Evan's talk with Corinna did not help him at all with the brotherhood. Whether they knew or not that he had had his five minutes with her, the fact that Corinna had ordered him put ashore and had then countermanded the order, was enough to rouse their jealous suspicions. One and all they sent Evan to Coventry. Let him work as willingly and cheerfully as he might, they ignored him: when they met they looked straight through him or over his head. Evan told himself he didn't care—and devoted his time to the children; but he was a man, and the heart in his breast was hot against them. With the children his popularity grew apace.
To-day theErnestinawas bound for Sandy Hook to give the small passengers a sight of the real ocean. They saw the ocean, and were not much impressed. Apparently they had expected the waves to come rolling in mountains high, whereas the ocean was as flat as Central Park lake. To be sure there was a slow swell that mysteriously heaved theErnestinaand troubled squeamish tummies, but it was not at all spectacular.
Later they lay in calm water inside the Hook while everybody ate. As the day wore on the weather began to thicken. The wind veered to the East and blew chill, and banks of white fog gathered on the horizon. Evan wondered why no one gave the word to return. It was hardly his place to interfere, but in the end he felt obliged to.
Tenterden happened to be the one that he spoke to. "We're going to have some dirty weather," Evan said lightly, "and we're a long way from the Bowery."
Tenterden looked him up and down. "Say, are you going to tell us how to run this show?" he asked. "That's good."
Evan shrugged and left him. "I owe you one for that, old man," he thought. "All right, my time will come."
It came sooner than he expected.
Someone did give the word, and the littleErnestinastarted back up the lower Bay at her customary head-long rate of eight miles an hour. And none too soon; the white wall of fog was creeping fast on her trail.
Evan was doing duty on the forward deck where the largest crowd of children was gathered. These were the healthiest and most obstreperous of their passengers. With his back in the point of the bow he could survey all his charges at once. No other helper was in that part of the boat at the moment. All was serene; the children for the most part swinging their legs in camp chairs and amiably disputing.
Suddenly from the very bowels of the vessel there came a horrifying report. TheErnestinastaggered sickeningly, listed to port, and commenced to limp around in a circle like a wounded bird. Terrible smashing and rending sounds succeeded the first crash. It seemed as if the frail little vessel must fly asunder under such blows.
After a second's frozen silence on deck a dreadful chorus broke forth. Only those who have witnessed a panic at sea will know. On land one may always run from a horror; at sea there is nothing between horror and horror. When the majority of passengers are helpless children the scene surpasses horror. With sharp animal cries of fright, they ran around in blind circles, or charged in a body from side to side of the deck.
An icy hand was laid on Evan's breast. He expected to see little bodies with flying skirts drop into the water. How could he be everywhere at once? He sprang on a seat.
"Sit down, children!" he cried. "She's broken her engine, that's all. The danger's over now."
They were deaf to his voice. The most frantic of them all was not a child but a woman, who half lay on a bench with limbs stiffened out, screaming continuously like a maniac. Evan's voice was powerless against those cries. He was obliged to silence her. She fell over on the bench limply. Evan sprang up into sight of all again.
"Sit still!" he cried. "The danger's over. Sing with me!"
He raised his voice in Suwanee River, the song every child knew. A few joined in, some of the mothers helped. The frantic cries were stilled a little. The crashing sounds had ceased, but presently the roar of escaping steam renewed the confusion. Panic broke out afresh. Evan sang louder.
They looked in his steady face and ceased their aimless running about. Many joined in. The chorus swelled louder and louder. It was extraordinary what reassurance there was in the sound. The children sat down again, and presently like children, many of them were laughing at their late terrors.
The situation was saved on the forward deck, but Evan sang on with a sick anxiety in his breast. He looked up at the pilot-house. It was empty. Under the chorus he could hear ominous sounds from below, and from the saloon. And Corinna, what of her?
In a moment Corinna herself came out on deck, deathly pale but mistress of herself. Her eyes sought Evan's eyes. His heart swelled that she had thought of him in her extremity. Amazement filled her eyes at the sight of the laughing, singing children, amazement and a passion of relief. She closed her eyes, and swayed, clinging to the door-handle.
"Sing!" cried Evan quickly. "That'syourjob!"
She quickly pulled herself together, and throwing back her head let her full voice go out. It gathered up the ragged chorus, and gave the song a fresh start. Fog began to creep around the vessel.
"Inside with you!" cried Evan. "Show those crazy kids in there how to sing!"
He and Corinna herded them in by the two doors. The singing procession streaming into the cabin had an effect little short of magical on the bedlam within. Corinna changed the tune to Annie Laurie. The cabin roof rang with it.
Little Domville was rushing to and fro in well-meant but futile efforts to reassure the children. Evan seized him and planted him at one of the doors.
"Let no one go out!" he commanded. "And sing!"
Another youth rushed up. "Corinna, are you all right?"
"Sure, she's all right! Everybody's all right!" cried Evan. He put him at the other door. "Stand there and sing!"
The young man yielded instinctive obedience to the commanding voice.
Evan and Corinna passed down the saloon, Corinna singing and Evan beating time with extravagant gestures like an Italian bandmaster. Even the children who were still weeping had to laugh. They met Dordess on the way. Denton and Anway were bringing in the children from the after deck. As far as the passengers were concerned the crisis was passed—but ominous sounds still rose from below.
Evan whispered to Dordess: "Put a man at each door and at the stairway and keep the kids together. I'll go below and see what's the matter."
Dordess nodded. There was that in Evan's eye which caused all the men to look to him. Their late animosity was forgotten. He was avenged.
Evan hastened down the stairway. Below there was nobody in the after part of the vessel. Up forward he found a scene of dire confusion. Alongside the engine room the engineer lay prone on the deck with his second bending over him. Up in the nose of the vessel the remainder of the ship's company it appeared was engaged in a free-for-all fist fight with oaths and stamping.
At first Evan could not make head or tail of the fracas. Then he saw that it was the mate, a manly, up-standing young fellow and Tenterden against the four deckhands and the two firemen. But the two were more than holding their own; the six cringed and sought to escape their blows. Evan rushed between them.
"Leave off! Leave off!" he cried. "You'll start the kids off again."
"These —— —— cowards won't work!" cried the mate.
"Let them be. We've enough without them."
The mate and Tenterden reluctantly drew off.
"First of all is there any immediate danger?" asked Evan.
"No, she's not taking water," said the mate.
"Go up to the pilot-house. There's nobody there."
"I left the Captain there," the mate said, surprised.
"He's gone. Sound a distress signal on the whistle. Tenterden, you go with him to help keep a look-out."
The two hastened up the forward hatch. Even the truculent Tenterden made no bones about taking orders from Evan now.
Evan returned to the second engineer, leaving the sulky crew to their own devices.
"What's the damage?" he asked.
The second waved a tragic hand towards the engine, and Evan saw for himself what had happened. The main shaft on the port side had broken clean through. The sudden shifting of the strain had thrown the walking-beam out of plumb, and the connecting rods had snapped off and threshed wildly about. The ruin was complete, but fortunately, all above the water-line.
"Is the chief badly hurt?" asked Evan.
"I don't think so. Got a side swipe from the connecting rod. I can't find any fracture."
"Leave him to me. Get the fires banked so you can shut off that infernal steam. Just keep steam enough to blow the whistle."
"Come on, boys," said the Second to his firemen.
They did not budge.
"Come on, boys!" said Evan. "Don't let the kids shame you! Listen to the little beggars singing up there."
The two firemen slunk aft and disappeared down their ladder.
Evan presently had the satisfaction of seeing the engineer open his eyes. He was apparently not seriously injured. Two of the deckhands carried him to his berth which was on the same deck.
Evan returned to the saloon. "All straightened out below," he said cheerfully. "The old flivver has made a complete job of her engine. We'll have to get a horse."
The children laughed. Evan said aside to Dordess: "When they're tired of singing, get up a show."
He went on up to the pilot-house. The mate and Tenterden were anxiously straining their eyes through the fog. At minute intervals the mate sounded the distress signal of five short blasts on theErnestina'swhistle.
"Where's the Captain?" asked Evan.
"In his room," was the curt reply.
"What's the matter with him?"
The mate made a significant gesture of turning his hand up at his mouth.
Evan whistled noiselessly. "Has he been that way all day?"
"No, he took a dram when the crash came to steady his nerves."
"Well, let him be," said Evan. "What chance have we of being picked up here?"
"Not very good," said the mate. "We're on the flats inside the Hook. Few small vessels come down here, and a big vessel couldn't come to us even if she heard us. I'm afraid it's a case of wait till the fog lifts."
"We can't keep this gang out all night," said Evan. "That's flat."
"What do you propose?"
"Somebody must go ashore in a boat to telephone for a tug."
"No easy matter to take a boat ashore in this fog."
"It can be done. Just before the fog came down on us I marked that Atlantic Highlands was due south of us, and not above a mile distant. The wind has just come in from the east, and she'll hold there a while. By keeping the wind abeam on the port side you'd hit the shore somewhere near the pier."
"Well, I'll try it."
"No; you're our only qualified seaman. You must stand by the vessel. I'll go."
"How will you get back?"
"I'll borrow or beg a compass ashore. You keep the whistle going, and if the steam gives out, ring your bell."
"I doubt if you'll get the deckhands to bring you back. They'll go quick enough."
"I'll get boatmen from the shore if they desert."
The deckhands were brought up through the forward hatch, and one of theErnestina'sboats was lowered away. As Evan stepped in he said:
"Don't tell them below that I've gone ashore unless you have to."
It was a ghostly trip. At a hundred yards' distance theErnestinawas swallowed up entire in the fog, and thereafter they proceeded blindly in a grey void. Only a little circle of leaden water was visible around them, which travelled with them as they went. At minute intervals the sound of her whistle reached them, but it was only confusing for it seemed to come now from this side, now from that. Fog plays strange tricks with acoustics. Evan steered, keeping the wake of his boat straight and the wind in his left ear.
Finally to his relief the shapes of trees swam out ahead, and he had the comfortable sensation of touching reality again. It is a thickly settled shore, and he was quickly directed to the pier and the village. Here Evan's story quickly won him help from the water-farers. To be sure, two of his men incontinently walked off, but a dozen volunteers offered to replace them. After patient telephoning he succeeded in getting the promise of a tug from Perth Amboy, and stopping only to buy out the greater part of a grocer's stock, he started back.
Within an hour of leaving theErnestinahe was back on board. The mate and Tenterden were still on deck. For a single moment the latter looked at Evan with friendly eyes. No vessel had come within hail, they reported.
Evan hastened down to the saloon. Corinna and her aides had the children pretty well in hand—but a cry of welcome went up at the sight of Evan. Somehow the smallest toddler on board had gathered that Evan was the man of the hour.
"A tug will be along in half an hour to pick us up," Evan announced.
Cheers from the crowd.
"Why, how do you know that?" Corinna demanded of him privately.
"Oh, I just stepped ashore to telephone," said Evan airily.
Corinna sat down suddenly. "You went ashore, and left us!"
Within the promised time they heard a deep-toned whistle searching for them in the fog.
"Wh-e-e-re?"
To which theErnestinaagitatedly responded: "Here! Here! Here! Here! Here!"
This duet was carried on for upwards of ten minutes. The tug appeared to be travelling around them in a circle. It was like a game of Blind Man's Buff with both sides blinded. All of a sudden she came charging out of the fog, as if a magician had evoked her. The children swarmed out on the deck with cheers. Their elders let themselves relax with thankful hearts. A furtive tear or two stole down Corinna's cheeks.
Ropes were passed to and fro, and with the tug alongside, the slow homeward journey began.
As soon as all danger was over Evan received another lesson in the curious workings of human nature. Once more the brotherhood drew away from Evan as if the latter had the plague. Evan had them in an uncomfortable hole now, for all were conscious of being under an obligation to him. That only made matters worse, for when a person is resolved to hate you, to put him under an obligation only obliges him to be more hateful. As for Corinna, she retired into herself and was inscrutable.
It was a weary journey. The supper, materials for which Evan had brought from shore, created a welcome diversion; but supper over, they were still miles from home, and the helpers were hard put to it to keep the small passengers even moderately contented. Fortunately during the last hour the greater part fell asleep where they were, on the sofas, on the floor, on a couple of camp-stools placed together.
Evan and Corinna happened to meet beside one child draped over the arm of a chair in an excruciating attitude. They straightened her out together. Corinna did not look at Evan nor speak, but from her to him he thought he felt a warm current pass—or perhaps it was only because he wished to believe it. None of the other helpers were near. The child was sleeping soundly.
"Corinna, I love you," whispered Evan.
"Please!" she murmured distressfully. "You make it so hard for me!"
He would not remind her of what he had done for her, but he felt that it would be only decent of her to show some recognition of it. "Is nothing changed?" he asked.
"Nothing can be changed."
"After all we've been through?"
"I'm deeply grateful to you, but I suppose that's another story, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well—would you be satisfied with my gratitude?"
"No!" he said promptly.
"It's all I can give you."
"Corinna, you drive me mad!"
"Ah, don't begin that again. Think of my position. Be generous!"
"You're always appealing to my better feelings," he grumbled. "I tell you, they won't stand the strain."
So absorbed were they in this little exchange that they did not hear footsteps approaching down the carpeted saloon. Looking up, they beheld Dordess approaching with the whole brotherhood at his heels: Anway, Tenterden, Domville, Burgess, and the blonde youth whose name Evan never knew.
Corinna flushed up at the sight of them, but it was impossible to say for sure what her feelings were—mixed, probably. She looked guilty at being surprised in talk with Evan, and she was certainly angry; angry at the men, or angry at herself for betraying the blush. Evan, on the alert for trouble, smiled grimly.
Dordess was no less cynical and bland than usual, but he could not conceal the angry glitter in his eye. As for the others, they betrayed their feelings more or less according to their natures; Anway was hard and composed; Tenterden vicious and truculent; little Domville apologetic and reproachful, and the other two, youths of no particular character, merely self-conscious and inclined to bluster.
"May we have a few words with you?" said Dordess to Corinna.
"Certainly," she said stiffly. "What's the matter?"
"I speak for all of us," said Dordess, "to save time. We wish to convey to Mr. Weir our appreciation of the fine way he acted at the time of the accident."
Evan was not deceived by these honeyed words. He saw that there was more to follow. He spoke up. "Not at all. Every one of us did his darnedest, I'm sure."
Dordess went on: "We willingly grant that he's a fine fellow. Unfortunately we don't like him any better than we did before. And his fine conduct does not make it any more possible for us to work with him in future."
An involuntary exclamation of indignant reproach broke from Corinna: "Oh!" Evan was not displeased at the turn things were taking. "They're pushing her too far," he thought. "They'll drive her into my arms."
Dordess resumed: "You got us on board this boat. We look to you as our head. So we felt we ought to tell you at once how we felt, and leave it to you to act as you thought best."
Evan was conscious that there was a good deal more in this than appeared on the surface. He watched them keenly. Dordess' eyes held Corinna's unflinchingly, and Corinna's were the first to fall. Evan, seeing this, felt a sinking in his breast. "What hold has he over her?" he asked himself.
"What do you wish me to do?" asked Corinna in a muffled voice.
Evan was amazed. He had thought these men were Corinna's slaves, and here was Dordess visibly wielding the whip hand over her.
"Tell him," said Dordess, "that we very much regret it will be impossible for us to have him with us on future trips of our Association."
"You are ungenerous!" cried Corinna. "After he has saved us all!"
The six faces changed. Evan imagined that he could feel their hate like a wave.
Dordess' voice was still smooth. "I can't tell you how sorry we are. He has put us in a difficult position. But there is no help for it."
"Suppose you address me directly instead of through Miss Playfair," said Evan, careful to keep his voice as smooth as the other man's. "Don't let the trifling service that I am supposed to have done you trouble you, but tell me what's the nature of your objection to me."
"I think you know that," said Dordess. "You have been pleased to refer to us jokingly as the 'brotherhood.' All right, we accept that word. We are a brotherhood working under a certain understood rule. Well, you've had your chance, and you refuse to be governed by our rule. You insist on playing your own hand. That's all right. But if every one of us was working for himself it would make these trips impossible. Surely you can see that."
"And if I refuse to tell him what you ask me to?" Corinna burst out angrily.
"Then the rest of us will go," said Dordess instantly. "Our minds are made up as to that."
"A strike of the brotherhood!" cried Evan mockingly.
Corinna kept her head down, and traced a pattern with the toe of her slipper.
Evan became anxious at her silence. "Let them go!" he cried. "I'll undertake to fill their places before the next trip."
To his astonishment all six men laughed scornfully. Surely there was something going on here that he did not know. He scowled.
Finally Corinna raised her head. She ignored Evan's offer. She appeared to be looking at him, but her eyes did not quite meet his. "I am sorry to appear ungenerous and ungrateful," she said like a child repeating a lesson, "but it is true, as Mr. Dordess says, notwithstanding your brave conduct to-day, it will be impossible for us to have you with us in future."
"Corinna!" cried Evan in dismay.
The six men triumphed. In the faces of the weaker ones it showed offensively; the stronger hid it, but Evan was none the less conscious of it. His self-love suffered a ghastly wound.
Dordess relentlessly resumed: "We wish to be courteous, but there must be no misunderstanding. Please tell him that if in spite of this friendly warning he persists in forcing himself on board, you will authorise us to put him ashore."
A flash from under Corinna's lowered lids suggested that Dordess would have to pay for this later on; nevertheless she repeated tonelessly: "If in spite of this friendly warning you persist in forcing yourself on board I will have to authorize them to put you ashore."
Evan stared at her in angry incredulity. He simply could not take in the fact that she was putting so public an affront on him.
Dordess could no longer make believe to hide his real feelings. He went on, sneering: "Tell him further that if he continues to force his unwelcome attentions on you, you will feel justified in appealing to us to protect you."
Corinna repeated: "If you continue to force your attentions on me, I shall be obliged to appeal to these gentlemen to protect me."
Evan suddenly went cold. His lip curled. He told himself she had killed his love dead, and he didn't give a damn anyhow. He bowed to her.
"Oh, I assure you that won't be necessary," he said ironically.
Corinna walked away down the saloon. The brotherhood straggled after, victors perhaps, but secretly uneasy in the moment of victory. Evan was left standing alone, looking after them scornfully. TheErnestinablew for the pier.
As long as he was under the observation of his enemies it was possible for Evan to maintain his scornful and indifferent air, but at home and alone, his defenses collapsed. Useless for him to tell himself that the girl was not worth troubling about, that it was impossible he should love her after having received such an injury at her hands. Perhaps it was true he no longer loved her, but the wrenching out of his love had left a ghastly gaping wound in his breast. The only thing that kept him going at all was a passionate desire for revenge. Oh, to get square!
At home he had an additional cause for pain in the empty room adjoining his, though Charley's defection was somewhat overshadowed by the greater misfortune. But to be betrayed on succeeding days by his best friend and by his girl was enough to shatter any man's faith in humanity.
Next morning after breakfast he sat at his table with his head between his hands, when he was aroused by the sound of an apologetic cough in the hall outside his door. The door was open. A voice spoke his name deprecatingly.
"Here!" said Evan. "Come in."
George Deaves appeared in the doorway, and Evan was sufficiently astonished. Deaves was neatly dressed in black as for a funeral, carrying a highly-polished silk hat over his thumb. He was pale and moist with agitation, and looked not at all sure of his reception.
"I—I didn't know which door was yours," he stammered. "The woman told me to come right up."
Evan could hardly be said to be overjoyed to see his visitor, though his curiosity was somewhat aroused. "Come in," he said. "Sit down. This is an unexpected visit."
"Yes. Thank you." Deaves looked around him vaguely. "So this is where you live?"
"Not a very palatial abode, eh?" said Evan, following the other's thought.
"Not at all! Not at all!" said Deaves hastily. "I mean, very nice. Very suitable. One understands of course that a young artist has his way to make."
It was clear from his agonised and distraught eye that he had not come merely to exchange civilities. "What can I do for you?" asked Evan bluntly.
Deaves trailed off into explanations that explained nothing. "I intended to come anyway—to tell you—to express how it was—my position is very difficult—you can understand I am sure—to tell you—to tell you how sorry I was to be obliged to let you go."
"Oh, that's all right," said Evan indifferently.
"And then something happened which obliged me to come at once. I was here yesterday, but you were out."
"Yes, I was out all day," said Evan bitterly. "What has happened?"
Deaves wiped his face. "I have had another letter from those blackguards, a—a most dreadful letter!"
"Already?" said Evan.
"And so I came to you at once."
"You will pardon me," said Evan coolly, "but I do not yet see why you should come to me about it—after the manner of our parting."
"I had no one else to go to," said Deaves helplessly.
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!"
"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:
You will leave home in your car at eight P.M. Tuesday. You may bring a companion with you in addition to your chauffeur, as we realize you have not the constitution to carry this through alone and we do not wish to ask the impossible. Therefore you may bring the huskiest body-guard obtainable—but neither you nor he must bear weapons of any description.
You will proceed over the Queensboro Bridge and wait on the North side of the Plaza at the corner of Stonewall avenue until eight-thirty precisely. You will not get out of your car during this wait. You will be under observation the whole way, and we will instantly be apprised of any departure from our instructions. In that case you will have your trip for nothing and the consequences will be on your head.
At eight-thirty you will proceed out Stonewall avenue to the corner of Beechurst, an insignificant street in the village of Regina. It is about ten minutes' drive from the Plaza. You will know Beechurst street by the large and ugly stone church with twin towers on your left hand. You get out on the right-hand side and send your chauffeur back. Tell him to return to the bridge Plaza and wait for you.
When he is out of sight you proceed up Beechurst street to the right. It climbs a hill and seems to come to an end in less than a block among a waste of vacant lots. You will find, however, that it is continued by a rough road which you are to follow. It crosses waste lands and passes through a patch of woods. You will be held up on the way, but do not be alarmed. This is merely for the purpose of searching you for weapons.
In the patch of woods further along, you will find two men waiting for you. To them you will deliver the securities. They will examine them and if they are all right you will be allowed to proceed. Do not return the way you came, but continue to follow the rough road. A short way further along it will bring you to a highway with a trolley line by which you may return to the Bridge Plaza.
If you do your part Mr. Simeon Deaves will be home before morning.
THE IKUNAHKATSI."