WATCHING EYES

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21466, 13 April 1933, Page 19

WATCHING EYES

By T. C. BRIDGES Author of "'Messenger's Million," "The Price of Liberty," "The Other Man's Crime," Etc., Etc.

(COPYRIGHT)

ABSORBING NARRATIVE OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued) Jim ate a good tea, for ho had had sincoi his hurried breakfast; then, without even waiting to find his hat, went out. Tho house, built of reddish stone, had no pretence at architectural beauty, yet the variegated ivy which covered it to the eaves saved it from looking too bare. It stood upon a wide terrace cut in a broad spur of rock which dropped from the cliffs behind and faced duo south. To the right, tho west, was the sea, the blue waves sparkling in the sun, but to tho left lay a small and almost completely landlocked haven, the surface of which was so calm that all its surroundings were reflected as in a looking-glass. The steep slopes rising behind the house were covered with gorso and wild growth, amid which Jim saw tho bobbing white scuts of numberless rabbits. Two other things he noticed with intense pleasure. One, that a small trout stream entered tho head of tho haven, the other, that thero was a woll-built boathduse on tho inner sido of tho spur, amply large enough to accommodate a. couple of launches. " And all this mine! " muttered Jim, yet try as he would, it did not seem real. It may take only a minute to transform a pauper into a millionaire, but it takes a deal longer than that for the pauper to realise himself as a property owner. As ho walked slowly down to the water's edge he was thinking of the old man who had brought about this amazing change in his circumstances. All these yearß his godfather had never so much as written him a letter, yet now he had left him not merely a legacy, but everything. Why had he done it? Jim perched himself on a rock overlooking the sea and filled and lit his pipe. The minutes slipped by unheeded as he smoked and thought. His thoughts had gone back to Cynthia, and ho got a fresh shock as he realised that, here again, everything had changed. He had been quite honest when he had told Torson that he had as much chance of getting her as of dragging tho moon from the sky, but now—- " I don't believe she dislikes me," he said half aloud, and just then a largo drop of rain struck his face and roused him unromantically from his day-dream to find that a storm had blown up from the south-west and that the hills in that direction were shrouded in a mist of rain. As he jumped up and ran for tho house he saw Chowne beckoning in the porch. CHAPTER VII THE FACE IN THE STORM "He wants to seo 'ee, sir," said Chowne. " Is ho worso? " " I don't think he'm no worse, but it bain't possible as he can live long. His heart is clean wore out, bo the doctor did say." The old man greeted him with a faint smile. " Had a look round, Jim? " " I've been sitting on a rock at the end of the point, and trying to tako it all in." He laughed. " I can't do it, sir." " I'm glad. I don't like peonle who take everything for granted. But you will very soon slip into it, and where- ' ever I am I shall like to feel that my old homo is in tho hands of a man who is fond of it." " You won't need to worry about that, sir," said Jim earnestly. " I've always dreamed of some day being able to retire to a littb cottage or an old farm up on the moors, but this—well, it's a long sight ahead of anything I eyer dared to dream." A look of sadness crossed tho dying man's face. " I wish I had known long ago. But time is short. Jim, and I have.much to say. In the first place, as to my papers. They, are in the safe in the study; the key is here under my pillow. Chowne will show the safe. To tho best of my belief, everything is in order. Take the key and put it in your pocket." Jim did 60. " Tho room is growing very dark, complained Mr. Torson, "'or is it that my eyes are failing? " " Your eyes are all right, sir. It's very thick outside, and. raining hard. I think I'd better close the windows." He did so and came back to the bedside. " Have you any questions to ask, Jim? " inquired the old man. Jim hesitated. " Don't be afraid of offending me. Ask anything you like." " Well, sir, the point that puzzles me is, of course, why you suddenly decided to make me your heir. After all, I'm onlv the son of your cousin. It 6eems ocld that you had no one nearer than me." " J expected that question and am glad vou were honest enough to ask it." ile stopped short, drawing :n his breath with a sharp hiss, and Jim saw that his eyes, wide and staring, were fixed upon the nearest window. The storm was at its height and tho rain driving so thickly that everything outside was hidden in a curtain of grey mist. But pressed against tho pane was a face, a dead-white face with a thin, beaked nose and eyes which shone like polished jet. -It was the cruellest, tho most evil face that Jim had ever seen, and though he had but a glimpse of it —for it was gone in a flash—the sight sent cold shivers coursing down his PP '"Fowler—Shade Fowler," said the old man thickly. " Get him, Jim." Jim did not waste an instant. Flinging open the window, he vaulted out over the sill. Tho rain, driven by a strong wind, blew full in his face so that ho could see nothing beyond a narrow radius. He stooped, and there, in the border under the wall, spotted the prints of a pair of long, narrow shoes. But when tho man had moved from tho window ho had stepped back upon tho turf and left no marks. A moment's reflection told Jim that tho chances were ho had gone inland, for it was quite certain that no boat could live on tho sea in this gale, and even on tho haven the wind was too much for a row boat. Jim turned inland and ran hard past the house, and past the outbuildings. A path led up the steep slope, zigzagging among tho gorse and bushes. Here Jim found the marks again. There was no mistaking those long narrow prints, and he sprinted for all he was worth. It was raining as hard as ever and he was already staked to the skin, but he did not give a thought to that. All his energies were fixed upon catching the intruder. Up and up he went until, all of a sudden, he found himself on level ground. Ho had reached the top of the cliff and in front was open moor. Open, yes, but visibility, as the wireless reports go, was poor, and barring a couple of disconsolate looking sheep, there was not a living thing in sight. Nor was there any path. He hunted again for tracks, but tho close-cropped turf yielded n<? signs of any kind, and Jim came to the unpleasant.conclusion that further search was useless. Ho did not know the country, and it was impossible to guess in which direction Fowler had gone. There was nothing for it but to go back and tell Mr. Torson of his failure. " The very first thing ho has asked me to do, and I've mossed it up," ho said bitterly as he made his disconsolate way down the slippery hillside. Jim hated to fail in anything he had undertaken, and was not given to making excuses for any. such failure.

As fate had it he was not to have to confess this failure. Chowne met him at the door and the man's face told its own story. Jim did not need the solemn words: " He'm gone, sir," to know that he would never hoar from his cousin's lips why he had been made his heir. CHAPTER VIII THE OTHER HEIR Jim had changed, he had dined and he sat smoking in the hall. He had decided to wait until next day before opening the safo and at present his thoughts dwelt on the strange and unpleasant visitor whom he had vainly attempted to bring to book. Chowne came in with whisky and soda on a salver. "Uncouth as ho looked the man was an excellent servant and waited well. " Will 'ee be wanting anything else, sir?" he asked in his soft Devon drawl. " Yes, Chowne. I want to talk with you. Sit down a moment." If Chowne was surprised ho gavo no sign, but quietly took a chair. "That man," said Jim abruptly, J " Shade Fowler, Mr. Torson called him —who is he?" Chowne shook his head. " That be more'n I can say, sir." " Do you mean you don't know, or that you won't tell?" " You be my master, sir, now old master be gone. I'd tell 'ee anything I knowed; but it bo true what I say. I don't know who this man be." " Sorry, Chowne. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but it's clear that Mr. Torson knew the man, so I thought ho must have been here before, and that you would have seen him." " I nover seed anyone here like that one you told of," Chowne answered. " All right. But as I know his name I'll find out about him sooner oj later. And I mean to find out, too, what he was doing hero. I don't like people who peer in at windows. Have you ever had burglars here?" " Nothing o' that sort, sir. We be a long ways oft the main road, and I reckon I could tako care of 'em if any did come." Jim glanced at Chowne's powerful frame and smiled. " I rather think you could. Now there are one or two other things I'd like to ask. Where did Mr. Torson bank?" " At Callacombe, sir. Dingle's Bank." " And do you know who his lawyer is?" " No, sir. The master didn't hold with them folk. But I reckon you'll find it all in the safe." " No doubt I shall. Now about the property —how much land is there?" " Her's just over five hundred acres, sir, but most of it's moor. There be one farm—Hares' Den they calls it. George French rents it." " Is the shooting pretty good?" Chowne's face brightened. " You won't get no pheasants, sir, but for rough shooting this ground ain't to be beat. There's snipe in plenty and rabbits more'n we can kill, and the cock, they comes in thick and early. There's a right few coveys of partridge, too, on the tilled land." " And what about the fishing?" " Plenty of trout in the Reed sir, and a fair run o' sea trout in June month. You be a fisherman, sir?" " Mad on it," Jim told him, and saw at once that ho went up several pegs in the other's estimation. The tail old grandfather clock wheezed and began to strike ten. " Time for bed," said Jim. "Thank you, Chowne. Then 1 take it you and Mrs. Chowno will stay?" " We'd ha' stayed with 'ee for the old master's sake, sir, because he did wish us to. But now, if I may make so bold as to say it, we'll stay with 'ee for your own sake. I reckon you'm a proper sportsman and the right man to own Crag Head." " Thank you, Chowne. And with you to help me I hope to carry on here like a sportsman. Shall we shake hands on it?" If Jim had tried" for a year he could not havo said or done anything better calculated to please the sturdy Devonshire man. " We're in luck, Mary," said Chowne to his wife when he reached the kitchen. "The yourig gent bo a proper sportsman, and* you knows I can't say no better'n that.". "I likes him, too," returned Mary Chowno. " Said to me, he did, that he'd never ate a better cake than the one he had for tea. You bo sure, Jethro, as a young man as can like a good cake don't drink. Ho hain't like Mr. Harvey," she added firmly. Jim went to bed in a big airy room, which was an amazing and delightful contrast to his poky little bedroom on the top floor in Leigham Street. The bed was as perfect as the room, the 000 l linen sheets being faintly perfumed with lavender. The rain had ceased, and the night was very still, the only sound being the gentle sough of the small waves at the foot of the Crag. Jim, tired in mind rather than in muscle, was soon asleep, and did not stir until eight o'clock, when Chowne came in with tea and shaving water. " A fine morning, sir," was his greeting. " A good job, too. I'm going to be busy to-day. Is there a car, Chowne?" " No, sir. The master wouldn't drive in one of they things. But there be a good horse in the stable." " Then you'd better drive me to Callacombe after breakfast. There'll be the funeral arrangements to seo to. Also I shall have to send a wire to Plymouth." " I'll be ready by ten, sir," Chowno answered. The sun shone gloriously, and as he tubbed and dressed, Jim's spirits rose. While ho felt deep gratitude to the dead man he could not pretend that ho had any sense of loss. He came down hungry, and was in the middle of an excellent breakfast when bo heard a ring. " The doctor?" he asked 'as Chowne camo in. Chowno looked uncomfortable. " No, sir, it be Mr. Harvey." "Who's he?" Chowne's eyes widened. " The old master's nephew, Mr. Harvey Lunt. Him as has lived here. I thought 'ee knowed, sir." " It's the first I've heard of him," Jim answered. Though he spoke quietly enough the news had given him an ugly shock. " Does ho want to see me?" " Aye, he'm asking for you." " I'll come," said Jim briefly as ho laid down his napkin, and went out into the hall. A man was standing on the rug in front of the fireplace. Jim judged him to bo about his own age, but ho was shorter than Jim and squarer. Ho had brown hair and eyes, very good features, and was well set up. Yet to Jim's mind his looks were spoiled by a curiously hard, reckless expression. (To bo continued daily)