“Then Mr. Spaythe knows?”
“Undoubtedly. You may question him, if you like; he’s in his private office now. But I’m sure you won’t learn anything.”
Phoebe sighed. She believed Eric was right in this assertion. Mr. Spaythe was a man who guarded all confidences with the utmost loyalty. He would be likely to resent any attempt to penetrate this secret, Phoebe well knew, and she abandoned any thought of appealing to the banker.
“The governor is Toby’s friend, you know,” remarked Eric, as he noted her disappointed expression. “If he has discovered anything, through this donation, you may be sure he will take advantage of it when the proper time comes.”
That thought cheered Phoebe somewhat on her way home. But just as she reached the house another thought intruded itself and she sat down on the porch bench to think it out.
Mr. Spaythe, although considered far above any breath of suspicion, actually headed her list of suspects. In other words, the banker was one of those who knew of the box and that it contained money, and he might have had the opportunity to steal it. She rapidly ran over in her mind the arguments she had used for and against the probability of Mr. Spaythe’s having taken the box, and shook her head doubtfully. There was much that was suspicious in the banker’s actions. His astonishing defense of Toby Clark, whom before the arrest he had scarcely noticed, could not be easily explained.
“The thief—the one we’re after—was a clever person,” mused Phoebe. “I doubt if he would be reckless enough to go to Mr. Spaythe and ask him to give that fifty dollars to the Marching Club and to keep his name secret. Mr. Spaythe would know at once that such a person was the guilty one. No; it wasn’t the criminal. Some one honestly interested in Toby’s welfare gave that money, or else—or else it was Mr. Spaythe himself!”
She tried to consider this last possibility. Mr. Spaythe was not a charitable man; he seldom or never espoused any cause through pure philanthropy. There was something beneath this sudden interest in Toby Clark, a poor and friendless boy, and that something was not mere kindliness, Phoebe felt sure. He might be politic enough to assist a wealthy and powerful man in trouble, but not one who, like Toby, could make him no return. What, then, had impelled the banker to pursue this generous course toward the accused boy?
Phoebe went in to talk it over with Cousin Judith, but found the house in a commotion. Old Aunt Hyacinth was sweeping the parlor vigorously, although this was not sweeping day. Judith, in cap and apron, was dusting and rearranging the furniture, and Phoebe looked at the extraordinary scene in amazement.