EVAN IS RE-ENGAGED
He dreamed of her all night--but not as a sister it is to be feared.
In his dream she was running through the springtime woods with the
glorious hair flying, and he was running after her, an endless race
without his ever drawing nearer, while the sun shone and the little
young leaves twinkled as if in laughter.
He was awake at six and sprang out of bed to see what kind of day it
was. The sun was already high over the tops of the buildings to the
east, the sky was fleckless, and the empty Park was beaming. His
anxiety was relieved. He dressed as slowly as possible in order to
kill time, taking care to make no sound that might awaken Charley in
the next room.
He was not prepared to make explanations just then.
Notwithstanding all his care he was ready a whole hour too soon, an
hour that promised to be endless, for he was completely at a loss what
to do with himself; couldn't apply his mind to anything; couldn't sit
still. Finally he stole down-stairs, sending his love silently through
her door as he passed, and started circumnavigating the Park.
He was subconsciously aware of the splendour of the morning, but saw
little of what actually met his eyes. He was too busy with the
happenings of the night before. A nasty little doubt tormented him.
He knew he was slightly insane; it was not that; he gloried in his
state and pitied the dull clods who had not fire in their breasts to
drive them mad. But here was the rub; would not these same clods have
laughed at him had they known of the oath he had taken--would not he
have laughed himself yesterday?
It was carried on inside him like an argument; on the one hand the
enamoured young man who insisted that the relationship between brother
and sister was a holy and beautiful one, on the other hand the
matter-of-fact one who said it was all damn nonsense; that a man and
woman, free, unattached and not bound by the ties of consanguinity were
not intended to be brother and sister. Such arguments have no end.
The thought of Charley troubled him most; he had always taken a
slightly superior attitude towards Charley's sentimentality. What a
chance for Charley to get back at him if he learned of this!
At five minutes to eight, having looked at his watch fifty times or so,
he ventured back into the house, and tapped at Corinna's door. "She's
bound to be late anyhow," he thought, "no harm to hurry her up a
little."
But no, she was hatted, gloved and waiting just inside the door. This
little fact won his gratitude surprisingly; a man does not expect it of
a woman. In the sunlight they took in each other anew. What Corinna
thought did not appear, but Evan was freshly delighted. She was an
out-of-doors girl it appeared; the morning became her like a shining
garment. He forgot the argument; it was sufficient to be with her, to
laugh with her, to be ravished by the dusky, velvety tones of her voice.
Of the hours that followed it is unnecessary to speak in detail. It
was one long rhapsody, and rhapsodies are apt to be a little tiresome
to those other than the rhapsodists. Everybody has known such hours
for themselves--or if they have not they are unfortunate. They
breakfasted frugally--there is a delicious intimacy in breakfast no
other meal knows, and then decided on Staten Island. Half an hour
later they were voyaging down the bay, and in an hour were in the woods.
Corinna was inexorable on the question of eleven o'clock, and to Evan
it seemed as if they had no sooner got there than they had to turn back
again. Evan got sore, and the pleasure of the return journey was a
little dimmed, though there is a kind of sweetness in these little
tiffs too. Anybody seeing their eyes on each other, Corinna's as well
as Evan's, would have known they were no brother and sister, but they
still kept up the fiction.
As they neared home she said: "Do you mind if I go in alone?"
"Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" demanded Evan scowling.
"Silly! Didn't I propose this trip? The reason is very simple. Your
ridiculous landlady looks on every man in the house as her property. I
don't want to excite her ill-will, that's all."
Evan could not deny the truth of this characterisation of Carmen. "Go
on ahead," he said. "I'll hang around in the Park for a while. See
you to-night."
She stopped, and gave him an inscrutable look. "Oh, I'm sorry, I
shan't be home to-night."
With this the ugly head of Corinna's mystery popped up again. It had
been tormenting Evan all morning, but with a lover's pride he would not
question her, and she volunteered no information.
"Oh!" said Evan flatly, and waited for her to say more.
But she seemed not to be aware that anything more was required and his
brow darkened. "If it was me," he thought, "how eager I would be to
explain what was taking me away from her, but she is mum!"
"Come to-morrow night," she said.
He bowed stiffly.
She hesitated a moment as if about to explain, then thought better of
it, and hurried away, leaving Evan inwardly fuming.
He plumped down on a bench across the square from 45A, and thrusting
his hands deep in his pockets, stretched out his legs and scowled at
the pavement. A "platonic friendship" had no charms for him then.
"I'm a fool!" he said to himself. "Her brother!"--a bitter note of
laughter escaped him, "when I'm out of my mind with wanting her! What
a fool I was to stand for it! She's just playing the regular girl's
game--no blame to her of course, it's their instinct to keep a man at
arm's length as long as they can. It pleases them to have us on the
grill. And I fell for it! I'm on my way to make a precious fool of
myself. If I can't find out where she's going to-night, I'll be clean
off my nut before morning. But I wouldn't ask her! And if she's going
out with another man--! Lord! which is worse, to know or not to know?"
When he let himself in the door of 45A, Miss Sisson, according to her
custom, poked her head out into the hall to see who it was. She came
out.
"Oh, Mr. Weir," she said importantly, "where have you been?"
"Out," said Evan stiffly.
She was too much excited to perceive the snub. "There's been a man
here for you half a dozen times I guess."
"What did he want?"
"I don't know. Says it's most important."
"Who was he?"
"Wouldn't give his name. Acted most mysterious."
"What sort of looking man?"
"A young fellow about your age, but scarcely a friend of yours I should
say. A mean-like face."
This meant nothing to Evan. He looked blank.
"The last time he was here he said he'd wait," Miss Sisson went on,
"but I said there was no place inside, because I didn't like his looks,
so he said he'd wait in the Square and----"
The sound of the door-bell interrupted her.
"Here he is now!"
Evan opened the door and discovered Alfred, the Deaves' second man, on
the step. Alfred smiled insinuatingly, but with a difference from
their first meeting, more warily. Miss Sisson pressed forward to hear
what he had to say.
"Can I see you a moment?" he said to Evan meaningly.
Evan looked at Miss Sisson, who forthwith retired with a chagrined
flirt of her skirts.
"They sent me for you," said Alfred.
Evan's eyebrows went up. "What do they want?" he asked coolly.
"Search me!" said Alfred shrugging. "They're in a way about something."
"Anything new?"
"Uh-huh. Hilton says they got another letter from the blackmailers."
Evan being human, could not but feel certain stirrings of curiosity.
"Very well, I'll come with you," he said.
They left a furiously unsatisfied Miss Sisson behind them.
Evan and Alfred rode up-town together on the bus. Alfred was no less
silky and insinuating than in the beginning, but whereas at first he
had been genuinely candid, he now only made believe to be.
"He's been warned off me," thought Evan.
The conversation on Alfred's side consisted of a subtle attempt to
elicit from Evan what had happened the day before, and on Evan's side a
determination to balk his curiosity without appearing to be aware of
what he was after.
The Deaveses, father and son, were in the library. Before he was well
inside the room the latter flung out at him:
"Where have you been all morning?"
Evan instantly felt his collar tighten. His jaw stuck out. "I don't
know as that is anybody's business but my own," he said.
They both opened up on him then. Evan could not make out what it was
all about. But his conscience was easy. He could afford to smile at
the racket. Finally George Deaves got the floor.
"Will you or will you not describe your movements this morning?" he
demanded.
"I will not," said Evan coolly.
"What did I tell you? What did I tell you?" burst out the old man.
"Send for the police!"
Evan's temper had already been put to a strain that morning. It gave
way now. "Yes, send for the police!" he cried. "I'm sick of these
silly accusations. I owe you nothing, neither of you. My life is as
open as a book. I make a few dollars a week by honest work, and that's
every cent I possess in the world. Satisfy yourselves of that, and
then let me alone!"
"Papa, be quiet!" said George Deaves severely. "I will handle this."
To Evan he said soothingly: "There's no need for you to excite
yourself. I've no intention of sending for the police--yet."
"Well, if you don't, I will!" said Evan. "I'll tell them the whole
story and insist on an investigation!"
George Deaves wilted at the threat of publicity. Evan, in the midst of
his anger thought: "Lord, if I _were_ guilty this is exactly the way I
would talk! How easy it would be to bluff them!"
George Deaves said: "I hope you won't do anything so foolish as that."
"Well, it's a bit too much to be dragged all the way up-town just to
listen to a re-hash of yesterday's row," said Evan.
"The situation is entirely changed," said George Deaves mysteriously.
"Well, I don't know anything about that!"
Deaves shoved a letter across his desk towards Evan. Evan read:
"Mrs. George Deaves:
Dear Madam:
I beg to return herewith the $5,000 in marked bills that your husband
left for us yesterday. We are too old birds to be caught with such
chaff. The story, a copy of which I sent Mr. Deaves yesterday, goes to
the _Clarion_ at eleven A.M. to-day for publication in this evening's
edition. If you wish to stop it you must persuade Mr. Deaves to find a
similar sum in clean straight money before that hour. These bills must
be put in an envelope and addressed to Mr. Carlton Hassell at the
Barbizon Club, Fifth avenue near Ninth street. Your messenger must
simply hand it in at the door and leave. If there is any departure
from these instructions the money will not be touched, and the story
goes through.
With best wishes,
Yours most sincerely,
THE IKUNAHKATSI."
"Good Heavens!" cried Evan amazed. "Do you mean to say the money was
returned?"
George Deaves nodded.
"And addressed to your wife? What a colossal nerve! What have you
done? You haven't sent fresh bills?"
Another nod answered him, a somewhat sheepish nod.
"Maud made him," snarled the old man. "Insisted on taking the money
down herself and sent it in by the chauffeur."
"But you've communicated with Mr. Hassell?"
"Do you know him?" demanded George Deaves sharply.
"Why of course, as everybody knows him. The most famous landscape
painter in America--or at least the most popular. His pictures bring
thousands!"
"What good to communicate with him?" said Deaves sullenly. "I might
better have him arrested."
"But don't you see," urged Evan, "Hassell couldn't have had anything to
do with this, not with the money he makes and his reputation? Not
unless he were crazy, and he's the sanest of men! It's as clear as
day. They're just using his name. Easy enough for somebody else to
get the letter at the club."
"Is this a trick?" muttered George Deaves scowling.
Evan laughed in exasperation. "Why sure! if you want it that way.
It's nothing to me one way or the other." He turned to go.
"Wait a minute," said Deaves. "Why wouldn't it be better to call up
the club?"
Evan shook his head. "A man's club is his castle. Club servants are
always instructed not to give out information, particularly not over
the telephone. Telephone Hassell. You should have telephoned him
before sending the money. Or better still go to him. It's his
interest to get to the bottom of this."
"Will you go with me?" asked Deaves stabbing his blotter.
Evan smiled. "A minute ago you implied that I was behind the scheme."
"I might have been mistaken. Anyway, if you had nothing to do with it,
you ought to be glad to help me clear the matter up."
"I'll go with you," said Evan, "not because I'll feel any necessity for
clearing myself, but because it's the most interesting game I've ever
been up against!"
"Interesting!" shrilled the old man indignantly, "_Interesting_! If
you were being bled white, you wouldn't find it so interesting! I'll
go too."
"You'll stay right here, Papa," commanded George Deaves. "And don't
you go out until I come back! You've brought trouble enough on me!"
"Well, you needn't bite off my head!" grumbled the old man.
The Deaves limousine was available, and a few minutes later George
Deaves and Evan were being shown into the reception room of a
magnificent studio apartment on Art's most fashionable street. George
Deaves was visibly impressed by the magnificence. It was rather an
unusual hour to pay a call perhaps, but the Deaves name was an open
sesame. A millionaire and a potential picture-buyer! the great man
himself came hurrying to greet them. He was a handsome man of middle
age with a lion-like head, and the affable, assured manner of a citizen
of the world.
He showed them into the studio, a superb room, but severe and
workmanlike according to the modern usage. Before they were
well-seated, an attendant, knowing his duty well, began to pull out
canvases.
"I--I didn't come to talk to you about pictures," stammered George
Deaves.
At a sign from his master the man left the room. Mr. Hassell waited
politely to be enlightened.
Poor George Deaves floundered about. "It's such a delicate matter--I'm
sure I don't know what you will think--I scarcely know how to tell
you----"
Hassell began to look alarmed. He said: "Mr. Deaves, I beg you will be
plain with me."
Deaves turned hopelessly to Evan. "You tell him."
"Better show him the letter," said Evan.
"The letter?" said Deaves in a panic, "what letter? I don't understand
you."
"We came to tell him," said Evan. "We've either got to tell him or go."
Deaves wiped his face. "Mr. Hassell, I hope I can rely on your
discretion. You will receive what I am about to tell you in absolute
confidence?"
"My dear sir," returned the painter a little testily, "you come to me
in this state of agitation about I don't know what. Whatever it is, I
hope I will comport myself like a man of honour!"
George Deaves handed over the letter in a hand that trembled.
Hassell's face was a study as he read it.
"This is blackmail!" he cried. "And in my name!"
"That's why we came to you," said Deaves--a little unnecessarily it
might be thought.
"You surely don't suspect----"
"Certainly not," said Evan quickly--there was no knowing what break
Deaves might have made. "But you can help us."
"Of course! This letter names eleven o'clock as the hour." Hassell
glanced at his watch. "It's nearly twelve now. Why didn't you come to
me earlier--or phone?"
"Well, I didn't know--it didn't occur to me," began Deaves, and stopped
with an appealing glance at Evan.
Evan said bluntly: "Mr. Deaves was not acquainted with your name and
your work until I told him."
The great painter looked a little astonished at such ignorance. "Has
the money been sent to the club?" he asked.
Deaves nodded shamefacedly.
Mr. Hassell immediately got busy. "I'll taxi down there at once. I
rarely use the Barbizon club nowadays. Haven't been there in a month."
"Shall we go with you?" asked Deaves.
"No. They may have spies posted who would see you even if you remained
in the cab. If you'll be good enough to wait here, I'll be back inside
half an hour."
Even in his bustle he did not neglect business. As soon as he had gone
the servant appeared again, and began to show his pictures. Deaves
goggled at them indifferently, but Evan was keenly interested. He
studied them with the mixture of scorn and envy that is characteristic
of the attitude of poor young artists towards rich old ones.
Within a few minutes of his half hour Hassell was back again. "Not
much to report," he said deprecatingly. "The envelope addressed to me
was delivered just before eleven o'clock, and put in the H box of the
letter rack. It was gone when I looked, of course, but who took it
remains to be discovered. About thirty members had gone in and out.
Practically everybody stops at the letter rack. I have a list of those
who passed in and out as well as the doorkeeper could make it out from
memory."
"How about the door-keeper?" asked Deaves.
"Above suspicion, I should say. Has been with the club for twenty
years. A simple soul hardly capable of acting a part. He would hardly
have told me that he put my letter in the rack himself."
"Other servants then?"
"There were several boys on duty in the hall, but they are not supposed
to go to the letter-rack without orders. If one of them had looked
over the letters it could scarcely have escaped notice. No, unpleasant
as it is to think so, I am afraid it was one of the members--someone
who was counting on the fact that I never appear at the club except for
an important meeting or a dinner. I looked over the members in the
clubhouse, honest-looking men--but who can tell?"
"No doubt the one who got the money left immediately," suggested Evan.
Hassell said to Deaves: "With your permission I should like to take the
matter up with the Board of Governors."
"No, no, if you please," said Deaves nervously. "No publicity."
"Then allow me to put this list in the hands of a first-class detective
agency. Those fellows are secret enough."
"Let me attend to it if you please."
Hassell handed over the list with manifest reluctance; "If anyone uses
my name again I trust you will let me know promptly."
"You may depend on it," said Deaves, making for the door.
"By the way, how did you like my pictures?"
"Very pretty, very pretty," said Deaves uneasily. "I don't know
anything about such things. My wife buys everything for the home."
"Ah!" said Hassell with ironical eyebrows.
"I will tell her about them."
"Thank you," said Hassell, bowing them out.
George Deaves didn't say much on the way home, but Evan was aware that
his attitude had changed. There were no more accusations. Clearly
Deaves had been impressed by the fact that the interview with Hassell
had turned out exactly as Evan had foretold.
Simeon Deaves was still shuffling around the library in his slippers.
"Well?" he demanded.
His son briefly told him what had occurred.
The old man was in a very bad temper. "Yah! let him pull wool over
your eyes!" he cried. "All a pack of thieves together! Artists never
have any money! And this one knows more than he lets on. He's too
smart by half! You mark my words!"
"Please go outside," the much-tried George said to Evan. "Wait in the
hall."
Evan obeyed with a shrug. Outside the softly-stepping Alfred was
loitering suspiciously. He approached Evan.
"Something doing to-day, eh?" he said with his obsequious-impudent
leer. "Where did you two go?"
Evan's gorge rose at the man. He saw nothing to be gained now by
hiding his feelings. "You damn sneak!" he said quietly. "Keep away
from me, or I'll hurt you!"
Alfred, with a scared and venomous look, slunk down-stairs. Evan felt
better.
Presently George Deaves called him back into the library. At what had
taken place between father and son he could only guess. The old man's
attitude had changed; he was disposed to be friendly. Divided between
their fears and their suspicions father and son were continually making
these face-abouts.
George Deaves said in his pompous way: "My father has re-considered his
decision not to employ you further. He will be glad to have you stay
according to the original arrangement."
"That's right," added the old man. "I just spoke a little hasty. I
always said you were a good boy."
Evan's face hardened. "I'm not sure that I want the job," he said.
"Forty dollars a week's a fine salary," said Simeon Deaves.
"I'll stay for fifty," said Evan coolly.
They both gasped. "Are you trying to hold us up?" cried George Deaves.
"If that's what you want to call it," said Evan. "You force me to. If
I appear anxious for the job, you will soon be accusing me again of
being in the gang. As a matter of fact I don't care whether I stay or
not."
"Well, I'll pay it," said George Deaves with a sour face, "provided
you'll agree to investigate the list Hassell gave us in your spare
time."
"I'll do it," said Evan. "I'm interested. You'd better discharge
Alfred who is certainly a spy, and get a detective in his place to keep
a watch on the other servants."
"Those fellows cost ten dollars a day!" cried Simeon Deaves.
"The blackmailers are getting five thousand out of you every
fortnight," retorted Evan.
"I do not see the necessity for a detective," said George Deaves
loftily. "As long as I'm paying you all this money. You can look out
for that side of the case as well."
"Just as you like," said Evan smiling. It was hopeless to try to argue
with these people.
Alfred entered, and giving Evan a wide berth laid a long envelope on
George Deaves' desk. "Brought by messenger," he said. "No answer."
He left the room.
Deaves paled as his eyes fell on the superscription.
"The same handwriting!" he murmured.
He nervously tore open the envelope. It contained some typewritten
sheets, and a slip with writing upon it. George Deaves read the letter
with a perplexed expression, and handed it over to Evan.
"What do you make of that?" he asked.
Evan read: "Received of George Deaves the sum of five thousand dollars
in full payment of the story entitled: 'Simeon Deaves Goes Shopping,'
including all rights. All existing copies of the manuscript enclosed.
Many thanks. The Ikunahkatsi."
"Same old impudence!" said Evan smiling grimly. "This crook is
something of a character it seems. Affects a kind of honesty in his
dealings."
"Oh, he's kept a copy of the story," said George Deaves.
"Possibly. But why should he go to the trouble of making believe that
he has not?--and send a receipt? Criminal psychology is queer. This
is something out of the common that we are up against!"