Evan laughed in exasperation. "Why sure! if you want it that way. It's nothing to me one way or the other." He turned to go.
"Wait a minute," said Deaves. "Why wouldn't it be better to call up the club?"
Evan shook his head. "A man's club is his castle. Club servants are always instructed not to give out information, particularly not over the telephone. Telephone Hassell. You should have telephoned him before sending the money. Or better still go to him. It's his interest to get to the bottom of this."
"Will you go with me?" asked Deaves stabbing his blotter.
Evan smiled. "A minute ago you implied that I was behind the scheme."
"I might have been mistaken. Anyway, if you had nothing to do with it, you ought to be glad to help me clear the matter up."
"I'll go with you," said Evan, "not because I'll feel any necessity for clearing myself, but because it's the most interesting game I've ever been up against!"
"Interesting!" shrilled the old man indignantly, "Interesting! If you were being bled white, you wouldn't find it so interesting! I'll go too."
"You'll stay right here, Papa," commanded George Deaves. "And don't you go out until I come back! You've brought trouble enough on me!"
"Well, you needn't bite off my head!" grumbled the old man.