"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 Ha.s.sell 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. Ha.s.sell?"

"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, "Ha.s.sell 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.