Evan laughed. "Call my bluff," he said. "I'd do the writing myself, only it would lose all its effect in another handwriting. And I never could imitate your style."
"Very well, I'll do it," said Dordess. "Come back to my office in an hour and a half and they'll be ready."
He was as good as his word. He and Evan laughed grimly together over the result of his labours.
"Send it up by messenger," said Evan. "It will save time. I'll be on hand when it arrives."
It was past eleven when Evan rang the bell of the Deaves house. He was not without anxiety as to the reception he would receive. It was possible that the old man, when he had quieted down, might begin to remember things, and to put two and two together. However, he had to take that chance.
He learned that Simeon Deaves was not yet up, that Mrs. George Deaves was out, and her husband in the library. The latter received him with no friendly face.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said.
Evan excused himself on the score of his anxiety about the old man.
"Papa got home all right," said George Deaves. "What happened to you last night?"
Evan led him to suppose that his chase had ended in nothing. He asked a cautious question.