The Mine Masters Heir OR THE REAL JOHN SMITH.

King Country Chronicle, Volume IV, Issue 276, 13 July 1910, Page 3

The Mine Masters Heir OR THE REAL JOHN SMITH.

(All Rights Reserved.)

By HEDLEY RICHARDS,

Author of "Out of Darkness," " A Day of Reckoning," Etc. PART 15. , ■*- ; "I'm sorry you have lost your son, and sorry I was not here sooner,'' said Jack. "So am I, sir, because Ned wasn't a lad to make overmuch of anything and I feel sure that he knew , something as he blamed- himself • for not; telling you." With a few words of sympathy the two young men turned iaway. - "What did the poor lad want to say to me?" said Jack. ■ "Very likely he knew who was the man that Thwaites's daughter met," said Jim. "That idea had occurred to me. If so, .his knowledge has died with him," said Jack. CHAPTER XIX. Smith made his way to grannie's cottage, pausing every now and then to look round and make sure he was not followed. On arriving at the cottage he raised the old fashioned brass knocker. It had been arranged that the front door should be kept locked, to prevent Mrs. Thwaites walking in unceremoniously and discovering that Jessie was an inmate of the cottage.

"It's you ?" said grannie, as she opened the door. "Yes. Where's- Jessie ?"

"Here ;" and turning his head, he saw her standing just within the kitchen door. She looked very lovely ; happiness beamed in her face, and her eyes grew brighter as they rested on her husband. The look of happiness irritated him. Jim Gelder's words had filled him with rage, and the knowledge that his marriage had complicated matters was growing upon him, "You look as though you'd come into a fortune," he said, gruffly.

"So I have—a fortune of happiness ; and standing on tiptoe, she put her arms round his neck anc kissed him.

He did not return it, and his tone was surly as he said : "'I want to speak to you, Jessie. Come in here and he opened the parlour door. "What is it, John ?" Her face changed ; she saw he was vexed. "Just this," he said, as he put her in a chair and stood facing her. ""'Our marriage bids fair to ruin mj prospects." "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, in a frightened tone. But it does. So far, your father and other people think you have gone off with Jack Smith ; but he doesn't like it being thrown on his shoulders, and he suspects me. Now, I want you to promise that if your father or any one finds you are living here, you will not tell them we are married. Whatever your father calls you, it must make no cUSe?ei|ce. Promise me solemnly that under ne circumstances will you reveaJ our marriage." "I promise,," she said. "Swear by all you hold sacred," he said.

"I have promised, and I don't know what more you want," she said, with the tears in her eyes. He , leaned forward, and spoke, in a hard, cruel tone :

'(lf y QU break that promise I shall hate you. Y§u must—if it is eve* gepessary—encourage people to believe that you did go away with Jach Smith and that he did'nt marry you." Jessie raised her head proudly.

"You want me to let people think lam a bad, wicked girl. J couldn't." He laughed sneeringly. '"They think that already. I want you to let them continue to thihl? it," 4 'l don't think I could and she began weeping, "You must,, or I'll never come here again. Stop that- crying ! I detest women who are mere waterworks ! She raised a pair of frightened eyes to his face.

"I—l suppose I must," she said. '"That's right. Now you must f9rget all about our marriage, and remember Jack took you from your home."

"It's dreadful !" she said, trying to check a sob.

"Oh, you'll soon get accustomed to the idea. Now I'm off. I'll try and look in to-night, but I shall have to fce careful not to rouse suspicion. Good-bye and Smith left the room.

Jessie stood at the y?indow, watch-, ing till he was put qf sight ; theq she burst intq tears,

''What's the matter-, my lass ?" said grannie, as she came into the room.

"Oh, oh ! John was cross, and ho says I'm to forget I'm married," she sobbed.

-"What else did he say ?" a.sked the old dame ; and in a few minutes she knew pretty well what Smith had said to his young wife.

"I—l don't ,think he loves ine. ! I believe he's sorry he married me," said Jessie.

"Look here, child ; men have ways of talking and acting different to women, and you'll just have to put up with them, live other wives have jto do ; and end—perhaps before long—you'll be a grand lady," faid grannie.

•*'•l would rather be happy. I wish John and I could settle in a pretty little cottage," f'That wouldn't suit your John,*'

said the old woman, drily. While they Were talking of him 3mith was walking quickly into Witton. He had no intention of going o Wcarside Hall now. Jim would alte care he didn't set his foot inside the doors. -But he didn't want to return to Witton House just then.

One portion of the lower quarry path led into what was called Low Witton, not far from the lead mine. There were fewer shops at that end Df the town, and the few were of a poorer sort. The houses, too, wer< those inhabited by the less well-to-do of the. working people. Smith glanced round. He had seliooi been at that end of the town. Then he saw a tall, broad-set man, with a grim, determined face, com:ng across the street, evidently making for him. "May I speak to you; Mr. Smith?" he said, touching his cap. Smith , came to a standstill, won' d.ering who the man was. "My name is Thwaites. No doubt you have heard it;" and his tone was bitter as he spoke the last words.-

"Yes, I've' heard it," replied Smith.

For a moment there was silence. Evidently Thwaites was studying the young man's face, and Smith waited patiently, but on his guard. "Do you know where my daughter is ?" he asked, abruptly. Smith shook his head. "That's a' funny question to ash me ! How should I know anything i'o but your daughter ?" "Do you ?" The question was abrupt, and the manner even more so. 1

"No." Smith's tone was empha-

Thwaites looked full at him as he said :

"I daresay you know that I laid the blame on Mr. Jack Smith ; but he came to see me, and I'm doubtful."

Smith laughed. "Jack's a wonderful way. That and his honest face will carry him through anything. But because he's managed to throw dust in your eyes, you're not going to saddle me with his follies, sins—whatever you like to call them," he said, "You speak very confidently about the wrongdoing being Mr. Jack's," said Thwaites, looking keenly at him.

"I- speak because I know and Smith moved a step. "Not yet, sir and Thwaites planted himself in front of him. "You've got to tell me what you know."

"You take rather a high hand, rny good man. There's no law to com* pel a man to speak." Thwaites's face changed. "I didn't mean to annoy you, sir; but I must know the truth about my lass, and where she is, if I can find out," he said, in a tone that shook witlr emotion.

"Well, I didn't mean to speak of it to any one. I'm not a prig, or given to sit in" judgment on other fellows ; but as you've taken this affair so much to heart, I'll tell you the girl is in London. I found a letter on the landing last night. It was one she had written to Jack Smith, imploring him to write to her, saying that her money was nearly run out.''

"'My God ! The scoundrel !" he exclaimed, and his eyes flashed dangerously ; then he held out his hand. "Will you let me see tl^.- letter ?" "I cannot. Do you ttmik I should carry such a letter about me ? It's locked up at Witton Hoase. .I'll post it to you to-night..". "Does it make it plain which of you two Smiths its written to 1" asked Thwaites;.

"Rather! I don't think you'll find a loophole to doubt Mr. Jack, though I ean see you would rather put it on my shoulders and- with a short laugh Smith left him. '''l'll have to copy Jessie's writing, and -make it look as though it had been written a few days. I'll take care that letter settles all the fellow's doubts," he thought, unconscious that Thwaites was gazing after him with a puzzled expression on his grim face. • "He mayn't have done what the other man has, but he's a bad lot," he thought as he went iq the direction of the mine, While the two men were talking, a thin man with a shrunken face who was standing at the - window of a cottage watched them with interest. "Aunt Deb, who is that chap—the young one dressed like a swell ?" he asked. An old woman came to the window.

"That's Mr. Jshn Smith, and the other's Thwaites, the overlooker at the mine. They do say he's blaming the other Mr. Smith for 'ticing his girl from her home," she said. "Yes, there's two of 'em, and the master—hiin.. a£j.jWi tton House—<l on' t know which is which and the old woman told the story of the two Jphn Smiths, winding up with an account of. Jessie Thwaites's disappearance. "What was the girl like ?"

When she had described her, the, man smiled as he recognised the girl whom Smith r had rescued from him. "So he's treated her worse than I did ? He's the chap that knows where she is—not the other one," he thought. "You're getting quite spry, Jake," said his aunt, looking with affection at the nephew, who had come to her completely broken down, with a story of having been set on by a tramp, who'd taken his" clothes —not grand ones, of course, but good tweed —and made him s put his on. Money and everything had gone, and after being thrashed within an inch of hi 3 life Jake had just managed to crawl as far as her house, where he had been received with open arms. That very night he had been taken ill, and the doctor had pronounced his iHness to be typhoid. The old woman had nursed him care-

fully. She had a little income of fifteen shillings a week that her husband had spent his life trying to save, and out of it, by pinching her own few comforts, she had managed to get the invalid all he really required, little knowing that this "son of her only sister was an idle vagabond—a man whose inclination to appropriate whatever came in his way had led to his acquaintance with prison life. "By Jove, I'll have my revenge ! I'll make him pay for that thrashing. I'll dog his footsteps till I can prove he knows where the girl is ; then that man Thwaites will pay my debt, or I'm mistaken," he reflected as he thought of Smith. The next evening Thwaites got a letter, enclosed in one from Smith, telling him that this was the letter to which he had alluded, and advising him to burn it after he had read it. Thwaites opened the enclosure, and read :

"Dear Jack,—l'm nearly heartbroken at not hearing from you. Life isn't worth living without you, or I, shouldn't have left my home. I'm very sorry that my father has got that letter you wrote me. I missed it, but I daren't tell you I'd lost it. Dear Jack, I shall never forgive myself if you do lose Mr Thompson's money through my carelessness. I am miserable about it. Surely he wili not leave his money to that horrid, grim-looking John Smith ! I feel "almost to hate my father for carrying tales. Why should he interfere ? You will marry me hs soon as you can, I know. Do write, and say you are coming. I am very lonely here. Ido so long to see you, and I have very little money left.—Your loving

" Jessie." Thwaites laid down the letter, and swore a terrible oath.

"'Hush, Nathan ! You're a chapelgoing man, and a preacher of the Gospel," paid his wife.

"I feel like a murderer. If that Jack Smith was here there'd be a reckoning between him and me, and it's, bound to come," he said. "Well I never ! To think as you've stood and preached the Gospel, and now you're talking of doing murder " she said in a tone of reproof.

"The devil's got a grip of me, there'll be mischief. The fellow who's injured my little Jessie and left her short of money, fretting her eyes out in London, to go from bad to worse, has to reckon with me, and I'm thinking it's likely when I've done with him he won't be living to tell what sort of a reckoning it was," said Thwaites, grimly. CHAPTER XX. "He might be master here. It's ' do this' and ' do that.' Not like Mr. Jack, who asks pleasantly when he wants a thing. Not but what he's a masterful man, in spite of his merry eyes. But he's a pleasant way, while the other one orders you about looking as grim 'as the devil," said old Anthony to the groom as they stood watching John Smith ride away on the Black King. "He's the best rider I ever saw. The horse is like a lamb in his hands," said the groom, his voice expressing admiration. , "He rides like his father," replied the old stableman, gruffly. The groom laughed.

Meaning the devil ! But look here, Anthony, I'd keep my thoughts to myself. It's ten to one whether the master gets better, then Mr. John Smith steps -into his shoes." Anthony looked dumbfounded. "Not Mr. Jack !" he exclaimed.

"No ; Mr. Jack's managed to get into disgrace. He's being blamed for that girl's disappearance— Thwaites's daughter—and the master made his will leaving nearly everything to Mr. John Smith, so Giles says, and he ought to know," said the groom, "Yes, the butler knows most things that go on in the house. But the master must have been mad to make that black-faced ' villain his heir."

"Softly, old man ! I'd be sorry to see you chucked out, and who knows how soon Mr. Smith may be master here? I wish it had been Mr. Jack. But he should have been content with making love to Miss Betty. What they charge him with is just the thing the master wouldn't forgive." '"No ; but he's laid it on the wrong man's back. I dare swear that scoundrel on the Black Kihg knows all about it, and has shuffled it on to the other man's shoulders. It'll be a bad day for Witton, when Mr. John Smith . is master here and with these words he went into the stable. Rut as he went about hie work his thoughts were busy with what he had heard, "Confound it, I must speak !" he fluttered ; and leaving the stable, he went to the coachman's cottage and asked :if he might and night oS. coachman, who liked the old man, readily agreed. (To be Continued.)