The Deaves Affair

"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.