The Deaves Affair

Denton unlocked the door and disappeared upstairs. The door was locked after him. At the same moment Domville and one of the unidentified young men threw back the hatch cover. The latter said: "Let's get the cargo ashore first."

Evan wondering what cargo the excursion boat could be carrying, stepped forward in idle curiosity to look down the hatch. Suddenly he became aware that the young men were circling behind him. Before he could so much as turn around, he was seized from each side and a hand clapped over his mouth. With a concerted rush they swept him into the hole in the deck, falling on their knees at the edge, and letting him drop in. He fell on a mattress and was not in the least hurt. From above he heard a loud guffaw from the deckhands. Then the hatch cover was clapped down, and he heard heavy objects being piled upon it.

Evan raged silently in his prison. Pride restrained him from making any outcry. He had no fear that his murder was contemplated. They'd have to let him out again. In the meantime they'd get no change out of him. And the future could take care of his revenge.

He was in a small cargo space between two transverse bulkheads. He could touch the beams over his head. The place was perfectly empty except for the mattress. The mattress suggested that this had been carefully planned. It was not dark, being lighted by a fixed porthole on either side, not much bigger than an orange. These lights were only a foot or two above the waterline, and when the Ernestina reversed her engine in making the pier, the water washed up over the glass.

Evan could hear all the sounds attendant upon making a landing; the casting lines thrown ashore, the hawsers pulled over the deck, the jingle to the engine room signalling that all was fast. Then the gangway was run out and the feet poured over it.

Evan found that through the porthole on the pier side he was able to catch a brief glimpse of the passengers as they stepped ashore. He saw the children scurry away, never dreaming that the admired story-teller was immured below. The big girls followed more sedately, and after them the mothers with backs sagging under the weight of babies. Last of all he had the unspeakable chagrin of seeing Corinna pass with Denton grasping her arm.

"That's why I was put down here," he thought. "To allow her to make her getaway."

In the fraction of a second that she was visible to him, her head was turned back towards the boat. When a woman glances over her shoulder her true feelings come out; she cannot help herself. There was anguish in Corinna's backward look. Evan marked it, but he did not love her then. Not that he meant to give over the pursuit; on the contrary he swore that she should pay.

Five minutes later the hatch cover was lifted, a short ladder was let down, and Evan was bidden to come up. He mounted smiling. What that smile cost him none but he knew. But he also knew that with six or more against him to show truculence would only have been to make himself ridiculous. He paused on the deck, and coolly looking around him, tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand.

Dordess was now with the others. He had the grace to look away, as Evan's glance swept around. The younger men betrayed in their faces their hope that Evan would show fight, and thus give them a chance to justify themselves. Evan saw it, and had no idea of gratifying them.

Tenterden, he of the hot black eyes, who seemed to be leader in this part of the affair demanded aggressively: "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Much obliged for the mattress," said Evan, coolly meeting his gaze. "Very thoughtful of you." He counted them ostentatiously. "Six of you – and a couple of deckhands in reserve. You flatter me, gentlemen!"

He strolled over the gangway. How they took it he did not know, for he would not look back. At least none of them found a rejoinder. He had the last word.

"They think they have me scared off," he said to himself. "Just let them wait till the Ernestina sails again, that's all!"

CHAPTER XIII

A LITTLE DETECTIVE WORK

At first Evan had some doubts as to what ought to be his course of action in respect to Mrs. George Deaves. While it was true that her husband had definitely given him to understand that he was hired for the purpose of running down the blackmailers, he did not suppose that George Deaves would thank him for proof that his own wife was implicated. But that didn't alter his duty.

"I'm being paid to deliver them from the gang," he said to himself. "As long as I take their money I've got to do what I can to earn it. It's none of my affair where the trail leads. If they want to kick me out for my pains, why that's up to them."

It promised to be no easy matter to watch Mrs. Deaves. Evan rarely saw her. During the few hours that he spent in the house she was presumably either in her own rooms, or out in the motor. One suspicious circumstance he did not have to look for, because everybody in the house was aware of it. Maud Deaves was continually in money difficulties. Her creditors camped on her trail.

Two lines were open to Evan: to bribe her maid and to watch her letters. The maid, Josefa, was a light-headed creature perfectly willing to plot or counterplot with anybody. Unfortunately she was of very little use to Evan, because her mistress did not trust her in the least. As for the letters, it was scarcely likely that if Maud Deaves were carrying on a dangerous correspondence she would have the letters come openly to the house. Nevertheless Evan determined to get to the house early enough in the mornings to look over the first mail before it was distributed.

On the morning following his trip on the Ernestina he found a letter addressed to her that gave him food for reflection. The address was typewritten. The envelope was of medium size "Irish linen" of the kind that never saw either Ireland or flax; in other words, just such an envelope as those which had brought the blackmailing letters. In itself this was nothing for many thousands of such envelopes are sold. But it was postmarked "Hamilton Grange" and it was addressed "New York City." The three little facts taken together were significant. Evan slipped it in his pocket.

But though it had the look of a mere business letter or a bill, he still had qualms about opening it. Useless to tell himself that it was his duty to do so. To tell the truth Evan was not cut out by nature to be a detective. He finally decided to put his problem to George Deaves.

"Mr. Deaves," he said, "am I employed to accompany your father on his walks or to discover the blackmailers?"

"Primarily to run down the blackmailers," was the prompt reply. "Merely to go with my father is not worth all the money I'm paying you."

"Very good. Then I'm supposed to follow the trail wherever it may lead?"

"Certainly."

"Even in this house?"

"Of course. I told you particularly to watch the servants. Whom do you suspect?"

"I have no evidence yet. I merely wanted to know where I stood. Would I be justified in opening letters that looked suspicious to me?"

"Why, yes. The guilty person wouldn't tell you of his own accord."

"Thanks; that's what I wanted to know."

"Have you found out anything?" Deaves asked eagerly.

"Not yet."

"Mind, you are to find out everything you can, but you are not to take any action without consulting me."

"I understand."

While the servants were at breakfast Evan went to the water heater in the basement and, opening the valve, steamed the envelope open. He took the contents to the little room off the library to read. This is what met his eyes:

"Madagascar Hotel August —

"Mrs. George Deaves:

Dear Madam:

I am exceedingly sorry to be obliged to inform you that my customary fortnightly contribution to your charity must be omitted on this occasion, the reason being that the activity of a certain agitator has resulted in shutting off the income from my business, and I am without funds. I am sure you will agree with me that these agitators ought to be discouraged in every possible way. Let us make a stand against them. You can reach me at this hotel at any time.

Yours faithfully,

RODERICK FRELINGHUYSEN.

This had an innocent sound, and for a moment Evan supposed he had made a mistake in opening it. But he read it again, and began to grin as the various implications of the note became clear to him. "Damn clever!" he thought. "If this was found lying about no one could suspect anything from it. Not even George Deaves. Why, it almost took me in and I was forewarned!"

Evan thoughtfully considered all that the letter meant. "First of all it shows that Maud is not a regular member of the gang, but that they have been whacking up with her just to gain her good will. That's why she supplies the pressure from this end. It all fits in! Of course I am the agitator that he refers to, and he's suggesting to her that she get me fired. But why does he give her an address so that she can write to him? By George! I have it! He's giving her a chance to send him a story that can be used against the old man!"

He took a copy of the letter, sealed it up again and slipped it back among the rest of the mail matter in the hall.

During the morning he was obliged to accompany Simeon Deaves on one of his peregrinations. When they returned for lunch Evan sought out Josefa, the lady's-maid.

"What's your mistress been doing all morning?" he asked.

"Oh, Maud's got a new bug!" was the scornful answer. "Been practising on the typewriter for hours."

Evan pricked up his ears. "The typewriter?"

"She went out right after breakfast and brought home a second-hand machine. Been beating the Dickens out of it ever since."

"What is she writing?"

"Search me. Won't let me come near her. Looks like a story or something."

"Get a glimpse of it if you can."

"No chance. She's got eyes all round her head."

"Can you work a typewriter?"

"A little bit."

"Well, when she goes out stick a piece of paper in the machine and strike every key once, see? I want an impression of every character."

"I get you."

After lunch Evan had to waste more precious hours walking around with the old man. When they returned Josefa reported that Mrs. Deaves had finished her typewriting about three, and had then done up the sheets in a large envelope, and after carefully destroying the spoiled sheets, had carried the envelope out, presumably to post it. Josefa gave Evan the paper he had asked for, with a print of each character of the typewriter.

It was then five o'clock. City letters require two hours or more for delivery, and supposing this package of Mrs. Deaves' to be an answer to "Mr. Frelinghuysen's" note, it would soon be due at the Hotel Madagascar. Evan determined to go and ask for it himself. He did not suppose that Mr. Frelinghuysen was stopping at the Madagascar. That would be too simple. He knew, as everybody knows, what an easy means the "call" letters at a great hotel offers for the exchange of illicit correspondence.

The Madagascar, as all the world knows, is one of our biggest and busiest hotels. Evan went boldly to the desk and asked if there were any letters for Mr. Roderick Frelinghuysen. The name sounded imposing. The busy clerk skimmed over the letters in the F box, and, tossing him a bulky envelope, thought no more about it.

Evan, in high satisfaction, wended his way to another hotel in the neighbourhood, and there at his leisure tore the envelope open and read – well, very much what he expected: a story designed to be used for blackmailing purposes against Simeon Deaves. No letter accompanied it; none was necessary.

This story dealt with ancient history, and contained uglier matter than mere ridicule of the old man's avarice. It had to do with the circumstances of the marriage of George Deaves to Maud Warrender and what followed thereupon. In other words, Maud had been engaged in the amiable occupation of fouling her own nest. According to this account Simeon Deaves had instigated his weak and complaisant son to woo Miss Warrender because her father was President of a railroad that Simeon Deaves coveted. As a result of the marriage Deaves, who up to that time had only been a money-lender, had succeeded in entering the realms of high finance. No sooner was his own position secure, so the story went, than Simeon Deaves set himself to work to undermine Warrender, and in the end ousted him from his railway and ruined him.

This tale had none of the finesse and humour of that written by the blackmailers; it was simply abusive. Yet Maud had not so far forgotten herself as to show her hand. The facts were such as many persons beside herself might have been aware of.

Evan painstakingly compared the sheets of the story with the paper Josefa had given him. Every typewriter, save it is just from the factory, has its peculiarities. There was enough here to make out a case: "e" was badly worn and had a microscopic piece knocked off its tail; "a," "w," "s" and "p" were out of alignment; there was something the matter with "g," so that the following letter generally piled up on top of it.

In short, Evan held in his hands positive evidence of Maud Deaves' treachery. But upon consideration he decided not to put it before her husband at least for the present. In the first place, he didn't relish taking the responsibility of breaking up the Deaves family, and in the second place it was clear that the woman was only a tool in the hands of a rascal far cleverer than she. To deprive him of his tool would not break up the rascal's game; he could get another. Therefore Evan decided to keep his discovery to himself, and use it if possible to land the principal in the affair.

He considered whether he should have the desk at the Madagascar watched with a view to apprehending "Mr. Frelinghuysen" when he asked for his letter, but decided against that also. So clever a fox would hardly be likely to walk into so open a trap. He would send an innocent agent for the letter, while he watched in safety. On the whole it seemed best to do nothing that might put him on his guard, but to wait until he attempted to use his story, for a chance to land him.

He procured another envelope, had the hotel stenographer address it, and, sealing up the manuscript, carried it back to the Madagascar and handed it in at the desk "for Mr. Frelinghuysen," careful to choose a different clerk from the one who had given it to him.

It must have been called for shortly afterwards and acted upon at once. Next morning, when Evan arrived at the Deaves house, the story was already back there. The customary violent family conference was in progress in the library. Evan guessed from their expressions that his name had entered into this quarrel. Indeed, Mrs. Deaves was for ordering him out of the room again, but the old man was too quick for her. He placed the latest letter in Evan's hands. Mrs. Deaves turned away with a shrug.

"Well, you know what I think of it," she said.

Evan read:

"Mr. George Deaves:

Dear Sir:

You thought we were bluffing, didn't you, when we said we had a chapter to add to your father's biography? Well, here it is. Your rejection of our proposal was received during the absence from town of our chief. That accounts for the delay. Upon his return our chief instructed that you were to be given a chance to read the matter before it was published. So we enclose it. In the absence of any further communication from you before noon, it will appear in this evening's edition of the Clarion.

To-day your procedure for communicating with us must be as follows: Bring the specified sum in cash to the house at 11 Van Dorn street. It must be enclosed in an envelope or package. You must approach on foot. Ring the bell; hand it to the woman who opens the door with the words: 'For the gentleman up-stairs' and leave at once. You may bring a single attendant with you if you choose – you would probably be afraid to come without one. But neither you nor he must linger, nor question the woman, nor seek to penetrate beyond the front door. If you do so, or bring any other persons with you or after you, let the consequences be or your own head.

Yours as ever,

THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"What are you going to do?" asked Evan of George Deaves.

Maud snatched the answer from her husband's lips. "He's going to pay!" she cried. "He can take you with him if he wants, as there's no one else available. I've no objection to that. But if you go you're to do exactly what the letter tells you and no more!"

As Evan continued to look to George Deaves, the latter was obliged to nod a feeble assent.

"He hasn't got the money," put in Simeon Deaves.

"Then let him get it from you!"

"Not if I know it!"

"Well, I don't care where he gets it from. This story is ruinous – ruinous! This story hits directly at me! If this is published it would be impossible for me to go on living with George!"

"Bravo, Maud!" thought Evan. "You're some actress! What a bombshell I could explode in this room if I wanted to!"

Maud's parting shot was: "At ten o'clock when the bank opens I will take you there myself in the car."

When she had gone the wretched George mumbled to his father: "No use my going to the bank. I'm overdrawn there. I can't ask for another loan unless you'll guarantee it."

"Not another cent! Not another cent! Let 'em publish and be damned!" He shuffled out of the room.

Evan could not but feel sorry for the unfortunate George, though his pity was mixed with contempt. George's first impulse was to apologise for his wife.

"You must make allowances," he said. "Mrs. Deaves is so dreadfully upset by this matter."

"So I see," said Evan dryly.

"I don't know what I'm going to do!"

"You don't need any money," said Evan quietly.

"Eh?" said Deaves dully.

"You've got a real chance to catch them now!"

"What do you mean?"

"Trap them in this house in Van Dorn street! I was sure they'd get careless in the end."

Deaves began to tremble. "But how can we? How do we know how many there are?"

"You'll have to call in the police and have the house surrounded."

"Oh, no! No!" Deaves cried in a panic.

"But that's what they're counting on: that you're afraid to call on the police!"

"The whole story would come out in the papers!"

"Not necessarily. Those matters can be arranged. And if they should slip through our fingers, we can buy up the story at the Clarion office later. We'd be no worse off."

"What could I say to Mrs. Deaves?"

"Don't tell her anything. She couldn't help but approve after we land them behind the bars." Evan said this with an inward smile.

"But she'll insist on my going to the bank."

"Let her take us there. She won't come in."

"I can't! I can't!" he quavered. "The risk is too great!"

"But if this payment is hard to meet, how about the next, and the next after that?"

"Oh, they'll ruin me!" he groaned.

"Then strike for your freedom while there's time!"

George Deaves would not positively consent, but he was so spineless that Evan was able to rush him along the path that he wished him to follow. Evan telephoned to police headquarters and made an appointment with the inspector in charge of the detective bureau to meet them at the bank.

Therefore, when Mrs. Deaves dropped them at the bank, and drove away, satisfied that things were going as she wished, instead of obtaining the money they went into consultation with the Inspector in plain clothes in the manager's office. Evan did the talking.

"Mr. Deaves is being hounded by a gang of blackmailers," he began.

The Inspector bowed as if blackmailing was a mere bagatelle to him. He had the mannerisms of the army. Evan was not so sure, though, of his capacity. But one must take an inspector as one finds him.

"He received this letter this morning." Evan handed it over.

It was read and handed back with a military nod.

"The opportunity seemed a good one to land the crooks."

"Quite so."

"We asked you to meet us here, because if we were seen going to headquarters the news would soon reach them. They were counting, you see, on Mr. Deaves not being willing to consult the police. But of course Mr. Deaves has nothing to hide.

"Of course not!"

George Deaves began to look anxious at this, but Evan did not intend to be taken too literally, as his employer soon saw.

The Inspector was not so stiff and correct but that he could feel an unregenerate curiosity. "May I see the enclosure the letter speaks of?" he asked.

"It has been destroyed," said Evan coolly. "It was merely scurrilous, and Mr. Deaves saw nothing to be gained in keeping it. The criminal intent is shown in the letter."

The Inspector looked disappointed, but bowed as usual. "Nevertheless I should be informed as to their previous activities," said he.

"Certainly," said Evan. "But if you will excuse me, the time is so short! I thought we should immediately take our measures. All the facts will come out at the hearing, of course."

Their plan was soon made. It was arranged that in the first place a man in plain clothes should be sent through Van Dorn street to locate the position of number eleven. Being an odd number, it would be on the north side of the street. He would then spot the corresponding house in the next street to the north, Carlton street, and four men would be sent to that house to be in readiness to take the Van Dorn street house in the rear. Six other men would be in readiness to follow George Deaves and Evan to the front door. In order to avoid warning the inmates of the house these six would be sent through the block in a covered van to leap out as the door was opened.

"What signal will there be for the concerted attack?" asked Evan.

"No signal," said the Inspector. "The double approach will be timed at a fixed moment, military style. You will ring the door bell at eleven o'clock precisely. Let me see, we'll give them forty-five seconds to open the door. Zero for us will be forty-five seconds past eleven. You can depend on us. Are you armed?"

Evan shook his head.

"As you are to be the first to enter the house it would be as well. Take this."

"This" was a neat and businesslike automatic. George Deaves shuddered at the sight of it.

The Inspector compared watches with Evan and departed in his automobile to make his arrangements.

CHAPTER XIV

NUMBER 11 VAN DORN STREET

Evan borrowed a newspaper at the bank and cut from it five pieces of the size and shape of bills. These he enclosed in an envelope and gave it to George Deaves. The latter was already longing to turn back from this expedition, but Evan gave him no opening to do so.

It was about half-past ten when they left the bank. In case they should be under observation Evan had to find some plausible reason for delay. They taxied back to the Deaves house as if they had forgotten something, and then down-town again. They dismissed their cab in MacDougall street, and proceeded on foot according to instructions.

Few people in New York could lead you to Van Dorn street, but Evan happened to have marked it during his wanderings with Simeon Deaves. It is only three blocks long, from MacDougall street to the river; one of the forgotten streets of the real Greenwich Village, not the spurious. Down the first block extends a double row of little old red brick dwellings; number eleven was presumably one of these. The remaining blocks are given up to great storehouses.

It was not any too easy to time their arrival to a second without rousing the suspicions of anyone who might be watching them. Evan dared not consult his watch too often. He made careful calculations of the time they took to walk a block. As it was he arrived in sight of the corner some seconds too soon. He used up this time by asking the way of an Italian grocer who had no English.

It was ten seconds to eleven when Evan guided the shaking George Deaves into Van Dorn street, and they mounted the steps of number eleven precisely on the hour. A great bell was tolling as Evan pulled the old-fashioned knob. In the depths of the house a bell jangled. Evan's heart was beating hard in his throat; George Deaves was as livid as a corpse – nothing strange in that, though, if anybody was watching.

The little brick house with its beautiful old doorway and wrought iron railings was the very epitome of respectability – they had left the swarming Italian quarter around the corner. With its shining brass knobs, neat window curtains and scrubbed steps one would have sworn that good, church-going people lived there – but you never can tell!