“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.”
“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’m sure 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 Phœbe 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. Phœbe, 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.”