“Eliot!” exclaimed the banker. “Is the old man dead, then?”
“Very dead, Spaythe; and he’s left a lot of money. Here, Boothe, count it—and count it carefully, my man—for this is the biggest deposit your bank has ever received.”
Phil had overheard this, and came forward with a pale and troubled face.
“Is it true, sir?” he asked, half frightened.
“Yes, Phil; it’s true.”
“When did my grandfather die?”
“Two or three days ago, I think. But we only discovered his body last night, lying in that tomb he built, where Elaine Halliday had carried him after propping up a dummy in the window to make us all believe he was still alive.”
Then they all went into the private office, where Mr. Ferguson related the night’s occurrences to Mr. Spaythe and Phil Daring, the constable being present to confirm the story.
“Had it not been for the bravery of Toby Clark,” concluded the judge, “we might all three have been buried alive in that hideous tomb. No one could have come to our assistance, for no one knew where we had gone.”
“The woman must be crazy,” asserted the banker.