o admit Evan. The second man favoured him with a sly wink.

"Cheese it, kid," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "They're
layin' for you."

This meant nothing to Evan.

In the centre of the house where the hall opened up he found George
Deaves walking up and down with his head bowed and his hands clasped
behind his back, the very picture of a harassed man of affairs. There
was a histrionic quality in all young Deaves' attitudes. The old man
in slippers was hunched in a pseudo-mediaeval chair, while a fat
servant, Hilton, the butler Evan guessed, was standing at the foot of
the stairs. Another man in chauffeur's livery was beside him.

It all had the look of a set scene, and from the way their faces
changed at the sight of him, the inference was inescapable that it had
been set for Evan. He wondered greatly what it was all about, but felt
no particular uneasiness.

George Deaves bent a venomous glance on him. "Follow me," he said
hollowly.

The whole procession wended its way up the winding, shallow stairs;
first George Deaves, grasping the hand rail and planting his feet
virtuously, then old Deaves, his heels coming out of his slippers at
every step, then Evan, then the three servants. Evan heard them
sniggering behind him.

At the door of the library George Deaves said: "You come in, Papa.
Hilton, Wilson and Alfred, you wait outside in case I call you."

"Does he expect me to assault him?" thought Evan.

In the library young Deaves flung himself back in his chair, and
placing the tips of his fingers together said pompously: "Now, my man,
I advise you to tell the truth."

Evan began to get hot. "That is my custom," he said quietly.

Notwithstanding his pompous air the younger Deaves was visibly nervous;
he had not his father's force of character. "It is useless for you to
feign innocence," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Evan.

Deaves said: "I may as well let you know I have a policeman waiting
down-stairs."

There is no man however sure of himself that would not be to some
degree disconcerted by this announcement. Evan changed colour.
Deaves, quick to notice it, smiled disagreeably, and Evan's cheeks grew
hot indeed.

"Have him up-stairs," said Evan. "I don't know what this flummery is
all about. Hand me over to the police and maybe I'll find out."

"Give me a specimen of your handwriting," said Deaves, shoving writing
materials towards him.

"Certai