Meanwhile the good ship Ernestina was industriously wig-wagging her walking-beam down the upper Bay. She was a quaint, crablike little craft. Her tall and skinny smokestack was like a perpetual exclamation point. Her gait resembled that of a sprightly old horse who makes a great to-do with his feet on the road but somehow gets nowhere. At the end of each stroke of her piston she seemed to stop for an instant and then with a wheeze and a clank from below, and a violent tremor from stem to stern, started all over. Her paddle-wheels kicked up alarming looking rollers behind, but with it all she travelled no faster than a steam canal-boat. Not that it mattered; the children got just as much ozone as on the deck of the Aquitania.

Evan's patience was not inexhaustible. By the time they reached Norton's Point he was obliged to go in to see how the story was progressing. It was no nearer its end, as far as he could judge. Corinna's Dorothy Dolores was donning a party dress of pink messaline with a panne velvet girdle. The children's interest flagged and they drifted away, but there were always others to take their places.

Ikey O'Toole and his pal happened to pass through the saloon bound on some errand of their own, and Evan had a wicked idea. "Come here, boys," said he, "and I'll tell you a story about robbers."

Their eyes brightened. Evan took a seat opposite Corinna's and began:

"There was a band of train-robbers and cattle-rustlers who lived in a cave out in Arizona, and they had for a leader a guy named Three-fingered Pete. Pete could draw a gun quicker with his three fingers than any other man with five."

And so on. There was magic in it. Let it not be supposed that little girls are proof against a story of robbers however they may make believe. They came drifting across the saloon. In ten minutes there were twenty children surrounding Evan, while Corinna's audience had dwindled to four and they were restive. Corinna kept on. Her pale, calm profile revealed nothing to Evan, but he doubted if she were pale and calm within. Corinna was not red-headed for nothing.

When her hearers were reduced to two she abruptly rose. Evan wondered if sweet Dorothy Dolores had been brought to a violent end. He got up too.

"To be continued in our next," he said.

"Aw, Mister! Aw, Mister!" they protested, clinging to his coat.

"After lunch," he promised, freeing himself, and hastening down the saloon after Corinna.

He thought he had her cornered in the bow, but she dropped into a seat beside a woman with a sick baby and enquired how it was getting on. The two women embarked on what promised to be an endless discussion of the infant's symptoms. Evan felt decidedly foolish, but stubbornly stood his ground.

Denton unexpectedly came to his assistance. "Miss Playfair," he said, "I've got a seat for you in the dining-room, and one for Mr. Weir. Won't you come down now?"

Two seats! Together, naturally. Evan's heart went up with a bound. But Corinna was not going to be led into any such trap. She asked the woman beside her if she had had her lunch. The answer was a shake of the head.

"Then I'll hold the baby, and you go with these gentlemen," said Corinna blandly.

"Let me hold the baby," said Evan.

"Oh, thank you, sir; but he don't like men."

Evan went down with Denton and the woman, but he did not mean to be put off so easily. Seeing the crowd in the dining-saloon, he said:

"They're rushed here. Let me help serve for a while. Save two seats when Miss Playfair comes down."

"Sure," said Denton amiably.

Down the length of the lower saloon there was a double row of tables, each with an end to the side wall. Every seat was taken. In addition to Denton the waiters were Anway and a black-haired youth with a hot eye who greeted Evan with a frank scowl. Denton introduced him as Tenterden. "Another of Corinna's 'brothers'," thought Evan. "The boat is manned with her family!" He turned in to help with a will.

Nearly an hour passed before Corinna appeared for her lunch, and the dining-saloon was beginning to empty. Seeing Evan there, she naturally supposed he had finished eating and had remained to help. She took a seat next the window at one of the tables, and thus protected herself on one hand. Indicating the chair on the other side of her she said to Denton:

"Sit here. You can be spared now."

"Thanks, but I promised this seat to Weir," said Denton innocently.

Corinna bit her lip. The said Weir made haste to slip into the seat, before anything further could be said. Corinna quickly started a conversation with a youth across the table, another helper, and supposedly a "brother"—at least he looked at Corinna with sheep's eyes.

Evan, determined not to allow himself to be eliminated, said firmly: "I have not met this gentleman."

Corinna said coldly: "Mr. Domville, Mr. Weir."

Next to Domville sat another helper, an older man with a queer, clever, bitter face, Mr. Dordess. Some belated mothers made up the tableful. Anway waited on them. As he placed a plate of soup before Evan with set face, Evan suspected he would rather have poured it down the back of his neck. Evan thanked him ironically.

Corinna did her best to keep the conversation of the whole tableful in her hands, but of course it was bound to escape her sometimes. And there were lulls. At such moments Evan could speak to her without anybody overhearing.

"Corinna, what's the use?"

Affecting not to hear him, she asked a question across the table. Evan patiently bided his time.

"'What's the use?' I said."

"I don't understand you."

"What's the use of trying to evade something that's got to be faced in the end."

"What's got to be faced?"

"Me."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. You know, yourself, after what happened you owe me an explanation."

"The explanation is obvious."

"Then I must be very dense."

"If you were the least bit sorry, I could talk to you; but to glory in it, to try to trade on it——"

"Sorry for what?"

"Oh, of course you have nothing to be sorry for."

"You're talking in riddles. You know I love you."

She laughed three notes. He frowned at the sound.

"It's a funny way you have of showing it," she said. "To try to humble me further!"

"But you ask for it, Corinna—with your high and mighty way. I told you that before."

Silence from Corinna.

"I don't know what cause you have to be sore at me," he resumed when he got another opportunity. "It seems to me I'm the one——"

"Oh, you'll get over it, I suspect."

"Corinna, why did you run away?"

She rolled a bread ball. "Because I was ashamed."

He looked at her in honest surprise. "Ashamed! Of what?"

"You know very well what I mean."

"I swear I do not!"

"I will hate you if you force me to say it."

"I'll take my chance of that," he said grimly.

"Very well. Don't you understand that a person may be carried away for the moment, and do things and say things that they bitterly regret afterwards. Of course if you have no standards of right and wrong you wouldn't understand."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"What happened that night," she went on, "that sort of thing is horrible to me!"

At last he understood—and frowned, for it was his deepest feelings that she slandered. But he was not fully convinced that she was sincere. "Then you lied when you said you loved me?"

"I was carried away. That sort of thing isn't love."

This angered Evan—but he held his tongue. He sought to find out from her face what she really thought. She looked out of the window.

"Now I hope you understand," she said loftily.

"You have a lot to learn," said Evan, "about love and other things."

"At any rate I hope I have made you see how useless it is to follow me," she said sharply.

"It is useless," said Evan—"to talk to you," he added to himself. "When I get you off this confounded steamboat we'll see what we'll see."

"Don't stare at me like that," said Corinna. "It's attracting attention."

Evan thought: "If there was only another girl on board that I could rush! That might fetch her!"

Evan saw indeed that Dordess was regarding him quizzically. Of all the men (saving Denton) Dordess was the only one who did not scowl at Evan. Evan was not deceived thereby into thinking that he had inspired any friendliness in this one. It was simply that Dordess was more sophisticated, and had his features under better control. To create a diversion, Evan asked him:

"What has your particular job been to-day?"

"Serving at the water-cooler," was the response, with a wry smile, "to keep down the mortality from colic."

Thereafter Evan took part in the general conversation, and when the time came to rise from the table, he let Corinna go her way unhindered. He pitched in with a good will to help wash dishes, and to pack up the Ozone Association's property in the galley. But let him work and joke as he might, he won no smiles from the "brothers."

"Lord, if it was me, I'd put up a better bluff to hide my feelings," he thought.

Later he took over part of the deck to watch and keep the children from climbing the rails and precipitating themselves overboard. Later still, as they neared home and the small passengers became weary and obstreperous, he resumed the tale of the bandits in the saloon to an immense audience. Evan, perhaps because of his casual air towards the children, became the most popular man on the boat. He did not try to win them, and so they were his.

Corinna could not quite fathom his changed attitude towards her. During the whole afternoon he let her be. More than once he caught her glancing at him, and laughed to himself. He was taking the right line.

On one occasion the sardonic Dordess joined him on deck. Dordess had excited more than a passing interest in Evan. He was different and inexplicable. He had eyebrows that turned up at the ends like a faun's, giving him a devilishly mocking look. The essence of bitterness was in his smile. He had the look of a man of distinction, yet his clothes were a thought shabby. "Clever journalist gone to seed," was Evan's verdict.

Dordess said very offhand: "How do you like your job of nursemaid?"

"First-rate!" said Evan.

"How did you happen to stumble on our deep-sea perambulator?"

Evan was wary. "I just happened to be passing, and saw the kids crowding aboard. I stopped to look, and Denton asked me if I wanted a job."

Dordess cocked one of his crooked eyebrows in a way that suggested he didn't believe a word of it. Evan didn't much care whether he did or not.

Dordess said dryly: "Denton said you were a friend of Anway's."

"He misunderstood," said Evan carelessly.

"Are you going to be with us regularly?" asked Dordess with a meaning smile.

"I only volunteered for to-day." Evan's tone implied that the future could take care of itself.

Dordess said deprecatingly: "I hope the boys haven't made you feel like an outsider."

"Not at all," said Evan cheerfully. "I wouldn't mind if they did," he added. "The main thing is for the kids to have a good time."

"Sure," said Dordess dryly. "You see, the boys get the idea that these excursions are a sort of family affair, and they're apt to resent the help of strangers."

"I see," said Evan. "Are you one of Miss Playfair's 'brothers' too?"

"No; I'm an uncle," said Dordess with his bitter smile.

He walked away. There had been nothing in his words to which Evan could take offence, nevertheless as plainly as one man could to another he had conveyed the intimation that Evan was not wanted on board, and that if he ventured on board again it would be at his peril.

"The brotherhood evidently fears that I'm going to break up the organization," thought Evan.

As they approached the end of their journey Evan began to consider what measures he should take upon landing. His part was a difficult one to play with good humour; that is, to force himself on a young lady who said she detested him, and who had half a dozen brothers and an uncle to take her part.

"She'll do her best to give me the slip," he said to himself. "When we tie up I'll stand by the gangway on the pretext of keeping the kids from falling overboard. Some of them or all of them will take her home, no doubt. I'll tag along, too. They can't very well openly order me away, and I don't give a damn for their black looks and meaning hints. The main thing is to find out where she lives. I can choose my own time to call. Perhaps she won't open the door to me. Well, my patience is good."

As they approached the pier Evan went down to the main deck. Corinna was not visible at the moment. Only the forward gangway of the Ernestina was used. Her shape was so tubby that she couldn't bring any two points alongside a straight pier simultaneously. While they were making a landing all the children were kept roped off in the stern and up in the saloon. The only persons in the bow space beside Evan were Denton, Anway, Domville, Tenterden, two other "brothers" and two deckhands to stand by the lines.

Up forward there was an additional stairway from the saloon. This was enclosed and had a door at the bottom, locked at the moment to keep the children out of the way. In the centre of the deck was a hatch for freight, used presumably when the Ernestina served as a carrier.

As the steamboat sidled up to her pier Evan heard Corinna's voice call down the stairway: "Oh, Mr. Denton; will you come up here for a moment?"

Denton unlocked the door and disappeared upstairs. The door was locked after him. At the same moment Domville and one of the unidentified young men threw back the hatch cover. The latter said: "Let's get the cargo ashore first."

Evan wondering what cargo the excursion boat could be carrying, stepped forward in idle curiosity to look down the hatch. Suddenly he became aware that the young men were circling behind him. Before he could so much as turn around, he was seized from each side and a hand clapped over his mouth. With a concerted rush they swept him into the hole in the deck, falling on their knees at the edge, and letting him drop in. He fell on a mattress and was not in the least hurt. From above he heard a loud guffaw from the deckhands. Then the hatch cover was clapped down, and he heard heavy objects being piled upon it.

Evan raged silently in his prison. Pride restrained him from making any outcry. He had no fear that his murder was contemplated. They'd have to let him out again. In the meantime they'd get no change out of him. And the future could take care of his revenge.

He was in a small cargo space between two transverse bulkheads. He could touch the beams over his head. The place was perfectly empty except for the mattress. The mattress suggested that this had been carefully planned. It was not dark, being lighted by a fixed porthole on either side, not much bigger than an orange. These lights were only a foot or two above the waterline, and when the Ernestina reversed her engine in making the pier, the water washed up over the glass.

Evan could hear all the sounds attendant upon making a landing; the casting lines thrown ashore, the hawsers pulled over the deck, the jingle to the engine room signalling that all was fast. Then the gangway was run out and the feet poured over it.

Evan found that through the porthole on the pier side he was able to catch a brief glimpse of the passengers as they stepped ashore. He saw the children scurry away, never dreaming that the admired story-teller was immured below. The big girls followed more sedately, and after them the mothers with backs sagging under the weight of babies. Last of all he had the unspeakable chagrin of seeing Corinna pass with Denton grasping her arm.

"That's why I was put down here," he thought. "To allow her to make her getaway."

In the fraction of a second that she was visible to him, her head was turned back towards the boat. When a woman glances over her shoulder her true feelings come out; she cannot help herself. There was anguish in Corinna's backward look. Evan marked it, but he did not love her then. Not that he meant to give over the pursuit; on the contrary he swore that she should pay.

Five minutes later the hatch cover was lifted, a short ladder was let down, and Evan was bidden to come up. He mounted smiling. What that smile cost him none but he knew. But he also knew that with six or more against him to show truculence would only have been to make himself ridiculous. He paused on the deck, and coolly looking around him, tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand.

Dordess was now with the others. He had the grace to look away, as Evan's glance swept around. The younger men betrayed in their faces their hope that Evan would show fight, and thus give them a chance to justify themselves. Evan saw it, and had no idea of gratifying them.

Tenterden, he of the hot black eyes, who seemed to be leader in this part of the affair demanded aggressively: "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Much obliged for the mattress," said Evan, coolly meeting his gaze. "Very thoughtful of you." He counted them ostentatiously. "Six of you—and a couple of deckhands in reserve. You flatter me, gentlemen!"

He strolled over the gangway. How they took it he did not know, for he would not look back. At least none of them found a rejoinder. He had the last word.

"They think they have me scared off," he said to himself. "Just let them wait till the Ernestina sails again, that's all!"



CHAPTER XIII

A LITTLE DETECTIVE WORK

At first Evan had some doubts as to what ought to be his course of action in respect to Mrs. George Deaves. While it was true that her husband had definitely given him to understand that he was hired for the purpose of running down the blackmailers, he did not suppose that George Deaves would thank him for proof that his own wife was implicated. But that didn't alter his duty.

"I'm being paid to deliver them from the gang," he said to himself. "As long as I take their money I've got to do what I can to earn it. It's none of my affair where the trail leads. If they want to kick me out for my pains, why that's up to them."

It promised to be no easy matter to watch Mrs. Deaves. Evan rarely saw her. During the few hours that he spent in the house she was presumably either in her own rooms, or out in the motor. One suspicious circumstance he did not have to look for, because everybody in the house was aware of it. Maud Deaves was continually in money difficulties. Her creditors camped on her trail.

Two lines were open to Evan: to bribe her maid and to watch her letters. The maid, Josefa, was a light-headed creature perfectly willing to plot or counterplot with anybody. Unfortunately she was of very little use to Evan, because her mistress did not trust her in the least. As for the letters, it was scarcely likely that if Maud Deaves were carrying on a dangerous correspondence she would have the letters come openly to the house. Nevertheless Evan determined to get to the house early enough in the mornings to look over the first mail before it was distributed.

On the morning following his trip on the Ernestina he found a letter addressed to her that gave him food for reflection. The address was typewritten. The envelope was of medium size "Irish linen" of the kind that never saw either Ireland or flax; in other words, just such an envelope as those which had brought the blackmailing letters. In itself this was nothing for many thousands of such envelopes are sold. But it was postmarked "Hamilton Grange" and it was addressed "New York City." The three little facts taken together were significant. Evan slipped it in his pocket.

But though it had the look of a mere business letter or a bill, he still had qualms about opening it. Useless to tell himself that it was his duty to do so. To tell the truth Evan was not cut out by nature to be a detective. He finally decided to put his problem to George Deaves.

"Mr. Deaves," he said, "am I employed to accompany your father on his walks or to discover the blackmailers?"

"Primarily to run down the blackmailers," was the prompt reply. "Merely to go with my father is not worth all the money I'm paying you."

"Very good. Then I'm supposed to follow the trail wherever it may lead?"

"Certainly."

"Even in this house?"

"Of course. I told you particularly to watch the servants. Whom do you suspect?"

"I have no evidence yet. I merely wanted to know where I stood. Would I be justified in opening letters that looked suspicious to me?"

"Why, yes. The guilty person wouldn't tell you of his own accord."

"Thanks; that's what I wanted to know."

"Have you found out anything?" Deaves asked eagerly.

"Not yet."

"Mind, you are to find out everything you can, but you are not to take any action without consulting me."

"I understand."

While the servants were at breakfast Evan went to the water heater in the basement and, opening the valve, steamed the envelope open. He took the contents to the little room off the library to read. This is what met his eyes:

"Madagascar Hotel August—

"Mrs. George Deaves:

Dear Madam:

I am exceedingly sorry to be obliged to inform you that my customary fortnightly contribution to your charity must be omitted on this occasion, the reason being that the activity of a certain agitator has resulted in shutting off the income from my business, and I am without funds. I am sure you will agree with me that these agitators ought to be discouraged in every possible way. Let us make a stand against them. You can reach me at this hotel at any time.

Yours faithfully, RODERICK FRELINGHUYSEN.

This had an innocent sound, and for a moment Evan supposed he had made a mistake in opening it. But he read it again, and began to grin as the various implications of the note became clear to him. "Damn clever!" he thought. "If this was found lying about no one could suspect anything from it. Not even George Deaves. Why, it almost took me in and I was forewarned!"

Evan thoughtfully considered all that the letter meant. "First of all it shows that Maud is not a regular member of the gang, but that they have been whacking up with her just to gain her good will. That's why she supplies the pressure from this end. It all fits in! Of course I am the agitator that he refers to, and he's suggesting to her that she get me fired. But why does he give her an address so that she can write to him? By George! I have it! He's giving her a chance to send him a story that can be used against the old man!"

He took a copy of the letter, sealed it up again and slipped it back among the rest of the mail matter in the hall.

During the morning he was obliged to accompany Simeon Deaves on one of his peregrinations. When they returned for lunch Evan sought out Josefa, the lady's-maid.

"What's your mistress been doing all morning?" he asked.

"Oh, Maud's got a new bug!" was the scornful answer. "Been practising on the typewriter for hours."

Evan pricked up his ears. "The typewriter?"

"She went out right after breakfast and brought home a second-hand machine. Been beating the Dickens out of it ever since."

"What is she writing?"

"Search me. Won't let me come near her. Looks like a story or something."

"Get a glimpse of it if you can."

"No chance. She's got eyes all round her head."

"Can you work a typewriter?"

"A little bit."

"Well, when she goes out stick a piece of paper in the machine and strike every key once, see? I want an impression of every character."

"I get you."

After lunch Evan had to waste more precious hours walking around with the old man. When they returned Josefa reported that Mrs. Deaves had finished her typewriting about three, and had then done up the sheets in a large envelope, and after carefully destroying the spoiled sheets, had carried the envelope out, presumably to post it. Josefa gave Evan the paper he had asked for, with a print of each character of the typewriter.

It was then five o'clock. City letters require two hours or more for delivery, and supposing this package of Mrs. Deaves' to be an answer to "Mr. Frelinghuysen's" note, it would soon be due at the Hotel Madagascar. Evan determined to go and ask for it himself. He did not suppose that Mr. Frelinghuysen was stopping at the Madagascar. That would be too simple. He knew, as everybody knows, what an easy means the "call" letters at a great hotel offers for the exchange of illicit correspondence.

The Madagascar, as all the world knows, is one of our biggest and busiest hotels. Evan went boldly to the desk and asked if there were any letters for Mr. Roderick Frelinghuysen. The name sounded imposing. The busy clerk skimmed over the letters in the F box, and, tossing him a bulky envelope, thought no more about it.

Evan, in high satisfaction, wended his way to another hotel in the neighbourhood, and there at his leisure tore the envelope open and read—well, very much what he expected: a story designed to be used for blackmailing purposes against Simeon Deaves. No letter accompanied it; none was necessary.

This story dealt with ancient history, and contained uglier matter than mere ridicule of the old man's avarice. It had to do with the circumstances of the marriage of George Deaves to Maud Warrender and what followed thereupon. In other words, Maud had been engaged in the amiable occupation of fouling her own nest. According to this account Simeon Deaves had instigated his weak and complaisant son to woo Miss Warrender because her father was President of a railroad that Simeon Deaves coveted. As a result of the marriage Deaves, who up to that time had only been a money-lender, had succeeded in entering the realms of high finance. No sooner was his own position secure, so the story went, than Simeon Deaves set himself to work to undermine Warrender, and in the end ousted him from his railway and ruined him.

This tale had none of the finesse and humour of that written by the blackmailers; it was simply abusive. Yet Maud had not so far forgotten herself as to show her hand. The facts were such as many persons beside herself might have been aware of.

Evan painstakingly compared the sheets of the story with the paper Josefa had given him. Every typewriter, save it is just from the factory, has its peculiarities. There was enough here to make out a case: "e" was badly worn and had a microscopic piece knocked off its tail; "a," "w," "s" and "p" were out of alignment; there was something the matter with "g," so that the following letter generally piled up on top of it.

In short, Evan held in his hands positive evidence of Maud Deaves' treachery. But upon consideration he decided not to put it before her husband at least for the present. In the first place, he didn't relish taking the responsibility of breaking up the Deaves family, and in the second place it was clear that the woman was only a tool in the hands of a rascal far cleverer than she. To deprive him of his tool would not break up the rascal's game; he could get another. Therefore Evan decided to keep his discovery to himself, and use it if possible to land the principal in the affair.

He considered whether he should have the desk at the Madagascar watched with a view to apprehending "Mr. Frelinghuysen" when he asked for his letter, but decided against that also. So clever a fox would hardly be likely to walk into so open a trap. He would send an innocent agent for the letter, while he watched in safety. On the whole it seemed best to do nothing that might put him on his guard, but to wait until he attempted to use his story, for a chance to land him.

He procured another envelope, had the hotel stenographer address it, and, sealing up the manuscript, carried it back to the Madagascar and handed it in at the desk "for Mr. Frelinghuysen," careful to choose a different clerk from the one who had given it to him.

It must have been called for shortly afterwards and acted upon at once. Next morning, when Evan arrived at the Deaves house, the story was already back there. The customary violent family conference was in progress in the library. Evan guessed from their expressions that his name had entered into this quarrel. Indeed, Mrs. Deaves was for ordering him out of the room again, but the old man was too quick for her. He placed the latest letter in Evan's hands. Mrs. Deaves turned away with a shrug.

"Well, you know what I think of it," she said.

Evan read:

"Mr. George Deaves:

Dear Sir:

You thought we were bluffing, didn't you, when we said we had a chapter to add to your father's biography? Well, here it is. Your rejection of our proposal was received during the absence from town of our chief. That accounts for the delay. Upon his return our chief instructed that you were to be given a chance to read the matter before it was published. So we enclose it. In the absence of any further communication from you before noon, it will appear in this evening's edition of the Clarion.

To-day your procedure for communicating with us must be as follows: Bring the specified sum in cash to the house at 11 Van Dorn street. It must be enclosed in an envelope or package. You must approach on foot. Ring the bell; hand it to the woman who opens the door with the words: 'For the gentleman up-stairs' and leave at once. You may bring a single attendant with you if you choose—you would probably be afraid to come without one. But neither you nor he must linger, nor question the woman, nor seek to penetrate beyond the front door. If you do so, or bring any other persons with you or after you, let the consequences be or your own head.

Yours as ever, THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"What are you going to do?" asked Evan of George Deaves.

Maud snatched the answer from her husband's lips. "He's going to pay!" she cried. "He can take you with him if he wants, as there's no one else available. I've no objection to that. But if you go you're to do exactly what the letter tells you and no more!"

As Evan continued to look to George Deaves, the latter was obliged to nod a feeble assent.

"He hasn't got the money," put in Simeon Deaves.

"Then let him get it from you!"

"Not if I know it!"

"Well, I don't care where he gets it from. This story is ruinous—ruinous! This story hits directly at me! If this is published it would be impossible for me to go on living with George!"

"Bravo, Maud!" thought Evan. "You're some actress! What a bombshell I could explode in this room if I wanted to!"

Maud's parting shot was: "At ten o'clock when the bank opens I will take you there myself in the car."

When she had gone the wretched George mumbled to his father: "No use my going to the bank. I'm overdrawn there. I can't ask for another loan unless you'll guarantee it."

"Not another cent! Not another cent! Let 'em publish and be damned!" He shuffled out of the room.

Evan could not but feel sorry for the unfortunate George, though his pity was mixed with contempt. George's first impulse was to apologise for his wife.

"You must make allowances," he said. "Mrs. Deaves is so dreadfully upset by this matter."

"So I see," said Evan dryly.

"I don't know what I'm going to do!"

"You don't need any money," said Evan quietly.

"Eh?" said Deaves dully.

"You've got a real chance to catch them now!"

"What do you mean?"

"Trap them in this house in Van Dorn street! I was sure they'd get careless in the end."

Deaves began to tremble. "But how can we? How do we know how many there are?"

"You'll have to call in the police and have the house surrounded."

"Oh, no! No!" Deaves cried in a panic.

"But that's what they're counting on: that you're afraid to call on the police!"

"The whole story would come out in the papers!"

"Not necessarily. Those matters can be arranged. And if they should slip through our fingers, we can buy up the story at the Clarion office later. We'd be no worse off."

"What could I say to Mrs. Deaves?"

"Don't tell her anything. She couldn't help but approve after we land them behind the bars." Evan said this with an inward smile.

"But she'll insist on my going to the bank."

"Let her take us there. She won't come in."

"I can't! I can't!" he quavered. "The risk is too great!"

"But if this payment is hard to meet, how about the next, and the next after that?"

"Oh, they'll ruin me!" he groaned.

"Then strike for your freedom while there's time!"

George Deaves would not positively consent, but he was so spineless that Evan was able to rush him along the path that he wished him to follow. Evan telephoned to police headquarters and made an appointment with the inspector in charge of the detective bureau to meet them at the bank.

Therefore, when Mrs. Deaves dropped them at the bank, and drove away, satisfied that things were going as she wished, instead of obtaining the money they went into consultation with the Inspector in plain clothes in the manager's office. Evan did the talking.

"Mr. Deaves is being hounded by a gang of blackmailers," he began.

The Inspector bowed as if blackmailing was a mere bagatelle to him. He had the mannerisms of the army. Evan was not so sure, though, of his capacity. But one must take an inspector as one finds him.

"He received this letter this morning." Evan handed it over.

It was read and handed back with a military nod.

"The opportunity seemed a good one to land the crooks."

"Quite so."

"We asked you to meet us here, because if we were seen going to headquarters the news would soon reach them. They were counting, you see, on Mr. Deaves not being willing to consult the police. But of course Mr. Deaves has nothing to hide.

"Of course not!"

George Deaves began to look anxious at this, but Evan did not intend to be taken too literally, as his employer soon saw.

The Inspector was not so stiff and correct but that he could feel an unregenerate curiosity. "May I see the enclosure the letter speaks of?" he asked.

"It has been destroyed," said Evan coolly. "It was merely scurrilous, and Mr. Deaves saw nothing to be gained in keeping it. The criminal intent is shown in the letter."

The Inspector looked disappointed, but bowed as usual. "Nevertheless I should be informed as to their previous activities," said he.

"Certainly," said Evan. "But if you will excuse me, the time is so short! I thought we should immediately take our measures. All the facts will come out at the hearing, of course."

Their plan was soon made. It was arranged that in the first place a man in plain clothes should be sent through Van Dorn street to locate the position of number eleven. Being an odd number, it would be on the north side of the street. He would then spot the corresponding house in the next street to the north, Carlton street, and four men would be sent to that house to be in readiness to take the Van Dorn street house in the rear. Six other men would be in readiness to follow George Deaves and Evan to the front door. In order to avoid warning the inmates of the house these six would be sent through the block in a covered van to leap out as the door was opened.

"What signal will there be for the concerted attack?" asked Evan.

"No signal," said the Inspector. "The double approach will be timed at a fixed moment, military style. You will ring the door bell at eleven o'clock precisely. Let me see, we'll give them forty-five seconds to open the door. Zero for us will be forty-five seconds past eleven. You can depend on us. Are you armed?"

Evan shook his head.

"As you are to be the first to enter the house it would be as well. Take this."

"This" was a neat and businesslike automatic. George Deaves shuddered at the sight of it.

The Inspector compared watches with Evan and departed in his automobile to make his arrangements.



CHAPTER XIV

NUMBER 11 VAN DORN STREET

Evan borrowed a newspaper at the bank and cut from it five pieces of the size and shape of bills. These he enclosed in an envelope and gave it to George Deaves. The latter was already longing to turn back from this expedition, but Evan gave him no opening to do so.

It was about half-past ten when they left the bank. In case they should be under observation Evan had to find some plausible reason for delay. They taxied back to the Deaves house as if they had forgotten something, and then down-town again. They dismissed their cab in MacDougall street, and proceeded on foot according to instructions.

Few people in New York could lead you to Van Dorn street, but Evan happened to have marked it during his wanderings with Simeon Deaves. It is only three blocks long, from MacDougall street to the river; one of the forgotten streets of the real Greenwich Village, not the spurious. Down the first block extends a double row of little old red brick dwellings; number eleven was presumably one of these. The remaining blocks are given up to great storehouses.

It was not any too easy to time their arrival to a second without rousing the suspicions of anyone who might be watching them. Evan dared not consult his watch too often. He made careful calculations of the time they took to walk a block. As it was he arrived in sight of the corner some seconds too soon. He used up this time by asking the way of an Italian grocer who had no English.

It was ten seconds to eleven when Evan guided the shaking George Deaves into Van Dorn street, and they mounted the steps of number eleven precisely on the hour. A great bell was tolling as Evan pulled the old-fashioned knob. In the depths of the house a bell jangled. Evan's heart was beating hard in his throat; George Deaves was as livid as a corpse—nothing strange in that, though, if anybody was watching.

The little brick house with its beautiful old doorway and wrought iron railings was the very epitome of respectability—they had left the swarming Italian quarter around the corner. With its shining brass knobs, neat window curtains and scrubbed steps one would have sworn that good, church-going people lived there—but you never can tell!

There was no wagon or van in the block that might have contained the police, but it was only a hundred feet or so to the corner. Evan had faith in the inspector. As a matter of fact, the van was about half a minute late in arriving; not a very long time, but long enough to make a fatal difference in modern tactics.

They heard steps approaching the door from within—still no sign of the police.

"Fumble for the envelope," Evan swiftly whispered. "It'll gain time."

The door was opened by a woman as respectable in appearance as her house, in short a hard-working, middle-aged American woman with an expression slightly embittered perhaps as a result of the influx of "dagoes" in her neighbourhood. She looked at them enquiringly. George Deaves fumbled assiduously in his inside breast pocket.

"What is it?" she asked sharply.

"I have something for the gentleman up-stairs," he muttered.

"Oh!" She waited five seconds more. "What's the matter?"

"I can't seem to find it."

Still no sign of the police. Evan was on tenterhooks. To create a diversion he asked:

"Has the gentleman lived here long?"

"Only took the rooms yesterday. Hasn't moved in yet."

Evan's heart went down. "Oh, then he isn't in?"

"Yes, he and his friend are up there waiting for the furniture."

She was evidently a victim rather than an accomplice. Still no sign of the police! George Deaves had not the assurance to keep up his pretended search. Evan signalled to him with a look to hand over the envelope. He did so with trembling hands.

At the same moment Evan, whose ears were stretched for sounds from within the house, heard a voice say, not loud: "They're coming over the back fence!" And another voice answered: "Beat it, then."

To Evan it was like the view halloo of the huntsman. He could not resist it. Never thinking of danger, he pushed past the astonished landlady and sprang for the stairs, pulling his pistol as he ran. As he left the stoop he had an impression of a motor van turning the corner from MacDougall.

The woman screamed, and George Deaves yelled to Evan to come back. The woman slammed the door in Deaves' face with the impulse of keeping out at least one intruder. This was unfortunate for Evan, for it delayed the entrance of the police.

As Evan went up the first flight he heard flying feet on the stairs overhead, and he made no pause on the second floor. He heard a door on the third floor slam. It was in the front. Houses of this type have a window on the stair landing and Evan had no difficulty in seeing what he was about.

On the third floor there were four doors on the hall, all closed. Evan went directly to the door he had heard close, the door of the principal front room, and throwing it open, stepped back, half expecting a fusillade from within. But none came. After a moment he stepped to the door and looked in. The room was empty. But there was a door communicating with the rear.

That was as far as his observations carried him. Suddenly a suffocating cloud was thrown over his head from behind and drawn close about him.

A voice said: "Give him one; he's heeled!"

A sickening blow descended on his skull. His strength became as water. Still he did not lose consciousness.

A different voice said: "Let him lie! Come on!"

The first and more determined voice replied:

"Bring him, I tell you! It's too good a chance to miss!"

A rope was hastily wound around Evan's body, and he was partly dragged, partly boosted up a ladder and through a scuttle to the roof. The last sound he heard from the house was the trampling of heavy feet in the entry below. He was put down on the roof. He was still incapable of helping himself, but he heard all that went on as in a dream.

He heard them cover the scuttle. He heard the more resolute voice say: "Help me lift this slab from the parapet." The other replied agitatedly: "Oh, what's the use! Come on! Come on!" The first said: "Do what I tell you! Only one man can stand on the ladder at a time: he'll have all he can do to push this up."

A heavy object was dropped on the scuttle. Evan was then picked up between the two and carried over the roofs. They laid him down on the low parapet that separated each house from its neighbour, and jumping over, picked him up again. In this manner they crossed the roofs of six houses. Evan heard vague sounds of excitement from the street below.

He was put down again. One of his captors climbed above him: he heard his voice come down. With one pulling from above, and one boosting from below, with strenuous efforts Evan was hoisted to a higher roof. The second man climbed after. As he did so he said:

"They're out."

The other replied: "Bolt the door as you come through."

A door slammed to behind them and was bolted. Evan was jolted down many stairs. Someone began to pound violently on the door above. Other doors on the way were opened. Women exclaimed in astonished Italian. "Out of the way! Out of the way!" commanded the resolute voice, and none sought to interfere.

They ran down a long passage and down a few steps to the open street again. Evan was carried across the pavement and flung into an automobile. The door slammed. Running feet were heard from another direction. The resolute voice said:

"Beat it!"

The car jerked into motion. A hoarse voice ordered them to stop. A pistol was fired. The bold voice said:

"Step on her hard!"

The car roared down the street with wide open exhaust, turned a corner on two wheels, and another corner, and soon outdistanced all sounds of pursuit.

The power of movement was coming back to Evan, but he still lay still; he was at too great a disadvantage to put up a struggle. That which enveloped him was a thick cotton comforter; it clove to his tongue, and the stuffy smell of it filled his nostrils. Moreover, he had a lively recollection of the blackjack or whatever it was that had laid him out in the beginning. It was useless to cry out; even if he should be heard above the noise of the engine, who could stop the flying car?

As his wits cleared he set them to work to try to puzzle out the direction in which he was being carried. He could tell from the lurch of the car whether they turned to the right or the left. In the beginning they turned so many corners that all sense of direction was lost, but after a while they struck a car-line and held to it for a long time. He knew they were running in car-tracks by the smoothness of their passage, broken by occasional bumpings as they slipped out of the rails. It was a street with little traffic, for their progress was rapid and uninterrupted.

Presently he heard an elevated train roar overhead, and he knew where he was. "Greenwich street or Ninth avenue," he said to himself. As they still held to their car-line he knew they were bound up-town; headed the other way, they would have reached the end of the island before this. Bye and bye they coasted down a long hill and puffed up the other side. He guessed this to be the valley between Ninety-third street and One Hundred and Fourth, and presently knew he was right, when he heard the wheels of the elevated trains grinding on a curve high overhead. The Hundred and Tenth street curve, of course; there is no other such curve on the island.

The car turned to the right and then to the left again, still running in the rails. "Eighth avenue now," he said to himself, "and still heading north."

Later he heard a car-gong of a different timbre and the unmistakable hiss of a trolley wheel on its wire. There are no overhead wires on Manhattan Island except at the several points where the off-island railways terminate. "Union railway," Evan said to himself. "We've reached the Harlem river." Sure enough, they passed over a draw-bridge; the double clank-clank of the draw could not be mistaken. "Central Bridge," thought Evan.

But in the smoothly paved streets of the Bronx he lost every clue to his whereabouts. They ran in the car tracks for a while, then left them; they made several right and left turns and crossed other tracks. Evan guessed they were in a well-travelled motor highway for he heard other cars, but that told him nothing; there are a dozen such highways radiating from Central Bridge.

He lay against the feet and legs of his two captors. He listened eagerly for any talk between them that might furnish him with a clue. But if they conversed it must have been in whispers. On one occasion, though, he heard him of the milder voice say:

"He's so quiet! Do you suppose he's all right?"

"Search me!" was the indifferent response. "His body is hot enough on my feet, I know."

"Hadn't I better look at him?"

"Sure! And print your face on his memory forever!"

"I believe that comforter is half suffocating him."

"What of it? You can't make a cake without breaking eggs."

Gradually the noises of the street lessened, and Evan gathered that they were getting out into the sparsely settled districts. They were bowling along rapidly and smoothly. About twenty minutes after they had crossed Central Bridge (if Central Bridge it was) the more determined voice suddenly said to the chauffeur:

"Don't turn in now. There's a car behind. Run slow and let it pass. Then come back."

This was evidently done. They turned in the road. As they came back the voice said:

"All clear. Go ahead in."

The car turned to the right and jolted over what seemed to be a shallow ditch. The road that followed was of the roughest character. If it was a road at all it was a wood-track; Evan heard the twigs crackle under the tires. They lurched and bumped alarmingly. Once they had to stop to allow the chauffeur to drag some obstruction out of the way. Evidently they had not had the car that way before, for the chauffeur said anxiously:

"Are you sure we can get through?"

The resolute voice answered: "We've got to."

The chauffeur said: "I couldn't turn around here."

The other voice replied: "There's a clear space in front of the house."

This way was not very long; a quarter of a mile, Evan guessed. They came to a stop, and the two men climbed out over Evan. He was unceremoniously dragged out feet foremost. They carried him a short distance—Evan heard grass or verdure swishing around their legs. They entered a house and laid him down on a floor, a rough worn floor.

Here Evan heard a new voice, a woman's voice with slurred accents and a fat woman's laugh. The strong-voiced man said:

"Here's a guest for you, Aunt Liza."

"Lawsy! Lawsy! What divelment you been up to now!"

A general laugh went round. To the bound Evan it had a blackguardedly and infamous sound.

He was abruptly turned over on his face. While one man held the folds of the comforter tightly round his head, the other two knelt on his back and, pulling his arms behind him, tied his wrists together. Evan put up the best struggle he could against such heavy odds. The man who had taken the principal part against him laughed.

"You see, there's life in him yet," he said.

After his wrists they tied his ankles, and got up from him. The comforter was still over Evan's head, and he was powerless to throw it off. The same voice said:

"After we're out of the room you can uncover his head, and give him air. And feed him when dinner's ready."

A door closed.



CHAPTER XV

THE CLUB HOUSE

The coverlet was thrown back from Evan's head, and breathing deep with relief, he saw bending over him a grinning, fat negress, not evil-looking, but merely simple in expression.

She exclaimed like a child: "Laws! it's a pretty man!"

"Where am I?" asked Evan.

"Deed, I do' know, chile!"

"I'll pay you well if you'll help me out of here."

"Deed, I cain't help you, honey. I'm here, but I don' know where it is no more than you do. White folks brung me here, and white folks will take me away again I reckon."

Evan looked around him. He seemed to be in a room of an ancient abandoned farm-house. There was no furniture. The ceiling was low; the great fireplace was certainly more than a century old. The smell of rotting wood was in the air; the plaster was coming down, revealing the wrought hand-split laths beneath; the floor was full of holes. There were two windows with many missing panes. The sun was streaming in. From Evan's position flat on his back on the floor he could only see the sky through the upper sashes.

In contrast with the wreckage that surrounded them the old negress was neat and clean. She wore a black cotton dress and a gingham apron and on her head was a quaint, flat-topped cap made from a folded newspaper. She seemed neither ill-disposed nor well-disposed towards Evan but regarded him simply as an amusing curiosity.

It ought not to be difficult to bend one so simple to his will, Evan thought, and set to work to conciliate her.

"Aunt Liza, you seem like a decent woman. What are you doing in a den like this?"

She affected not to understand him. "Excuse me, suh, I don' understand No'the'ners' talk very good."

"I say this is a funny looking place."

"Well, I reckon they's gwine fix it up some. Ain't had time yet. The other rooms is better than this."

"Who lives here?"

"Nobody lives here. It's a club."

"What club?"

"Ain't got no name as I knows. It's a private club."

"Well, who comes here?"

"Jes, my boss and his friends."

"What's your boss's name?"

"Mistah Henry."

"What's his other name?"

"Henry."

"What's his first name, then?"

"Henry too. Mistah Henry Henry."

Evan looked at her sharply, but her face was black and bland.

"What do they do here?" he asked.

"Same as gemmen allways does in a club I reckon; smokes and talks and plays cards and mixes juleps."

"Well, do they generally bring their guests here tied hand and foot?"

Aunt Liza dissolved into noiseless fat laughter. "No suh! No suh! That's somepin new, that is!"

"Well, who do you think of it?"

"Laws! I never thinks, suh. I leaves that to the white folks. I jus' looks on and 'preciates things!"

Evan was sure now that she was simply using her simplicity as a cover. In such a contest he could only come off second best, so he fell silent. He was anxious to get her out of the room now that he might get a glimpse out of the window.

"Somebody said something about dinner," he said. "How about it?"

"Ready d'rectly, suh. I'll go look at it."

She went out. The room had but the one door which she locked after her. After a series of struggles Evan succeeded in getting to his knees. If this sounds easy let the doubter have his hands tied behind him, and his ankles tied together, and try it. This brought his head above the level of the window-sill, but the view out the window scarcely repaid him for his trouble. It was much what one might have expected from the condition of the house, a door-yard grown high with grass and weeds, a clump of tiger-lilies, some aged lilac bushes, a few rotten palings marking the line where a fence had run.

Beyond the fence was the road, only a slight depression now in the expanse of weeds. The automobile that had brought Evan was standing there. It was a shabby little landaulet with the top up. It looked like a taxi-cab but carried no metre. Beyond the line of the road the view was shut off by second-growth woods, with a larger tree rising here and there.

It looked like a spot long forgotten of man, yet Evan doubted if it were more than eight miles from Harlem river, and the chances were that it was actually within the New York city limits. Indeed while he looked he heard the faint-far-off chorus of the noon whistles in town.

Hearing the old darkey's shuffling step in the hall, he hastily lay down again. But her sharp eyes instantly marked the change in his position and detected the dust on his knees.

"Ah reckon the sun's too strong for yo' eyes," she said dryly. There were stout, old-fashioned wooden shutters folded back into the window-frames. These she closed and hooked, and Evan was left in gloom.

There was nothing the matter with the dinner she presently brought him; corn soup, fried chicken and hominy. She fed him with the anxious solicitude of a nurse. Indeed Aunt Liza throughout evinced the greatest willingness to make friends; she was so fat and comfortable she just couldn't help it. It was only when Evan started to question her that she showed what a tricksy spirit inhabited the solid frame.

After dinner Evan heard the automobile leave. He guessed that he and Aunt Liza were now alone in the tumbledown house. During the long hot afternoon she left him pretty much to his own devices. He could hear the bees humming outside, and the twitter of birds.

In stories Evan had read when the hero was captured and tied up he always succeeded in "working himself free" at the critical moment. Well Evan patiently set to work to free his hands, but after hours of effort, as it seemed, he had only chafed his wrists and his temper and drawn the knots tighter.

The extreme stillness of the house suggested that Aunt Liza might be indulging in a siesta, and he determined to reach the window if he could. Patiently rolling and hunching himself in the desired direction, he finally made it. He then by a course of gymnastics finally succeeded in getting to his feet. With his chin he knocked up the hook that fastened the shutter, and after many attempts succeeded in pulling the shutter open with his teeth. Even then he was no nearer freedom, for the sash was down, though most of the panes were missing. And Aunt Liza came in and caught him in the act.

"Sho! honey what yo' tryin' to do!" she said reproachfully. "Turn around and sit down."

There was nothing for Evan to do but obey, whereupon she coolly seized his heels, and pulled him across the floor. She fastened up the shutter again. After that she visited him more frequently, and as long as he was a "good boy" was disposed to be quite friendly and sociable.

Towards the end of the afternoon the "club-members" began to arrive. Evidently they came on foot for there was no sound of automobile. Evan, whose only useful sense was hearing, thought he could distinguish eight or nine individuals at different times. None opened his door. The principal gathering place seemed to be the room over his head. A low-voiced hum of conversation came down to him but he could distinguish no words. Frequently there was laughter, which had a particularly devilish and unfeeling ring to Evan.

Aunt Liza served another meal.

Later she entered his room carrying a bandana handkerchief.

"What's that for?" demanded Evan.

"To blind yo' eyes, honey."

"What for?"

"The gemmen wants to see yo' upstairs."

Any prospect seemed better than lying bound alone in the semi-dark, and Evan submitted. Aunt Liza made very sure that he could not see under the bandage over his eyes. Then untying the knots that bound his ankles, she helped him to his feet, and steered him out through the door. Placing his foot on the bottom step she bade him mount the stairs. At the top she led him towards the front of the building and through a doorway into the middle of a room. Here she left him. He heard her steps recede, and heard her close the door behind her.

There he stood bound and blind facing—he knew not what. A thick excitement choked him. Nobody spoke, but his sharpened senses told him that he was surrounded by people. He heard them breathe. The continued silence was cruel on his nerves. He imagined them moving cat-footed about him, smiling meaningly at each other as they prepared to attack. If he only had a wall at his back!

"Keep cool! Keep cool!" he told himself. "They're trying to break your nerve. Stand fast! Make them speak first!"

Finally one spoke. It was he of the resolute, cynical voice. "Well, Weir, here we are! What have you got to say for yourself?"

"It's not up to me to say anything," coolly retorted Evan.

There were several chuckles in the room. Their laughter was hateful to Evan. He gathered from the sounds that the room was of considerable size. Evidently this house was a more pretentious building than he had supposed. The voices echoed as they do in a bare room.

"You are in the presence of the Ikunahkatsi," the voice went on, "that is to say of some of them. We're not at all ill-disposed towards you personally. On the contrary we admire the pluck you've shown. It's been some fun to get the best of you. Confess, we fooled you neatly in the library that day."

Evan thought: "This is the humorous guy that writes the letters." Aloud he said: "Say your say and have done with it."

The voice resumed: "As I say, it's been a good game. We'd be willing to go on indefinitely matching our wits against yours, but the dice are loaded against us, you see. We're outside the law. With that advantage on your side you'd be bound to get us in the end."

"It's not all fun with us, you see. We have a serious purpose in view. You are in the way of that purpose and so, regretfully, we've got to remove you. You're much too good a lad to be in the pay of an old rascal like Deaves. You ought to be on our side, with the free spirits. But there you are. I know you wouldn't switch now."

"To a gang of blackmailers? No thank you," said Evan.

"It would be just as well for you to speak civilly," the voice warned him mildly. "All the gentlemen present are not as patient as I am."

"What do you want of me?" demanded Evan. "Say it."

"You are absolutely in our power here, yet we are willing to release you on a certain condition."

"What's your proposition?"

"Give me your word of honour that you will leave Simeon Deaves' employ, and have no further relations with him or his son."

Evan considered what trap might be concealed behind this seemingly fair offer.

"What will the old miser ever do for you?" the voice went on, "or his slack-twisted son for that matter? Let them stew in their own juice. Give me your word, and you'll be taken home to-night."

"And if I won't?" said Evan.

"Oh, we'll have to keep you prisoner until we have pulled off our big coup. I can't say how long that will be."

Evan said coolly: "Well, I'll see you all damned first."

There was a stir in the room. "Ah!" said the voice that fronted him, coolly. "As a young man of spirit I suppose you feel that is the only possible answer. It's too bad. You may go down-stairs." He called for Aunt Liza.

Evan was returned to his prison on the ground floor.

Aunt Liza said: "Sit down, honey. Be a good boy and let me tie yo' feet together. If you acks ugly I'll have to call the gemmen."

Evan submitted. His ankles were bound, the bandage over his eyes removed, and he was left to his own devices.

The leaden minutes slowly added themselves up to hours. For a long time in his rage he could not think clearly. He was all for defiance, defiance though his life paid the forfeit. But in the end he was bound to cool off and a craftier voice began to advise him.

"I owe this gang neither truth nor loyalty," he thought. "They struck me from behind. They carried me off. They trussed me up like a fowl for roasting. They're about a dozen to one against me. By fair means I haven't a ghost of a show against them. Very well, I'll use foul. If they are simple enough to let me lie myself out of their hands, I'll do it."

Late in the evening he was sent for again. He was eager now to face his jailors. As before his eyes were blindfolded, and his ankles freed. Aunt Liza took him up-stairs and retired.

The mocking voice said: "Well, Weir, I didn't want to leave you in that rat-infested room all night without giving you a chance to change your mind. Wouldn't you rather sleep between your own sheets?"

"I would," said Evan coolly. "I have changed my mind. As you say, Simeon Deaves and his son are nothing to me. I will let them alone hereafter."

"Good man," said the other. "You promise to have nothing further to do with them?"

"I promise to have nothing further to do with them."

A new voice spoke up, a voice that vibrated with anger and hate: "That's too thin! He's trying to fool us! Can't you hear the lie in his voice?"

"Wait a minute," said the other, "I'll put him under oath." Addressing Evan he said mockingly: "I don't know what your attitude towards the bible is, but I'll take a chance. Will you swear it on the bible?"

It suddenly came to Evan that they were just playing with him, that they had no intention of letting him go. Moreover that hateful voice had roused a fury in him that was incapable of making further pretences.

"I'll swear nothing," he said sullenly.

"That's too bad!" said the man who faced him, with hypocritical regret. Evan was sure now that they were grinning among themselves. "I'll have to return you to your luxurious chamber."

The harsh voice broke in again: "We're taking too big a chance, leaving him here. We can't stay here ourselves, and the woman is no match for him. He'll break out."

"What do you propose then?" asked the other man.

"He'll never let up against us. Look at that stubborn jaw. It's us or him!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Put him out of the way!"

Evan thought: "They're bluffing!"

But he heard the gentlest voice among them murmur: "Oh, no! no!" And that was more convincing than the other man's abuse. A chill struck to his breast.

The angry man turned on him who had protested. "You be quiet! Your chickenheartedness has spoiled our game more than once! What's the use of half measures? We're all good for prison sentences if we're caught. Mark my words this man will put us all behind the bars if we don't put him where he can do no harm."

He whom Evan had taken to be the leader said: "This is not a question for us to decide. Put it up to the chief."

So he was not the chief then. One of them left the room. Evan wondered about this leader who held himself so far above his men that he disdained to take part in their meetings. Meanwhile he waited for the return of the messenger as an accused murderer waits for his jury. Silence filled the room. Through the windows came the voices of the cheerful katydids and the shrill tree-toads. A sudden sense of the sweetness of life stabbed Evan like a poniard.

The man was not gone long, nor did he keep Evan waiting for the verdict. "Chief says I am right," he blurted out—it was the harsh-voiced one. "Orders are let him pass out before we go home to-night."

A pent breath escaped from all those in the room. A rush of conflicting emotions made Evan dizzy; fear, the determination not to show fear, and that unmanning sense of the terrible sweetness of life. Oh, for a wall behind his back!

"So be it!" said the man in front of him soberly.

The other went on: "The arrangements are left to you. How are you going to do it?"

"I have the pistol that I took from him."

"What will we do with the body?"

"Let it lie. We're ready to flit from here anyway. It will be unrecognisable before it's discovered."

Evan visualised his own body putrefying, and the heart shrivelled in his breast. He clenched his teeth. All he had left was pride. "I will show nothing," he repeated to himself.

With too much suffering, the whole scene became slightly unreal to him. He heard their talk as from a little distance:

"We will draw lots. Who's got a sheet of paper? Anything will do.... This will do. Tear it in eight pieces.... No, seven. Leave C. D. out. He couldn't pull the trigger if his own life depended on it.... I mark a cross on one piece, see? Now fold each piece in four.... Call Aunt Liza up-stairs.... A hat? All right. Drop them in. Shake it up.... Don't let on anything to Aunt Liza.... Be quiet; here she is.... Aunt Liza hold this hat above your head, so.... Now come up to her one at a time and draw a paper. Do not open it until the last one is drawn."

A dreadful silence succeeded. The hard breathing of many men was audible in the room. Little cold drops sprang out in front of Evan's ears. A horrible constriction fastened on his breast, so that he could scarcely draw breath.

"Am I a coward?" he asked himself—and that caused him the sharpest pang of all. "Other men have died without flinching. Why do I suffer so?"

The resolute voice said: "Leave the room, Aunt Liza."

Evan heard the old negress shuffle out. She was the nearest thing to a friend that he had there.

"Now," cried the man, with a sharp catch of excitement.

Evan heard the crackling of the little bits of paper, and heard their breath escape them variously.

"Who has it?"

"I have!" It was the harsh voice. "It's no more than fair, since I proposed it."

"Oh, it's too horrible! It's too horrible!" sobbed the gentler voice. He ran out of the room.

"Let him go," said the harsh one. "This is no sight for kids."

"Here's the gun," said the other.

Evan thought: "Well, I won't take it standing still!"

Somewhere behind him the door was open. Putting his head down he charged for it. Instantly half a dozen pairs of hands seized him. He was borne back until he crashed against a wall. He felt of it gratefully. A deep instinctive need was supplied by the feeling of something solid at his back.

"Take your hands off him," said the principal voice.

Evan was freed, but he knew they still stood close beside him. The voice went on peremptorily. "Stand still if you don't want to be pinned against the wall like an insect."

"Unbind my eyes!" cried Evan. "Let me see what's coming to me."

The voice replied in its grim drawl: "Sorry, but we can't let you take mental pictures of us even to the other side."

"You're afraid to face me, you cowards!"

"Maybe. If you want to send any messages I'll transmit them."

Evan snatched at the chance. "I'd like to send a letter."

"All right." There was a pause while the speaker presumably found pencil and paper. "Go ahead."

Evan dictated Charley Straiker's address. "Dear Charl: I have cut loose. I have taken to the trail. You will not see me again. I leave everything I have in my room to you. It will not make you rich. With one exception. I want to send my least-bad picture to a friend. It's the one I call 'Green and Gold,' the view of the Square from my window in the morning light. There's a little frame that fits it. Write on the back of it—write—Oh, don't write anything. Wrap it up and address it to Miss Corinna Playfair. Take it to the steamboat Ernestina which will be lying at the pier foot of East Twentieth street on Saturday morning up to Nine-Thirty. Be good, old son. Here's how. Evan."

"Are you ready?" demanded the harsh voice unexpectedly close.

"Shoot and be damned to you!" said Evan.

He felt a little rim of cold steel pressed against his temple. With that touch all Evan's agony rolled away. After all, what was life but a jest? Thank God! he was not a coward!

The other man was still speaking—Good God would he never have done!—"I will give you the word." Then he began to count: "One, two, three——!"

Evan cried gaily: "So long, all!"

"Fire!"

There was a deafening crash. Everything went from him.



CHAPTER XVI

BACK TO EARTH

Like a thin, torn wrack of cloud scurrying across the night sky; like music so far away that the instrument and the air were alike unrecognisable; like an underexposed photograph; like the kiss of wind—such were Evan's vague impressions. "What existence is this?" he asked himself. Consciousness was sweet and he was afraid to question it for fear of slipping back into nothingness. He lay exulting in his sensations.

As these sensations became stronger the questioning spirit would not be denied. "I breathe," he thought. "I feel my breast rise. Therefore I have a body. I hear a sound like the stirring of a breeze among leaves, and another sound, a strange, faint hum. And I see, though I am surrounded by darkness. It is night and out-of-doors."

The feeling of having awakened in a new existence wore off. He accepted that which surrounded him as the same old world. He found that he was lying on a soft bed of leaves in a wood. He was wrapped in a bed covering, a cotton coverlet in fact. He did not recognise it. He instinctively felt about for his hat and found it near. He stood erect, and found that his legs were able to perform their office. He started to walk blindly through the wood. There were no stars.

A certain part of his brain had stopped working. It was that part which reasoned from memory. He remembered nothing. He did things without knowing why he did them. He came to a road; he knew it was a road, and knew what roads were for. He followed it. He was dimly conscious that he was not in a normal condition, but the fact did not distress him: on the contrary he experienced a fine lightness of spirit; it was enough for him that the blood was stirring in his veins, and the night air was cool and sweet.

Presently he heard a whirring sound familiar to his senses, and saw the oscillating reflection of a bright light around a bend in the road; an automobile. He hastily dived into the underbrush at the side. He had no reason to be afraid, but he felt a shivering repugnance to showing himself to his fellow-creatures in his present state.

When the car had passed he returned to the road. A few paces further on the trees at his right hand opened up, and a wonderful panorama was spread before him; a great, dark, gleaming river far below, and on the other side myriads upon myriads of fairy-like white lights like fireflies arrested in mid-flight. From this direction came the faint hum he had remarked.

Evan knew instinctively that this was the city, and that he must get there. He saw further that he was bound in the wrong direction. The way he was heading the lights were thinning out; the thickest clusters were behind him. His instinct further told him that where the lights were thick he would find a means of crossing the river. So he retraced his steps.

Bye and bye houses began to rise alongside the road, all dark-windowed and still. "It is very late," thought Evan. Finally the road came to an end at the gates of a ferry-house. Evan automatically produced a coin to pay his fare, and passed on board the boat. There were but few passengers. He gave them a wide berth.

Reaching the other shore he started walking towards the centre of the city. Coming to a place where trains of cars passed to and fro on a trestle overhead, he climbed a flight of steps to a station, and producing another coin, took a seat in the first train that came. He was perfectly able to see, to hear, to read the advertising cards in the train, but it was all new and inexplicable to him. Some power outside of his consciousness was directing his steps. In the brightly-lighted car he shivered under the gaze of his fellow-passengers, but nobody paid him any special regard.

At a certain station something stirred his feet, and they bore him off the train, down the steps and through certain streets to a certain door facing upon a little Park. Fronted by this door his hand dived into his pocket and brought forth a key which opened it. Like a sleep-walker he mounted to the top of the house and entered a room there. Something in the aspect of this room caused a deep sigh of satisfaction to escape him; he knew where everything was without lighting the gas. Undressing and climbing into bed he fell into a dreamless sleep.

He was awakened by a pillow flung at his head. He beheld a grinning, sharp-featured face under a shock of lank, molasses-candy-coloured hair, a face as dear and familiar to him as the room, and he knew that the owner of it was called Charley.

"Aren't you going to get up to-day?"

"Go to Hell!" said Evan, grinning back. Oh but the sight of his friend was good to his eyes! Something real, something familiar, something that identified this poor wandering soul and gave it a locus.

"You must have made a night of it," remarked Charley.

Some deep instinct still bade Evan to conceal his condition. "What's for breakfast?" he cried, jumping up.

"Same old stunt! Beggs and acon."

"Gee! I'm as hungry as a hunter. Break me three Humpty-dumpties and fry them sunny side up."

Charley perceived nothing amiss. Breakfast was partaken of to the accompaniment of the usual airy persiflage. Evan knew very well that Charley could supply the clues to his lost identity, but he couldn't bring himself to ask him directly. He kept his ears open for any chance remarks that might throw light on the matter, but Charley's style was so flowery he didn't get much. Charley finally departed on some errand of his own.

Left alone, Evan went about his room, touching the familiar objects, looking into everything, trying to fill in that blank space in his mind. As soon as he saw the paraphernalia he knew he was a painter. His pictures interested him greatly. He knew they were his own pictures, but he had lost all sense of kinship with them. In a way it was a great advantage; he brought a fresh point of view to bear.

"I see what's the matter with them," he said to himself. "You have been trying to convey the inner spirit of things without being sufficiently sure of their outward form. What you've got to do is to study the outsides of things further, and invite the spirit to express itself."

So interested was he that he put a fresh canvas on his easel on the spot, and started to paint. Any object would serve to prove his new theory; their brown pitcher with a broken spout and a green bowl beside it on the table. An hour passed without his noticing its flight.

Charley returned.

"Hello!" he said. "Had another row with your old man?"

"Old man!" thought Evan. "Oh, nothing much," he said aloud.

"Well, I must say you take your job pretty lightly," said Charley.

Evan thought: "So I have a job."

Charley went on: "There was a story in the paper this morning about one of your lot. I brought it in. Sounds fishy."

Evan pricked up his ears.

Charley read: "A reporter assigned to police headquarters happened to see Inspector Durdan, chief of the Detective Bureau, and five plain clothes men climbing into a covered motor van on Mulberry street yesterday, and scenting a good story, followed in a taxi-cab. Naturally the Inspector does not personally take part except in raids of some importance. The chase led to No. 11 Van Dorn street. Van Dorn is an obscure little street on the far West side. An agitated individual was discovered on the steps of this house whom the reporter recognised as Mr. George Deaves, son of the multi-millionaire. He cried out to the police: 'He's gone in! He's gone in!' The police forced their way into the house. One was left at the door, and the reporter was not allowed to enter. Through the open door he saw other police inside, who must have entered from the back. They were searching the house. One called down-stairs: 'They've gone over the roofs towards MacDougall street,' whereupon several of the police started to run down the block to the corner of MacDougall and the reporter followed. He was just in time to see two men issue from a tenement house carrying what looked like the corpse of a third between them. The body was wrapped in an old cotton comforter. They threw it in a waiting taxi and made a getaway though the police fired in the air, and ordered them to stop. At police headquarters all information was refused. At Mr. Deaves' residence word was sent out that Mr. Deaves had not been out that morning. The woman who keeps the Van Dorn street house, a Mrs. Patten, either would not or could not tell what had happened."

At this point in the story Charley looked up to see how Evan was taking it. Seeing Evan's expression he forgot to read the rest. Evan was staring into vacancy as if he saw a ghost. As a matter of fact complete recollection had returned in a great flash, and the reaction was dizzying. His first conscious act was to feel of his temple. It was whole.

"What's the matter with you?" cried Charley.

"I—I was that corpse," stammered Evan.

"Have you gone crazy?"

"Here, I've got to see about this!" cried Evan, and seizing his hat he ran out.

Evan took a taxi-cab to the Deaves house. He took out his pocket book to pay the driver. It was the first time he had used it. The money in it was intact, but something had been added, a little note. Evan read it while the driver made change.

"You've got good pluck. When the pistol missed fire we decided to let you off. Take warning. Keep away from the Deaves outfit or next time you'll get a ball."

Evan thought: "The pistol did not miss fire. It was loaded with a blank. The whole scene was staged just to break my nerve. I passed out temporarily just as a result of self-suggestion. Lord! what a weak-minded fool I was! But by God! I'll get square with them! This is how I answer their threat!"

He glared around him defiantly, hoping he was watched, and rang the bell of the Deaves house.

The servant who opened the door looked at him queerly. This successor to Alfred was more respectful, but Evan did not trust him much further. "Where is Mr. George Deaves?" asked Evan.

"I don't think you can see him just now, sir," was the answer. "He's up-stairs."

"And Mr. Simeon Deaves?"

"He's in the library, I believe."

"I'll go up there."

As they got further into the house shrill cries, muffled by several doors, reached Evan's ears.

"What's that?" he asked startled.

"Mrs. Deaves, sir," said the man demurely.

"What's the matter with her?"

"Hysterics, I believe, sir."

"Ah!" said Evan.

He found Simeon Deaves in the library. The old man greeted him with the unvarying sly grin. There was something inhuman about that grin. Nothing could move the old man much—save the threatened loss of money.

"So you got here," he said with cheerful indifference. "George told me they carried you off. How did you get clear?"

Evan told him briefly what had happened—keeping certain details to himself.

"Pooh! Sounds like a melodrama!" said the old man. "Don't believe a word of it!"

Evan, well-used to his ways by now, simply shrugged.

"There's the devil to pay here this morning," the old man went on, grinning like a mischievous boy at others' misfortunes. "Maud got a letter from them, and went into hysterics." He pointed up-stairs and laughed his noiseless laugh. "Hear her? George is up there slapping her hands and begging her to come to, and he'll pay the money. That's no way to treat hysterics. George is a fool."

Evan heard a heavy step on the stairs. "Here he comes," he said.

The old man notwithstanding his expressed contempt for his son was not anxious to face him. "Well, well, I've got to go down-stairs," he said, shuffling rapidly out by the small door.

George Deaves entered. Evan could not but feel sorry for him, absurd figure though he was. He looked as if his backbone had lost its pith; he sagged. His necktie was awry, and his hair hung dankly over his forehead, his mouth hung open; he looked like a man nauseated with perplexity.

"So you're here," he said to Evan, not any more concerned about his fate than his father had been.

Evan repeated his brief tale. George Deaves made no comment; scarcely seemed to listen to it in fact.

Evan said: "I suppose the police are looking for me?"

Deaves nodded.

"Then I had better report to them?"

This partly roused Deaves from his apathy. "Leave that to me," he said. "I will see that they are told what is necessary. I don't want any more fuss."

"Mr. Simeon Deaves tells me another letter has been received this morning."

"I can't discuss that with you," said George Deaves stiffly.

Evan's eyebrows went up. "Indeed!" he said.

The weak man could not face out Evan's indignant stare. "Oh, I don't blame you," he mumbled. "But I'm sorry I listened to you yesterday. Mrs. Deaves is heartbroken at what she considers my deception."

Evan reflected grimly that a broken heart does not customarily take itself out in hysterics, but he kept the reflection to himself.

"You will have to go," said George Deaves.

Suddenly a hurricane blew into the room in the person of Maud Deaves with her hair and kimono flying. The innocent Evan stood aghast at the terrible secrets of the boudoir that were revealed. The magnificent Mrs. Deaves was reduced by rage to the level of a furious fish-wife, but lower, for no fish-wife ever so far neglects self-interest in her rage. Mrs. Deaves' face was splotched and livid; unbridled passion had added fifteen years. She addressed her husband with a ridiculous assumption of calmness.

"They told me this person was here. I came down to see that you did your duty! This clever rascal has twisted you about his finger once too often for me!"

Evan flushed up. "Are you referring to me?"

"Yes I am!" she cried. "You've been a nuisance in the house from the first with your officious meddling! You take too much on yourself! You forget your place!"

"Good Heavens, madam, I didn't write the story about your marriage!" said Evan with meaning.

It never reached her. In the fury she had worked up, she had conveniently forgotten that she had written it herself. "Don't answer me back!" she cried, beside herself. "I don't know whether you did or not. I don't know whether you're more a rascal or a fool! But I know we're done with you. You're discharged, do you understand? You can go!"

Evan stared at her in frank amazement. Then he laughed. He was sorely tempted to tell what he knew, but when he looked at the crushed figure at the desk, he hadn't the heart. He wasn't going to take his dismissal from her, though.

"Mr. Deaves, do you wish me to go?" he asked.

George Deaves nodded.

"Very well," said Evan. "It suits me!" He bowed ironically to each of them, and left the room.

In the lower hall on his way out he was arrested by a cautious "Sst! Sst!" The old man appeared from around a corner. With many a furtive look over his shoulder, he pulled Evan into the small reception room off the hall.

"Did they fire you?" he asked.

"They did," said Evan grimly.

"Well, well, well!" said the old man with that unalterable grin. "You're a good boy too! I always said so! But what can anybody do with a wilful woman! So we've had our last walk together, eh?"

He really seemed to be sorry. So was Evan. In spite of all, Simeon Deaves was a funny old cuss. "Our last walk!" said Evan.

"But of course you're not worth what George pays you," he added, quickly. "Nothing like! Nothing like!"

The old fellow was incorrigible. Evan laughed. "Well, good-bye," he said without any hard feeling.

"Wait a minute. Say, I hate to think of those blackguards getting away with the money after all."

"So do I," said Evan quickly.

"Why don't you go after them yourself?"

"Where is the money to be sent to-day?"

"To the library."

"Do you remember what book was mentioned?"

"Yes. 'Carlyle's Essays,' Riverside edition."

"Well, maybe I will," said Evan. "I owe them something on my own account."

"That's right! That's right. If you land those rascals behind the bars, I'll mention you in my will."

"That's kind of you," said Evan dryly.

Evan didn't care to show his eagerness to the old man, but as a matter of fact his heart jumped at the suggested chance of getting back at the gang. He could hardly hope to do anything at the library in his own person, but Charley's assistance might be enlisted. Evan hastened home to get him.

An hour later Evan and Charley called upon the librarian who had assisted Evan and George Deaves on the former occasion. In the meantime Charley had been told the story of the previous night's happenings, and he was eager to take a hand in the game.

Evan said to the librarian: "Mr. Deaves received another demand for money this morning."

The librarian naturally assumed that Evan was still in his employ, and it was not necessary for Evan to lie in that connection.

A similar arrangement to the previous one was made. An inquiry revealed the fact that "Carlyle's Essays" had just been returned to the shelves. They were brought to the librarian's office, and Evan found that the bills were indeed in volume one. He marked them and the books were returned with instructions that they were to be notified when they were again called for. Evan and Charley waited.

They were called for in an hour, and from the same seat in the reading-room as on the former occasion, number 433. Charley and the librarian departed for the reading-room. Charley's instructions were to make very sure that the bills were actually abstracted from the book, and then to apprehend the man who took them without waiting for him to get out of the building, and to call on any of the library attendants for assistance if need be. Meanwhile Evan waited in the librarian's office, prepared to take a hand when the alarm was raised.

But no alarm was raised. Evan waited half an hour in the keenest impatience and then the librarian returned alone.

"What happened?" demanded Evan.

"Nothing—as yet," was the answer. "I took your friend around through the American History room, just as I took you that day, and explained to him the location of seat 433. Since there was no danger of his being recognised he went right into the reading-room and took a seat at the same table. I scarcely liked to show myself, so I waited in the adjoining room. I had an attendant there in case he needed help.

"But we heard no sound, and when I finally looked into the reading-room I saw that your friend had gone, and that seat number 433 was also empty. The Carlyle books were lying on the table. The money had been taken. So I came back here to tell you."

Evan was anxious and perplexed. "I don't understand what could have happened," he said. "If the crook got away in spite of Charley, why didn't he come back here to report?"

"Perhaps he's still on his trail."

"But he was told not to let him get out of the building. There's nothing for me to do I suppose, but wait here."

Evan waited in the librarian's office until after lunch, but Charley neither came back nor sent any word. By the end of that time Evan, divided between anger and anxiety, was in a fever. He decided to make a trip home.

By the time he reached Washington Square anxiety had the upper hand. The gang must have got the better of Charley he told himself, or he would have had some word. Evan had had experience of the desperate lengths to which they were prepared to go. Would they now put their final threat into execution upon his hapless friend? Evan blamed himself bitterly for having sent Charley into danger. "If I do not hear from him during the afternoon, I'll send out a general alarm at police headquarters," he thought.

When Evan opened the door of 45A, Miss Sisson, according to her custom, stuck her head out into the hall.

"I suppose you haven't seen Mr. Straiker," said Evan.

"Yes, I have," she answered. "He came in about lunch time."

"What!" said Evan staring.

"He came in and packed his trunk and took it away in a taxi-cab. Said he was going away for a few days. Wouldn't tell me where he was going. Seemed funny to me he wanted his trunk if it was only a few days, but of course I couldn't object for his rent is paid up and he left his furniture anyway, though that wouldn't bring much. I will say he acted funny though, to an old friend like me. Wouldn't give me any information."

Evan stared at the woman as if he thought she had suddenly lost her mind. Then without a word he ran up the three flights of stairs. A glance in Charley's room confirmed what she had told him. Things were thrown about in the wildest confusion. But all Charley's clothes were gone, as well as all the personal belongings that he treasured.

Evan never gave a thought to the five thousand dollars; what cut him to the quick was the suggestion that his friend had betrayed him. There is nothing bitterer.

"I needn't have been so anxious about him," thought grimly. "This is more like treachery!"



CHAPTER XVII

THE ERNESTINA AGAIN

The next day was Saturday, and whatever had happened to Evan, he did not forget that this was the day of the Ernestina's excursion, nor would he relinquish his determination to take it. In his present sore and bitter state of mind the prospect of a row was rather welcome than otherwise.

He timed himself to arrive at the East Twentieth street pier at nine-twenty, that is to say ten minutes before the steamboat was due to leave. He found Denton taking tickets at the gangway as before, but it was a very different face that Denton turned to him this morning; censure, reproach and apprehension all had a part in his expression. "He's been filled up with great stories about me," thought Evan. There was a policeman standing near Denton. Evan's eyes glittered at the sight of him.