She started to rise, but he motioned her to retain her seat.
“Can you give up your room for to-night, Phœbe—perhaps for a couple of nights?”
“Why, I think so,” she said, astonished. “Perhaps I can sleep with Cousin Judith; but—”
“We’re going to play a little game, Phœbe; but, in order to win we must keep our secret. Tell no one at home the story you have told me. Keep away from Elaine for to-night. Perhaps you’d better come over to our house and stay with Janet—Yes; do that. It will lull suspicion.”
“Are you intending to use my room, yourself?” inquired Phœbe.
“No. I want to put a detective there. I’m almost sure there will be something to see through that peephole to-night.”
“A detective!”
“A private detective; meaning Toby Clark.”
Phœbe stared at him. She had never imagined Toby could be a detective.
“And now,” continued the lawyer, briskly, “it’s all settled, cut and dried. You may go home to supper without a single worry. I’ll send Janet after you with an invitation to spend the night at our house, and Toby will take your place at home. You’ve given me proof that you’re not a bad conspirator, Phœbe, so I depend upon your wit to get Toby into your room unobserved.”