at the station house the chauffeur, full of curiosity, was for helping Evan take his prisoner in. But Evan paid him off and told him he needn't wait. The man lingered, joining the little crowd that always hangs around the station house steps when a prisoner is brought in.
By this time the youth seemed to have recovered from the worst of his fears. He went up the steps quite willingly in front of Evan. Within, a bored and lordly police lieutenant sat enthroned at his high desk. Evan, who had been holding himself in all this time, burst out:
"This man is a blackmailer. I want you to search him. You'll find the money he extorted in the inside breast pocket of his coat. The bills are marked."
The Lieutenant declined to become excited. Such dramatic entrances were part of his daily routine. "Hold on a minute," he said, opening his book. "Proceed in order." He addressed the prisoner: "What is your name?"
"I decline to give it," said the youth – his voice was breathless but determined still. "I have done nothing wrong. This man suddenly seized me on the street. I think he's crazy. Search me. If you find anything, then let him make a charge."
The Lieutenant spoke to a patrolman across the room: "Ratigan, search him."
The youth spread his arms wide to facilitate the search. Evan, taken aback by his assurance, waited the result anxiously. The patrolman thrust his hand in his breast pocket.
"Nothing here," he said indifferently.
Evan's heart sank. "Are you sure?" he said.
"Look for yourself if you want."
"Search him thoroughly," commanded the Lieutenant.
But Evan already guessed that he had been tricked.
No money was found except a dollar bill and some change.
"Is this it?" asked the patrolman solemnly.
The youth smiled.
Evan waved it away.
"Well, what are the circumstances?" asked the Lieutenant. "Will you make a charge?"
"I've been fooled!" Evan said bitterly. Suddenly a light broke on him; he struck his forehead. "I see it now! This man's job was simply to lead me away while another came and got the money!"
"Well, will you make a charge?"
Evan quickly reflected. There was not much use airing the case in court if the principal evidence was gone. "Let him go," he said. "He's not the one I want."
Without more ado Evan hastened out. The youth presumably was allowed to follow. The taxicab was at the curb. Evan flung himself in.
"Back to the library!" he ordered.
He sought out his friend the librarian. A hasty investigation showed that Lockhart's History had been collected in due course from the table and returned to the shelves. It had not been called for since. The money was gone, of course.
"His confederate was waiting there in the reading-room, perhaps at the same table," Evan said gloomily. "As soon as I was out of the way he got the money. What a fool I was!"
"But how could you have foreseen that?" said the librarian.
Evan then had the pleasant task of returning to the Deaves house and telling them what had happened. Father and son were waiting for him in the library. They instantly saw by his face that things had not gone well, and each snarled according to his nature. When he heard that the money was gone the old man broke into piteous lamentations.
"Five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars! All that money! Flung to the rats of the city to gnaw!"
"What's the matter with you?" snapped his son. "It was my money."
"I earned it, didn't I? You have nothing but what I gave you!"
"We may get them yet through the banks," suggested Evan.
"Yah! We'll never get them now!"
But however they might quarrel with each other, father and son united in blaming Evan.
"Look at him!" cried the old man, beside himself. "He knows where the money's gone! Of course he didn't catch them. I believe he engineered the whole thing!"
"Be quiet, Papa," said George Deaves in a panic. He turned to Evan with an anxiety almost obsequious. "Don't mind him," he said. "He's excited. You'd better go now. But I'll see you later."
Evan was not deceived. It was clear that George no less than his father believed that he was a party to the crime, but was afraid to say so outright.
"I live at 45A South Washington Square," he said curtly. "You'll find me there any time you want me."
CHAPTER VII
PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP
Charley Straiker came in to dinner that night in a highly effervescent state. This was not at all unusual.
"Listen, Ev!" he cried. "I've seen her! Oh, a peach! a little queen! Her name is Corinna Playfair. Isn't that mellifluous? Corinna Playfair! Corinna Playfair! Like honey on the tongue! Listen, when I came in a while ago I heard a woman's voice talking to Carmen in her room on the ground floor. So I went back, making out I wanted to see Carmen. And there she was! Bowled me over completely. Red hair, you old misogynist! Piles and piles of it like autumn foliage. It's the colour of a horse chestnut fresh out of the bur – and her skin's like the inside of the bur – you know – creamy! Oh, ye gods!
"Well, she was telling old Carmen this and that; her blinds wouldn't work, and the gas-jet in the dressing-room was out of order, and your Uncle Dudley sees his chance and speaks up. 'I'll fix the gas-jet and the blinds,' says I. There was nothing free and easy about her, though. Made her eyebrows go up like two little crescent moons. Looked at me as much as to say: 'What is this that the cat has brought in?' 'Oh, thank you very much,' says she in a voice as friendly as a marble headstone. 'I couldn't think of troubling you. Miss Sisson will attend to it.'
"But of course old Carmen wasn't going to miss the chance of getting her odd jobs done for nothing. She took my part. 'Mr. Straiker, Miss Playfair,' says she, grinning like the cat who's turned over the goldfish bowl. 'He will fix you up, I'm sure. I wouldn't be able to get a man in before next week.'
"Well, to make a long story short, I fixed the blinds so's they'd roll up, and cleaned out the gas burners. She didn't unbend any. Discouraged all my efforts to make conversation. Thanked me all over the place, and gave me to understand that I needn't build on it, you know. But I swear I'll make her thaw out. I've thought of a scheme. I tried all her burners – to gain time, you understand – and the one she mostly uses whistles like a peanut stand. So I'm going out to get her a swell gas mantle to-night, and say Carmen sent it, see? Trust l'il Charley to find a way!"
Evan, of course, had his own ideas as to entertaining Miss Playfair this evening. "How about the life class at the League?" he suggested casually – too casually.
This was a sore subject with Charley. Evan had him there. "Oh, blow the class!" he said, scowling. "A fellow doesn't get a chance like this once in a lifetime." He boiled over again. "I say, I didn't mention her eyes, did I? Lord! They're like immense brown stars! – Oh, that's rotten! I mean velvety, glowing – oh, words fail me! You'll have to take her eyes on trust!"
Evan
