The Deaves Affair

In spite of himself Evan was a little touched. "Let me see the letter," he said, holding out his hand.

Deaves passed it over and Evan read:

"Mr. George Deaves:

Dear Mr. Deaves:

Our enterprise has had its exciting side. We'd be willing to keep it up indefinitely for the pure fun of the thing were it not that it is so expensive. I mean, a large part of our takings is swallowed up in the inevitable charges. This leads us to offer you an alternative plan.

Under the present scheme we will assess you this season about forty thousand dollars, and an equal amount, or more, next year. Now we propose to save you money and ourselves trouble by asking you to endow the Ikunahkatsi once and for all. Four hundred thousand dollars is the sum required. At five per cent this is only twenty thousand a year, so you see you would save a clear half. On our part we would bind ourselves not to ask you to advance us any further sums of money on any pretext whatsoever. You will concede that heretofore we have scrupulously kept all our engagements with you. To put it humorously, it will cost you four hundred thousand dollars to get rid of us for good. Isn't it worth it? Especially now that the old gentleman has lost his efficient guardian.

We will give you until Sunday morning to think it over. If you agree to our proposal hang a flag from the pole that juts from the second story of your house, and we will send you instructions how to proceed. We are sure you will agree, but if you do not, we have further arguments to offer you.

Yours very sincerely,

THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"Same old humourist!" said Evan grimly.

"And only the day before I sent them five thousand!" groaned Deaves.

"Just the same this is a confession of weakness," said Evan. "I see that clearly. The game is getting too difficult for them."

"What would you advise me to do?"

"Ignore that letter."

"But – but what do you suppose they mean by 'further arguments'?"

"I don't know. Make them show their hand."

"Do you suppose they contemplate – er – personal violence?"

"They may intend to threaten it."

Deaves shuddered. "Suppose they took me into custody as they did you?"

"Well, they didn't do me any harm, really."

"I am not so sure – the second time – "

"They wouldn't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs," said Evan grimly.

Deaves saw nothing humorous in the illustration.

"Have you shown the letter to Mrs. Deaves?" asked Evan.

Deaves shook his head. "I suppose they will be writing to her next," he moaned.

"Your father?"

"What's the use?" Deaves struck his forehead. "My position is becoming unbearable!" he cried.

"I'm sorry for you," Evan said, thinking: "If you only had a little more backbone!"

Deaves arose lugubriously. "After all there is nothing for me to do but to ignore this letter," he said. "I suppose you do not feel inclined to help me any further in the matter."

"On the contrary, I'll be glad to," said Evan quickly. "But on my own terms. I have my own score to settle with this gang."

Deaves looked heartened. "Then if I hear from them again what is your telephone number?"

"There is no telephone in this house."

"But I may send to you?"

"By all means."

" – Er – would you mind coming down-stairs with me?" said Deaves. "The halls are so dark. And this letter has made me wretchedly nervous."

Evan went with him, concealing his smile.

In the lower hall Deaves said: "Of course I shall not venture out on foot after this. I shall always use the car." A new and dreadful thought struck him. "But then in a car one offers such a conspicuous mark to a bullet!"

"You needn't fear bullets," said Evan. "A dead man can't pay blackmail."

Deaves seemed to take little comfort from this. "What do you think about my chauffeur?" he asked anxiously. "Take a look at him. Does he look honest?"

Evan glanced through the narrow pane beside the door. "There's nothing remarkable about him," he said. "He looks like – like a chauffeur. How can one tell from a man's looks what he's thinking about?"

"Suppose they were to bribe him, and he drove me off to their lair?" stuttered Deaves. "I – I think I'd better stay home altogether hereafter."

But he was back again at nine o'clock that night in a still greater state of agitation. "Father has not come home!" he cried. "Where is he?"

"How should I know?" said Evan.

"But you accompanied him on all his walks! You know his haunts!"

"His haunts!" exclaimed Evan. "His haunts comprised the whole five boroughs of Greater New York with occasional excursions into Jersey!"

"But you must go in search of him! I cannot let the night pass and do nothing!"

"My dear sir, I wouldn't have the faintest notion where to begin. The only thing to do is to send out a general alarm through the police."

Deaves wrung his hands. "I can't do that! I can't risk another horrible newspaper sensation on top of everything else!"

"Then there's nothing to do but wait to see what happens," said Evan patiently. "If he's had an accident in the street, you will be notified."

"You think I'd be glad if something happened to him," said Deaves. "Everybody thinks so. But after all he's my father. It's the suspense that drives me out of my mind!"