"May I see the enclosure?" he asked.

"No," said Deaves stiffly.

Evan shrugged. "What's the nature of it?"

"It's a would-be humorous account of the events in that little street down-town."

"Is it a true story?"

Young Deaves turned to his elder. "Is it true, Papa?"

"In a way it's true," was the snarling reply. "From a certain point of view. But it's blackguardly just the same."

Evan stroked his lip to hide a smile. "What makes you think I wrote it?" he asked.

"n.o.body else could have known all the circ.u.mstances."

"But we were watched and followed every step of the way."

"So you say."

"Why, you're surrounded by spies. I expect every servant in the house is in the pay of this gang. I hadn't been in the house half an hour before they approached me."

"What did I tell you?" the old man snarled to his son. "Why don't you fire them?"

"How many times have I fired them? What good did it do? As fast as we get a new lot they're corrupted from the outside."

"Then it's been going on for some time," said Evan. "I never had any connection with Mr. Deaves until yesterday."

"How do we know that?"

"That's why you were so eager to get a job here," added the old man.

"To have a better chance of spying on me."

"Never thought of such a thing. The offer came from you."

"You paid your own fare on the trolley-car, didn't you? Mine, too!"

Evan laughed in exasperation. "Well, if that's an incriminating circ.u.mstance I'm guilty!" he said.

"Don't be a fool, Papa," muttered George Deaves.

Evan went on: "If I was a member of the gang would I show my hand so clearly? Would I betray the sources of my information? I tell you Alfred told me yesterday there was good money to be made on the side in this house."

"Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?" demanded Deaves.

"I wanted to find out what was up first. I know now."

George Deaves began to look impressed.

Evan made haste to follow up his advantage. "Have up the policeman. I can tell him no more than I've told you. But the whole affair must be well aired, I suppose."

George Deaves winced. He and his father exchanged a glance. "There's no hurry," he said. "We may have been mistaken. At any rate we don't want any unnecessary publicity."

"You don't mean to say you're going to _pay_!" cried Evan involuntarily.

"Wouldn't you advise it?" asked the old man craftily.

"No! Fight! Call their bluff! The nervy blackguards! Oh, to give up to them would be too tame!"

"I guess he isn't one of them, George," Simeon Deaves said dryly.

George apparently agreed with him, though he made no direct acknowledgment.

Evan struck while the iron was hot. "Look here, here's a proposition for you. This thing interests me a whole lot. That letter was written by a d.a.m.n clever crook, humorous too. I'd like to match my wits against his. Let me have a try at running them down. Won't cost you a cent more than my salary, and you won't have to let in any outsiders on the affair. Of course I've had no experience, but if I fail you'll be no worse off than you are now. If you go to the police it will be the newspaper sensation of the year."

Father and son looked at each other again. Evan had given them two potent reasons for listening to his proposal. But before they had time to express themselves there was an interruption.

A lady swept into the room like a northwest gale, one whose attire put the rose and the lily to shame; comely in her own person too after a somewhat hard and gla.s.sy style. Evan guessed this was Mrs. George Deaves, otherwise Maud. At the sight of her stormy brows father and son looked like two schoolboys caught in the act.

"What's going on?" she peremptorily demanded. "What are all the men servants waiting in the hall for?"

"Nothing, my dear," said George Deaves in a casual tone belied by his anxious eye. "They are merely waiting for their orders."

"My maid told me there was a policeman sitting in the housekeeper's room."

"Must be a friend of Mrs. Liffey's," her husband said with feeble humour.

"Friend nothing!" was the contemptuous reply. She marched up to her father-in-law, who silently snarled and gave ground like a cat.

"You've been up to your old tricks!" she cried. "Another disgraceful street scene! I see it in both your faces. Another blackmailing letter, I suppose!"

Young Deaves un.o.btrusively sought to turn over the letter on his desk, but she caught the movement out of the tail of her eye, and, whirling round, s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

"Let me see that!"

Her husband looked as helpless as a sheep. He had lost his pomposity.

"Happy little family!" thought Evan.

Having read it, she threw back her head and laughed in bitter chagrin.

"I thought so!" she cried. "The third time this summer! When is this going to end? Where's the story?"

"My dear, what's the use?" said her husband tremblingly. "It would only anger you."

"Be quiet!" she cried. "I will see it. Where is it?" Her eye picked it out from among the papers on his desk, and she pounced on it. More harsh and bitter laughter accompanied the reading of it.

"Bought a new suit at an immigrant outfitters! I see he has it on.

Got into a row with a fruit-vendor over a penny change. Rescued by a young man and taken home. Made his rescuer pay the fares on the trolley. Oh, this is rich, rich!" she cried, trembling with anger.

"This is the best story yet. This will be meat and drink to the populace! And this is what they're going to send to the _Social Register_, to everybody I know. It's enough to make me wish I'd died before I took the name of Deaves!"