"You've got good pluck. When the pistol missed fire we decided to let you off. Take warning. Keep away from the Deaves outfit or next time you'll get a ball."
Evan thought: "The pistol did not miss fire. It was loaded with a blank. The whole scene was staged just to break my nerve. I passed out temporarily just as a result of self-suggestion. Lord! what a weak-minded fool I was! But by God! I'll get square with them! This is how I answer their threat!"
He glared around him defiantly, hoping he was watched, and rang the bell of the Deaves house.
The servant who opened the door looked at him queerly. This successor to Alfred was more respectful, but Evan did not trust him much further. "Where is Mr. George Deaves?" asked Evan.
"I don't think you can see him just now, sir," was the answer. "He's up-stairs."
"And Mr. Simeon Deaves?"
"He's in the library, I believe."
"I'll go up there."
As they got further into the house shrill cries, muffled by several doors, reached Evan's ears.
"What's that?" he asked startled.