“It’s a great honor,” sighed Phoebe.
“It’s a compliment, certainly,” said Judith. “Yet the highest honor a politician can win is to be known as a faithful friend to the people, and that honor is already awarded to Cousin John.”
Phoebe went about her duties thoughtfully. The interest shown in Toby Clark’s fate by the governor had the effect of encouraging and discouraging her at one and the same time. She considered especially his advice with regard to Lawyer Kellogg, but could not understand why he attached so much importance to Kellogg’s direction that Toby’s house and yard be searched. It had seemed natural to her that the lawyer, who had disliked Toby because the boy served his rival, Judge Ferguson, had promptly suspected him of taking the box and, in Mrs. Ritchie’s interests, had directed the search which was the simple outcome of Toby’s arrest.
Sam Parsons would have some idea about Mr. Kellogg’s part in the affair. She had intended to see Sam and question him ever since Cousin Judith advised such a course, and now she decided to lose no more time in doing so. She had known the constable all her life and regarded him as a trusty friend; therefore the girl had no hesitation in going that evening to his humble home, which was only two short blocks from the Daring house.
“Sam’ll be in in a minute,” reported Mrs. Parsons, whose hand was too wet to shake, for she had left her dish-washing to open the door. “Come inside, Miss Phoebe, an’ set down.”
She left the girl alone in the sitting room and went back to her kitchen, and Phoebe sat down and waited. It was already more than “a minute” and she realized she might have to wait a considerable time for Sam, whose movements were uncertain.
She glanced around the room. In one corner the constable had his desk, littered with all sorts of documents, while the pigeon-holes contained a variety of rubbish. Underneath, on the floor and directly in the corner, was a heap of newspapers and illustrated periodicals, irregularly piled. Phoebe stooped and reaching underneath the desk drew out one or two papers to read while she waited. Then she gave a suppressed cry of astonishment, for even by the dim light of the one kerosene lamp she saw that she had uncovered a tin box painted blue, which had been hidden by the papers. Kneeling down she lifted the box and quickly examined it. On one end was painted the name “Ritchie” in white letters and the lock was in perfect condition, so that she could not lift the cover.
Fearful of being surprised, she hastily replaced the box and laid the papers over it, as before; then, rising to her feet, she resumed her chair and became aware that Sam Parsons was standing just inside the door, regarding her thoughtfully.