“I’ve a Story to Relate,” Said the Banker.
“My son had warned me,” continued the banker, speaking bitterly, “that Phil Daring would not be liable to withstand the temptation of stealing money, once he was alone in the bank and knew the combination of the safe. At first I scorned the idea; then, for my own satisfaction, I decided to watch. Here in my door is a sliding panel, through which I am able to observe, when I so desire, everything that goes on in the back room. On Saturday night I came here, letting myself in at the private entrance to this room, and found Phil Daring working on the books while his twin sister sat beside him. From their conversation I discovered that they knew the bank was about to be robbed. They arranged to watch the robbery unobserved, and I decided to do likewise. At midnight a man entered the bank, opened the safe and took away three thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars. That man,” he added, pointing a merciless finger toward the culprit, “was my own son.”
No one spoke. Eric tried to answer, but a sob choked him. He had raised his head now and was reading his father’s face with a fascinated and horror-stricken gaze.
“From the conversation of the two Darings,” went on Mr. Spaythe, “I learned that Eric had so plotted that Phil was to be accused of the crime—and of other peculations that preceded it. The girl promised to save her brother, and I was curious to know how she would do it. To my amazement they brought the money to the bank on Sunday evening, and I saw them replace it in the safe—every penny that Eric had taken. The act was so astonishing, so wholly unexpected and inexplicable, that there seemed but one possible solution: that the Darings had in some way forced Eric to give up the stolen money. So I kept silent, waiting for an explanation, or for some further development; for if Eric had been shown the folly and wickedness of his crime it might be better for him not to know that I had discovered it. I may have been weak in this; but, gentlemen, he is my son.”
The banker paused, pressed his lips firmly together, and after a time resumed his statement.
“Further developments occurred, indeed, but they served to undeceive me, and to add to my perplexity. Eric restored to the bank several hundred dollars which he had formerly embezzled; he also paid his debts around town, amounting to several hundred dollars more; I have a list of them. Therefore, he could not have returned to the Darings the money he took from the safe on Saturday night—and he had no other money.”
Eric drew a long and tremulous sigh. Then he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. The tale was all new to him, and he found the truth vastly different from what he had imagined. Also, despair had seized him in its pitiless grasp, and as his eye by chance fell upon the constable he shuddered. His father’s intentions were clear to him now.
“Another surprising circumstance,” said Mr. Spaythe, ignoring Eric’s dejected attitude, “was Judge Ferguson’s demand upon me for the exact sum Eric had stolen—the exact sum Phœbe Daring had restored to the safe. Therefore, I have asked you to listen to me that you may understand I am entitled to some explanation. My son’s crime is known to the Darings and to Mr. Ferguson, as well as to myself; I, only, am in the dark concerning the events which followed it.”
“Those events I can explain in a few words, sir,” said the judge, his kindly voice showing how deeply he was grieved for his old friend. “Phœbe Daring had discovered her grandfather’s hoard, which Miss Halliday had secreted in her own room. To save her brother from unjust accusation the girl took the sum required to make good Eric’s—eh—eh—withdrawal. Miss Halliday claimed this money was given her by Jonathan Eliot, by a deed of gift, and threatened Phœbe with jail unless she returned the entire sum. It was my purpose just then to lull old Elaine’s suspicions; so I borrowed the money from you, Mr. Spaythe, that Phœbe might return it to her grandfather’s housekeeper. So you see that after all the various conspiracies, Spaythe’s Bank is still short that identical sum of three thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars.”
“Not the bank, sir,” said the other harshly, “but my personal account is short that sum. You are relieved of all obligation to return it, Judge Ferguson.”