“Oh. Well, I’ll avoid the name,” he continued, evidently eager to explain. “I was sauntering along the deserted street late at night—it was the night before the judge died, you remember—engaged in considering whether I should settle in Riverdale and undertake the practice of law, when two lawyers were already in the field, when my attention was arrested by a flash of light from the upper windows of the building opposite me—this building. It was not a strong light; not an electric light; more like a match that flickered a moment and then went out. I stood still, but was not particularly interested, when the flash was repeated, shaded this time and not so bright. It occurred to me there was something suspicious about that. The electric lights at the street corners proved that the current was still on and if it were Judge Ferguson, visiting his office so late, there was no reason he should not turn on the incandescents. If not the judge, some one else was in his office—some one who did not want too much light, which might be noticed, but enough for a certain purpose.
“I waited and saw the third match struck, which flickered a moment, like the others, and then went out. The doorway of the drug store, just opposite here, was quite dark; so I withdrew into its recess and watched the stairway of this building. Presently—she—came down, glanced cautiously into the street, and finding it deserted began walking hastily toward the east. She carried something under her arm, hugged tightly but too large to be completely hidden. I slipped out of the doorway and followed, keeping in the shadows. As she passed under the light at the corner I saw that what she held was an oblong box painted blue. I could even discover some white letters on the end but was unable to read what they spelled. Being quite positive, by this time, that there was something wrong in the stealthy actions of the—person, I kept her in sight during her entire journey, until she reached her home and let herself into the dark house with a latchkey.
“At that time I did not know who lived in the place; indeed, it was not until the Ritchie box was reported missing that I cautiously inquired and found out who it was I had caught pilfering. Toby’s arrest followed, and the discovery of the evidence against him. Then, to my regret, Mr. Spaythe engaged me to defend Clark and my worries and troubles began, as you may easily guess, Miss Daring. I had no idea, until now, that another box had been substituted; but if that was done, then the evidence that was meant to convict my young client will do much to prove a conspiracy against him and therefore his innocence.”
Phoebe had listened with intense interest to every word of Mr. Holbrook’s explanation, which he made under the impression that she knew the whole truth concerning the theft of the box. She regretted that in order to lead him on to talk freely she had been obliged to say that Nathalie did not know the name of the mysterious “she”; for otherwise he might inadvertently have mentioned it, and she would have been in possession of the entire truth.
But Phoebe had learned a great deal; more than she had ever dreamed of, and she left the lawyer’s office greatly elated over her discovery.
Nathalie, completely bewildered by Mr. Holbrook’s admissions, as well as by Phoebe’s reference to a duplicate box, began to ply her friend with questions as soon as they were on the street; but Phoebe earnestly begged her to wait patiently until she could tell her all.
“I’m as ignorant as you are, Nathalie, as to who the ‘she’ is whom Mr. Holbrook saw take the box,” she declared. “He got an impression, somehow, that I know more than I really do, and spoke so frankly on that account that he let me into his secret—in part—unawares. I shall now be obliged to ferret out the rest of the mystery, but with my present knowledge to guide me that ought not to be very difficult.”
“Why should he have such a strong desire to shield her?” asked Nathalie thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. She may be some very respectable woman.”