The Deaves Affair

"I – I didn't come to talk to you about pictures," stammered George Deaves.

At a sign from his master the man left the room. Mr. Hassell waited politely to be enlightened.

Poor George Deaves floundered about. "It's such a delicate matter – I'm sure I don't know what you will think – I scarcely know how to tell you – "

Hassell began to look alarmed. He said: "Mr. Deaves, I beg you will be plain with me."

Deaves turned hopelessly to Evan. "You tell him."

"Better show him the letter," said Evan.

"The letter?" said Deaves in a panic, "what letter? I don't understand you."

"We came to tell him," said Evan. "We've either got to tell him or go."

Deaves wiped his face. "Mr. Hassell, I hope I can rely on your discretion. You will receive what I am about to tell you in absolute confidence?"

"My dear sir," returned the painter a little testily, "you come to me in this state of agitation about I don't know what. Whatever it is, I hope I will comport myself like a man of honour!"

George Deaves handed over the letter in a hand that trembled. Hassell's face was a study as he read it.

"This is blackmail!" he cried. "And in my name!"

"That's why we came to you," said Deaves – a little unnecessarily it might be thought.

"You surely don't suspect – "

"Certainly not," said Evan quickly – there was no knowing what break Deaves might have made. "But you can help us."

"Of course! This letter names eleven o'clock as the hour." Hassell glanced at his watch. "It's nearly twelve now. Why didn't you come to me earlier – or phone?"

"Well, I didn't know – it didn't occur to me," began Deaves, and stopped with an appealing glance at Evan.

Evan said bluntly: "Mr. Deaves was not acquainted with your name and your work until I told him."

The great painter looked a little astonished at such ignorance. "Has the money been sent to the club?" he asked.

Deaves nodded shamefacedly.

Mr. Hassell immediately got busy. "I'll taxi down there at once. I rarely use the Barbizon club nowadays. Haven't been there in a month."

"Shall we go with you?" asked Deaves.

"No. They may have spies posted who would see you even if you remained in the cab. If you'll be good enough to wait here, I'll be back inside half an hour."

Even in his bustle he did not neglect business. As soon as he had gone the servant appeared again, and began to show his pictures. Deaves goggled at them indifferently, but Evan was keenly interested. He studied them with the mixture of scorn and envy that is characteristic of the attitude of poor young artists towards rich old ones.

Within a few minutes of his half hour Hassell was back again. "Not much to report," he said deprecatingly. "The envelope addressed to me was delivered just before eleven o'clock, and put in the H box of the letter rack. It was gone when I looked, of course, but who took it remains to be discovered. About thirty members had gone in and out. Practically everybody stops at the letter rack. I have a list of those who passed in and out as well as the doorkeeper could make it out from memory."

"How about the door-keeper?" asked Deaves.

"Above suspicion, I should say. Has been with the club for twenty years. A simple soul hardly capable of acting a part. He would hardly have told me that he put my letter in the rack himself."

"Other servants then?"

"There were several boys on duty in the hall, but they are not supposed to go to the letter-rack without orders. If one of them had looked over the letters it could scarcely have escaped notice. No, unpleasant as it is to think so, I am afraid it was one of the members – someone who was counting on the fact that I never appear at the club except for an important meeting or a dinner. I looked over the members in the clubhouse, honest-looking men – but who can tell?"

"No doubt the one who got the money left immediately," suggested Evan.

Hassell said to Deaves: "With your permission I should like to take the matter up with the Board of Governors."

"No, no, if you please," said Deaves nervously. "No publicity."

"Then allow me to put this list in the hands of a first-class detective agency. Those fellows are secret enough."

"Let me attend to it if you please."

Hassell handed over the list with manifest reluctance; "If anyone uses my name again I trust you will let me know promptly."

"You may depend on it," said Deaves, making for the door.

"By the way, how did you like my pictures?"

"Very pretty, very pretty," said Deaves uneasily. "I don't know anything about such things. My wife buys everything for the home."

"Ah!" said Hassell with ironical eyebrows.

"I will tell her about them."

"Thank you," said Hassell, bowing them out.

George Deaves didn't say much on the way home, but Evan was aware that his attitude had changed. There were no more accusations. Clearly Deaves had been impressed by the fact that the interview with Hassell had turned out exactly as Evan had foretold.

Simeon Deaves was still shuffling around the library in his slippers. "Well?" he demanded.

His son briefly told him what had occurred.

The old man was in a very bad temper. "Yah! let him pull wool over your eyes!" he cried. "All a pack of thieves together! Artists never have any money! And this one knows more than he lets on. He's too smart by half! You mark my words!"

"Please go outside," the much-tried George said to Evan. "Wait in the hall."

Evan obeyed with a shrug. Outside the softly-stepping Alfred was loitering suspiciously. He approached Evan.

"Something doing to-day, eh?" he said with his obsequious-impudent leer. "Where did you two go?"

Evan's gorge rose at the man. He saw nothing to be gained now by hiding his feelings. "You damn sneak!" he said quietly. "Keep away from me, or I'll hurt you!"

Alfred, with a scared and venomous look, slunk down-stairs. Evan felt better.