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Show THIS MAN IS YOURS T.u.. Fiction by Rob Eden CHAPTER THIRTY Those unspoken words that Terry read in the eyes around her. Her grandmother's eyes, Ada's eyes, Janice's eyes. Eyea full of pity, but back of th pity, those words, as clear, as plain as if they had been uttered. "I told you so. You see." That's what the words were. Terry could almost hear them. As the days went by she saw them in the mornings morn-ings and in the evenings in Ada's eyes. At the mill in Janice's. They echoed about in the house and in the file room at the mill reproachfully reproach-fully they quivered in the air around her. "I told you so. You see." And the kindness that went with the unspoken words. Terry would much rather have had abuse, outright out-right cruelty. The kindness hurt so much. Her grandmother fussing about her comfort, Ada fussing about things to eat. "Now, I made that chocolate mousse especially for you, Terry. Try and eat it." Janice doing more than her share of th work at the files, shifting the conversation away from the headlines head-lines In the papers. Janice so solicitous, so generous. Terry saw through it all, all the subterfuges that her grandmother employed, that Ada and Janice used. Only the Judge and Somers went quietly about their business, the Judge to his courtroom, and Somers puttering around th garden. The two of them had pity in their eyes, but no reproach. No unspoken words that they were trying to hold back so fearfully. Somers Says "Too Bad-It's Bad-It's too bad." Somers had said shaking hi head when Terry interrupted in-terrupted him on evening smoking 'Jim Yorke'a escape from the city Jail and th death of Milton Singer passed from the front pages of the two daily newspapers to the inside pages, then to small Inconspicuous columns. Jim Yorke seemed to have completely disappeared. On the seventh evening the Judge called her into the library. "I want you to tell me the truth, Terry. Have you heard from Yorke" he asked. "I haven't, grandfather." "The truth, Terry." "That's the truth, really. I'm being perfectly honest I don't know why I thought I might hear from him, but I did think so. Nothing hss come not a phone call, not a letter." "I know that' what you told Gallishaw yesterday, but I'm asking you today." "That's th truth." "I think it Is, too, my child. But I feel that even if you had heard from him, you wouldn't tell me, and you wouldn't tell Gallishaw." Terry didn't reply, but what the Judge had aaid was true. She was quit sure that if ahe heard from Jim, ahe would lie even to her grandfather. The Judge went on. Thia is murder, Terry. Do you realize that? There won't be any simple manslaughter man-slaughter charge it Jim Yorke is found. Fulton City is too wrought up for that He'll be up for murder in the first degree." He saw her wince, and in the quiet room heard the quick catch in her breath. "You're being watched, too, Terry. Don't forget that. Gallishaw didn't have the heart to tell me that, but I know. "There's nothing I can do about it. Apparently Gallishaw feels that Yorke may communicate with you in aome way. Somers says there's a msn around here night and day. I haven't told your grandmother that nor Ada, because it would frighten them too much. But I feel that you ahould know." "I know." she whispered. At first it had seemed accidental that she should see the man who had boarded the street car behind her at the mill change car down town, and again take th same car up to Marley Heights. A coincidence coinci-dence that he should get off the car at th end of the line with her, and saunter up the hill a block behind her. A rather nice appearing man, slender, well dressed, slapping a folded newspaper against bis leg as he waited in th car son beside her down town. A business man going home to his family for dinner. Middle aged, his hair turning gray at the tempi es. There had been that man for two nights when she returned from the milL The second night it didn't seem such a coincidence. She realized re-alized with a shock that th man must be a detective. The third night there bad been a different man, but th tactics were the same, th same nonchalance, th asm watchful indifference. Now the two men alternated, but she knew every feature of each and, every mannerism. She was watching watch-ing them as much as they were watching her. At first too, she had longed td hear from Jim. See him. A wordl from him would mean so much. Now sh was afraid that b might 'write, that he might mak aome attempt to see her, Sh Has No Doubt Th fear was with her constantly sine Singer had died. When (he came home from work there was an equal longing, and an equal dread that there might be a letter from Jim. She found herself trembling when sh went up to th hsll table where Ada put th day' mail on a silver tray. For ahe had no doubt, if GalH-shaw GalH-shaw provided such surveillance for her during the day and night that he had also provided soms way in which her mall could be examined. Sometime the longing to hear from him exceeded the dread, and she rushed to the table and to the tray only to be disappointed. That was the way it had been tonight "There's no sdvics I can give you on the situation," her grandfather continued, "because from the beginning be-ginning it ha been your situation and your problem. If you hear from Yorke, you can be pretty sure that Gallishaw will know about it probably before you do. That's what he's waiting for, and he's a good detective he was a fin policemen police-men before he was a detective. I have every respect in the world for Gallishaw. I shouldn't underestimate underesti-mate him if I were you. Now, that' all, my dear. I've work to do." He smiled vaguely across the desk at her and opened up a blue bound brief which was before him. He was deep in it when Terry closed the door quietly snd started to her room. The talk with th Judge had steadied her, even the undercurrent of warning in his words made her feel better. Safer, she thought She didn't feel so utterly lost so discouraged and yet the Judge had said nothing to really make her feel safer and braver. Her bed was turned down when she got to her room in Ads's neat beautiful way, tna sheets so smooth snd crisp as they lay back on the pale green wool blanket; the pillows fluffed up. the down in them springy and yet ao soft Beside the bed her light was burning, snd Ada had put on tbs table a thermos of hot chocolate and en of Mrs. Trevor's fine china cupa and saucers. Another reading lamp was lighted nesr the window, and under its soft amber light was the deep wing chsir thst was Terry's favorite, a footstool foot-stool beneath it and on the table near one of its arms, a little pile of new magazine. Th girl sat down and picked up the top magazine it was on which sh used to read avidly. A national fashion magazine its fine color prints a delight to aee. She, saw her grandmother's hand in this. Ada would have put anything on top of the pile on the table the first thing sh cam to. Terry never knew why as ahe flipped the pagea so carelessly the book should have so naturally opened near the middle. She never knew why she gave th full page photograph of the girl on the right hand side of that page a second look. She didn't feel like looking at a magazine. Sh was thinking of the subtle warning ber grandfather bad Just in his usual seat at the side of the garage. "Too bad." The Judge was quieter thsn usual. At dinner he seldom bad much to say. and Immediately after dinner, he went Into his library and closed the door even if the night was a warm one. That meant he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. circum-stances. Everyone in the house respected re-spected his wishes. Only Keo was with him. Three -days passed since Milton Singer hsd died. Four dsys, five days. Terry marked th day off on a calendar in her bedroom. It was the same calendar that ah had used for scribbling dates for dances, remembrances re-membrances for errands In the dsys before she hsd met Jim Yorke. Esch day was a page In Itself, and when she was ready to go to bed at night, she would put a big cross on the page.' She didn't know why she had started to mark out the days, but the mere crossing with the heavy black pencil she used gsve her some little comfort Six days passed, and th story of given her, of the cross that she would make on her calendar In a few minutes, of Gallishaw's man who was somewhere around the place on the grounds, probably watching her light But the magazine did open on that page, and she found herself looking idly at the clear cut picture of a girl's face. Idly for a moment then the next moment with aler attention, intense scrutiny. The girl in the magazine was th living image of Jim's Marion ths hair, what Terry had seen of ii under the sailor hat the eyea at wide, so alive, th aoft mouth, am! tha broad cheeks. The lighting or the picture was slmoet the earn lighting that Terry had notice from th window of her grandfather's grand-father's library from below, like the candle that had stood on ths table under th oak tree. Th candle lower than Marion'a face. Under the photograph In tint script were the words. "Miss Marior Burton, daughter of Donald Burton Miss Burton is her father's hoste at Burton House. Southampton." (Continued Monday) (Copyright 1937, for Th Telegram |
