarranted as her interference might be, her position in Riverdale was sufficiently important to render it impolitic to deny her an answer.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 358