BIRDS OF PREY

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22694, 5 April 1937, Page 17

BIRDS OF PREY

(COPYRIGHT)

By JOHN GOODWIN Author of " Dead Mens Shoes," " Without Mercy. em.

SYNOPSIS Jeff Ballard is in a cottago at Dartmoor, not far from Dartmoor Prison, when a girl, who has lost her way, arrives. She learns that Jeff has lived in Nebraska and been in mining camps for a long while. On the death of his mother ho came to England to see about some property sho had. When ho arrived ho found that Deoping Royal had been sold and all that was left was the small farm where the cottage stood. Ho is showing the girl on the way to Friar's Cross when they met a party of convicts guarded by two warders armed with carbines. The girl stood looking at them, with pity in her eyes, and the prisoners, in turn all looked at her. "Let us move on," said Jeff. CHAPTER 11. JEFF GETS A SHOCK » She did not seem to hear. "Look at that man—the third from the front," she whispered. In their rough claycoloured breeches, with their blue and red slop jackets and Glengarry caps pulled tight over their foreheads, all the men looked very much alike, and at first glance Jeff saw nothing specially to distinguish this particular man from the rest except that he did not slouch like his fellows. He seemed to bo about forty and though short, was deep-chested and powerfully built. Then, suddenly, the man looked lip, and as his eyes met Jeff's, tho latter felt a queer thrill run through him, for truly these were the most remarkable eyes that Jeff had ever seen. Gray, with a greenish tinge, but keen and piercing as those of a falcon. "A bird of prey if ever 1 saw one," he whispered to the girl, and then aloud: "Confound the fellow! What's he looking at you like that for." For the man was looking straight at tho girl and smiling, actually nodding at her. "Anyone would think that lio recognised you," said Jeff, angrily. The girl did not answer; she was gazing curiously at tho convict. At first sight the face seemed vaguely familiar, but she had been unable to place it. Then, as he smiled, recollection came back, and out of her memory rose a photograph. A snapshot sent to her some tvpie ago from America. A lake shore, stark, ragged-looking larch trees, a good-looking young man in rough hunting kit standing in the foreground, and just behind him, an older man in a fur cap, holding a rifle. The face slightly sinister, yet amazingly strong, was now as clear before her mind's eye as if the photograph were before her, and it was the same — ves, definitely the same as that of the Dartmoor convict who was passing before her. The coincidence was amazing, almost paralysing; it was no wonder she £ould not take her eyes off the man.

And he in his turn seemed torec'ogniso her. There was no doubt about that, though whether he had ever seen her before in the flesh or only in a photograph, £-he could not tell.

It was Jeff's exclamation that brought her to a sense of her surroundings and she saw his eyes fixed on her inquiringly. Before she could speak the nearest warder broke in. "Eyes front, Dench!" he said, sharply, then turned to Jeff and the girl, "You mustn't mind.him, sir," be added apologetically. "I don't mind him at all," said the girl quickly. "There wasn't anything impudent in his smile, that I could see. I think he just wanted to be friendly." The warder glanced at her with grim amusement. "1 don't think you'd like it, if he was, ma-am." "Who is he?" "An American, and a dyed-in-the-wool tough. It's a queer thing, but inside our place we get on better with some of the worst toughs than we do with the smooth fellows. I'll say this for him, he's always cheerful. Rather a handful sometimes, but we can stand for that; he keeps the party in good humour." "One can't help feeling sorry for him. "What is he in for?" The warder evaded the question. "He's not a man you'd like to meet on a dark night, lady," he said dryly. He touched his cap and passed on, but the girl was watching Dench who, quite unmoved by the warder's "rebuke, was still grinning. * "I wonder if he did recognise me?" she said thoughtfully. 4 'Nonsense! How could he?" said Jeff. She laughed. "I'm sure I don't know. I don't think I have any acquaintances among the crook classes." Joyce checked herself. "But now I've taken you far enough. I must leave you here." Jeff was dismayed. "Can't I see you home?" he begged. "There is no need. Either my uncle or my cousin will meet me." Before Jeff could speak again a smart car shot into sight around the curve of the road, and pulled up opposite. "So here you are at last, Joyce," exclaimed the driver, a tall, smartly-dressed young man. "A nice scare you've given me. L though you were lost." "I was," replied the girl calmly. "But this gentleihan rescued me and fed me and brought mo back. Mr. Ballard, let me introduce you to my cousin, Philip Dalton." "I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Ballard," said Philip, but there was no real gratitude in his voice or manner, and Jeff, whose senses had become magically sharpened in the last two hours, instantly recognised the symptoms. He realised something else—which was that this good-looking youngster was going to drive Joyce home, and that he himself was still without any knowledge of who she was or where she was staying. Ho set his jaw. Ho was not going to lose her in this way. Rather than do so he would ask her right out. And just then the miracle happened. "Won't vou come back with us, Mr. Ballard," said Joyce. "You have given nio lunch. It is only fair that I should give you tea." The look on Philip's face spoke anything but joy, but that did not in the least interfere with Jeff's pleasure as he sat at the back of the car with Joyce at his side, and talked sixteen to the dozen. The fog came down—not very thick, yet enough to dim the surroundings, but Jeff would not have cared if it had snowed. He was happier than he had ever been, and what made him happier still was Joyce's behaviour. Jeff was a modest man. His three years in the West had knocked off some of the polish left by Marlborough and Oxford. It also knocked all the nonsense out of him. Yet this made him all the better able to appreciate Joyce's kindness, nnd tile evident pleasure she took in his society. . .

Philip made various attempts to join in the conversation, but got such brief replies that presently he relapsed into sulky silence. Suddenly Jeff became conscious that the car was passing through a gateway into a drive, and that there was something strangely familiar about his surroundings. Those tall granite posts, with the old-fashioned stone balls "t the top and the iron gates with the arms on either leaf. He turned to Joyce.

STORY OF INTRIGUE, ROMANCE AND CURIOUS SITUATIONS

" Not yet, madam," replied Ellen " He said do not wait for him."

" Why, this is Deeping!" ho exclaimed in amazement. " Why are you going in here?" Joyce's eyes twinkled. " Do you still hate widows?" she asked, at the same time lifting her bare left hand. And Jeff saw what —man-like —lie had never yet noticed —the wedding ring on her third finger. " Then you—you are Mrs. Nisbet?" he managed to get out. " I am Joyce Nisbet." She paused. "You are not angry with me?" she added softly. "No;* I am glad," said Jeff stoutly. "Glad?" she repeated, puzzled. " That you are a widow," replied Jeff, with such emphasis that Joyce blushed in earnest, and Philip, overhearing, turned a furious glance at his rival. "Do be careful, Philip," said Joyce, as the car bumped over tho grass border of the drive, and Philip controlled himself sufficiently to bring tho car to a standstill in front of the house. Jeff helped Joyce out, and neither of them paid the least attention to Philip, who, still controlling himself with difficulty, turned tho car and took it round to the back. Jeff and Joyce entered the house together, and the moment ho was inside Jeff stopped. " Why, you have not changed a thing!" ho declared, in a tone of delight, as he gazed round tho old hall and saw all tho old furniture in its usual place. " Even widows may have a certain amount of sense," said Joyce tcasingly. Jeff laughed. " That's not fair," he vowed.

Joyce rang, and a neat maid .appeared. " Tea, please, Ellen," she said. "And is Mr. Dalton in?"

" You won't get cream for tea," Joyce warned Jeff. "We .are very short-handed, and have only Ellen and a cook and a charwoman. But I have a butler coming to-night, and then we shall be more comfortable."

" Comfortable," repeated Jeff, as he dropped into a big chair opposite her. "This is just heaven." " Then you forgive me for having bought your old home?" Joyce asked, and her light tone did not entirely hide the real anxiety behind the question .

" I am very happy that it is in your hands," said Jeff simply. Tea came, and with it Philip. Now that Jeff saw him at close quarters, he had to acknowledge that the younger Dalton was a remarkably good-looking man. He was tall and well set up, with a fair skin ! and light, curly hair. His features, too, Ave re good, and the only exception that could be taken to his looks was that his eyes, which were very pale blue, were set a little too closely togethe^.

Joyce explained Jeff's former connection with Deeping Royal, and Philip made pretence to be interested, but Jeff, watching him quietly, was perfectly aware that Dalton's one idea was to get rid of him as soon as possible.

As soon as tea was over Philip got up. " I'm driving up Princetown way to pick up dad,'' lie said. " Can I give you a lift, Mr. Ballard?" Before Jeff could answer, Joyce spoke: " Don't bother, Philip, 1 am driving Mr. Ballard back." A quick frown crossed Philip's face. "I'm afraid" you'll find the fog pretty bad, Joyce." he objected, but she laughed. "Don't worry, Philip, I shan't lose mv way as long as I keep to the road." Philip, having lost his opportunity by announcing that he was going out, retired, but Jeff sat tight. CHAPTER 111. f ESCArE FROM DARTMOOR! "Your cousin, is he?" Jeff Ballard said after Philip had disappeared. "He's 110 relation really," replied Joyce. "He is my late husband's cousin. He and his father live with me and Mr. Dalton manages my affairs." "Surely you have not been a widow very long," Jeff blurted out, and then began to apologise. She raised her hand. "There is no need for that," she said. "In any case I was going to tell you about it. I was married three years ago when I was only eighteen. A girl of eighteen does not know her own mind, but Charlie Nisbet was extraordinarily good looking, and my mother, who was even then hopeless]v ill, was most anxious to see me provided for. Charlie, you see, was very well off." She paused and sighed, "it did not work. I daresay it was my fault as much as his." Jeff began to protest but she shook her head. "No, I mean just what I say. There was blame on both sides and after a year Charlie went out to Wyoming, leaving me in England. I never saw him again for ho was killed in the Rogue Valley railway disaster." . Jeff noddecf. "I remember it well, for I was at Rock Springs at the time. The train went through the bridge and took fire." "I know," said Joyce with a shudder. "Nothing was found by which he could be identified except the case of his gold watch with his name upon it." Jeff said nothing, but his face showed his svmpathy and presently Joyce went on. "So there was J, a widow of twenty with a great deal of money and hardly a friend in the world. And then one day Grant Dalton came to call on me. He is the brother of Charlie's mother who was herself an American, and through whom he inherited his fortune, and though I had never seen him before, 1 had heard of him from Charlie. He had mining interests in Alaska, but something had gone wrong with the mine—what I believe they call a 'blow out,' and after being a very rich man ho was left comparatively badly off." "So you adopted him?" suggested Jeff a little drily, but Joyce took no offence.

" I was very lonely and lie was most kind and helpful, so 1 suggested that Ave shoidd find a home in Devonshire, which is my own native country, and that he should live with me. It was he who discovered Deeping. I saw it, loved it, bought it —and that is all." " All?" repeated Jeff, with a questioning look iri his eyes. Joyce seemed a trifle startled, but before she could answer the door opened, and a big man in grey tweeds walked into the hall. " Hello, Joyce," lie said, in a deep, rich voice. " Hullo, Uncle Grant," responded Joyce, easily. " Have you had tea?" I had tea at Warman's," he told her as lie stepped'forward " Let me introduce you," said Joyce. " This is Mr. Ballard, Uncle Grant. He is the son of Mr. Arthur Ballard who, as you know, was the former owner of Deeping. Mr. Ballard, Mr. Grant Dalton." The two men were much of a height, but otherwise a complete contrast, lor Grant Dalton had run to flesh and weighed half as much again as Jeff. He had the bronzed skm and sweeping moustache of a retired cavalry colonel, and in spite of his greying hair was still a handsome, even an imposing figure. It was his eyes that Jeff did not like. They were pale blue, like those of his ton, and hard as glass. A gambler's eyes, Jeff thought. Unlike his son, he was most cordial. " Fin mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Ballard. My boy's been telling me as we drove home, how kind you were to Joyce. I hope there's no hard feelings in your mind about our having your old home?" , , • (To be continued dally)