But Deaves still boggled at the horrid word, and it was Evan who said: "Somebody is trying to blackmail Mr. Deaves."
"Good gracious!" cried the horrified manager. "Mr. Simeon Deaves or Mr. George Deaves?"
"Either," said Evan dryly. "They don't care as long as they get the money."
"Have you notified the police?"
"Not yet. We're going to take a try first at catching them ourselves. There is one of them outside, the thin youth in the grey suit."
The manager half arose from his chair. "What! So close! Perhaps he's armed!"
"He can't see us."
The manager sank back only partly reassured. "Can I be of any assistance?" he asked.
"Yes," said Evan. "I want to mark these bills in your presence." Deaves handed them over, and the manager supplied a blue pencil. "See! A tiny dot following the serial number in each case. In case they get the money, and get away in spite of me, will you please see that all the banks in town are supplied with the numbers of these bills, and are instructed to have anyone arrested who presents them to be changed?"
"I certainly will," said the manager, making a note of the numbers.