Mrs. Deaves' face fell. The black eyes began to snap. Another storm portended. "You promised me——" she began.
"But you see we were right," interrupted her husband. "It was a bluff. There's nothing in the paper."
"You don't know it's a bluff!" she cried. "Perhaps they were too late for the paper. It will be in to-morrow. You have got to send the money at once as you promised!"
But George Deaves' momentary relief had put a little backbone into him. "I still think it a bluff!" he said doggedly. "I'm willing to take a chance."
The storm broke. "Oh, you're willing, are you? How about me? How about me? Here you sit all day. What do you know about how people talk? I have to go about. I have to see people smile when they think I'm not looking and whisper behind their hands. Do you think I don't know what they're saying? Oh, I know! 'That's Mrs. George Deaves, my dear. Wife of the son of the notorious miser. You've heard how he squabbles in the street with newsboys and fruit vendors over pennies!' Well, I've had enough of it! Enough, I say! I won't stand it!"
In the full course of her tirade she happened to look at Evan. Evan's suspicion had become almost a certainty. His eyes were bent steadily upon her. He was not smiling, but there was an ironical lift to the corners of his mouth.
She pulled herself up. "Well, if there's anything published to-morrow you know what to expect," she said, and swept out of the room.
Evan glanced at father and son. Nothing showed in their faces but simple relief at her going. Evan marvelled at their blindness. He had yet to learn that habitually suspicious people never see what goes on under their noses.
Evan had plenty of food for thought. An extraordinary situation was suggested; one in which it behooved him to move with exceeding caution. For the moment his best plan appeared to be to continue to keep the old man out of trouble, while he watched and waited and found proof of what he was already morally sure.