It was more difficult to confess the rest, but Phœbe did not falter nor spare herself. A way to save Phil had been suggested to her by the discovery of her grandfather’s hoarded money—for she naturally supposed it was his. Her description of the manner in which she had secured exactly the same amount Eric had taken was dramatic enough to hold her listener spellbound, and he even smiled when she related Eric’s confusion at finding the money restored, and how he had eagerly made restitution of the minor sums he had embezzled by “fixing” the books.
Perhaps Judge Ferguson had never been so astonished and startled in all his long experience as he was by Phœbe’s story. The thing that really amazed him was Jonathan Eliot’s secret store of money. He had not been without suspicion that the old man had grown miserly, but so cleverly had the treasure been concealed that when Mr. Ferguson searched the house—under the cunning guidance of Elaine, of course—he had found nothing at all to justify that suspicion.
When, in conclusion, Phœbe told of her late interview with the old housekeeper and recited as well as she could remember the terms of the deed of gift from Mr. Eliot to Elaine Halliday, Judge Ferguson became visibly excited.
“Was it really your grandfather’s signature?” he inquired.
“I cannot say, sir, for I have seldom seen his signature,” she replied.
“Were the names of any witnesses affixed to the document?”
“I did not notice any.”
“H-m. What then?”
“Then she threatened to put me in prison unless I returned the money, and of course I cannot do that,” said Phœbe, plaintively. “She has given me until to-morrow noon, and then I must go to jail.”
The lawyer sat for some time staring at a penholder which he tried to balance upon his middle finger. He was very intent upon this matter until a long-drawn sigh from Phœbe aroused him. Then he leaned back in his chair, thrust his hands deep in his pockets and bobbed his head at her reassuringly.