The Deaves Affair

"It cannot be for long. If the blackmailers have kidnapped him – "

"That is what I fear!"

"They will open negotiations in the morning. And you need not fear that anything will happen to him during the course of negotiations."

"But what good will it do to negotiate?" cried poor Deaves. "I cannot possibly meet their demands."

"Tell them so," said Evan. "Put it up to them."

"Then they'll make him suffer."

"In that case he can pay them."

"Ah, you don't know my father! Four hundred thousand dollars! He'd die rather!"

"Well, that's up to him, isn't it?" said Evan coolly.

"Ah, you have no heart!" cried George Deaves.

"My dear sir," said Evan patiently, "it is your 'heart' as you call it that these fellows are working on. They would not dare to harm Mr. Deaves, really. If they did, it would arouse public opinion to that extent we could catch and hang every man jack of them!"

"Your cold words cannot ease the heart of a son!" cried Deaves.

Evan ushered him gently towards the staircase. "Take it easy!" he said soothingly. "Wait until to-morrow. Perhaps in opening negotiations they will give us a good chance to trip them up."

Deaves returned next morning before Evan had finished his breakfast. He extended a letter in a trembling hand.

"In the first mail," he said.

Evan read:

"One of our members happened to meet Mr. Simeon Deaves on the street yesterday, and invited him to spend a few days as our guest at the clubhouse. He is with us now, and appears to be enjoying himself pretty well, but unfortunately the climate of the vicinity is very bad for him. At his age one cannot be too careful. We think he should be returned home at once. A single day's delay might be fatal. If you agree, hang out the flag at eleven, Monday. We realize that you feel you must be extra careful in regard to the old gentleman's health, because you would profit so greatly by his death. You are so conscientious! Personally we would be very glad to see you come in for a great fortune; it would enable you to put so much more into the enterprise in which we are jointly associated."

Said Evan: "Stripped of its humorous verbiage this means: 'Come across or we'll croak the old man. And you needn't think you would profit by his death because we'd come down on you harder than ever then!'"

"Isn't it awful! Isn't it awful!" gasped Deaves. "Was ever a man put in so frightful a position? What am I to do?"

"Three courses are open to you," said Evan patiently; "the first, and in my opinion the wisest, course is – to do nothing. Put it up to them."

"But my father! He will suffer for it! A rotting old house overrun with rats, you said. And such an ordeal as you went through! It might very well kill him. How can I risk it?"

"He will always have the option of freeing himself," said Evan.

"He would die rather than submit!"

Evan shrugged. "Well, we went over all that last night. Your second course would be to take that letter to the police and put the whole matter in their hands. A force of ten thousand men with the information I can give them ought to be able to locate the clubhouse before night."

"And find papa's body!"

"Well, your third course is to hang out the flag and open negotiations."

"I have nothing to negotiate with! I cannot raise a cent more!"

"Never mind; bluff them. Spin them along as far as you can, on the chance of outwitting them in the end."

"What chance would I have of outwitting them?" cried Deaves mournfully.

Evan looked at the poor distraught figure and thought: "Not much, I guess." Aloud he said: "Well, that's the best I can do for you."

"All three courses are equally impossible!" cried Deaves desperately.

"Yet you must follow one of them."

"You are no help at all!" cried Deaves. He turned like a demented person, and ran down-stairs.

Evan thought he had seen the last of him.

But on the afternoon of the following day he returned once more. He was still perturbed, but his desperate agitation had passed; there was even a certain smugness about him. Clearly something had happened to ease his mind.

"Well, what did you do?" asked Evan.

Deaves looked confused. "Well – I couldn't make up my mind what to do," he confessed. "I – I didn't do anything."

"Just what I advised," said Evan. "Then what happened?"

Deaves evaded a direct answer. "I came to ask you if you would accompany me on a little expedition to-night?"

"What for?" demanded Evan.

"Is it necessary for me to tell you? I would pay you well."

"It's not a question of pay," said Evan. "I must know what I'm doing."

"You wouldn't approve of my course of action."

"All the more reason for telling me."

Deaves still hesitated.

"Let me see the latest letter," said Evan at a venture.

Deaves stared. "How did you know there was a letter?"

"Well there always is another when the first doesn't work, isn't there?"

Deaves looking a little foolish produced a letter and handed it over. Evan read:

"The enclosed speaks for itself. You will please proceed as follows: – bearing in mind that the slightest departure from our instructions in the past has invariably been followed by disaster: