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The Blind Man’s Eyes FAYETTEVILLE NEWS. FAYETTEVILLE. GEORGIA. By WILLIAM MacHARG EDWIN BALMER Copyright by Little, Brown and Company BASIL SANTOINE Gabriel Warden, Seattle capital ist, tells his butler he is expecting a caller, to be admitted without question. He informs his wife of danger that threatens him if he pursues a course he considers the only honorable one. Warden leaves the house in his car and meets a man whom he takes into the ma chine. When the car returns home, Warden is found dead, murdered, and alone. The caller, a young man, has been at Warden’s house, but leaves unobserved. Bob Con nery, conductor, receives orders to hold train for a party. Five men and a girl board the train, the Eastern Express. The father of the girl, Mr. Dome, is the person for whom the train was held. Philip D. Eaton, a young man, also boarded the train. Dome tells his daughter and his secretary, Don Avery, to find out what they can concerning him. The two make Eaton’s acquaintance. CHAPTER IV—Continued. The canyon through the snowdrifts, bored by the giant rotary plow the night before, was almost filled; drifts of snow eight or ten feet' high and, in places, pointing still higher, came up to the rear of the train; the end of the platform itself was buried un der three feet of snow; the men stand ing on the platform could barely look over the higher drifts. “There’s no way from the train in that direction now,” Harriet Dome lamented as she saw this. “What shall we do with ourselves?” “Cribbage, Harriet? You and I?” Avery invited. She shook her head. “If we have to play cards, get a fourth and make it auction; but must it be cards? Isn’t there some way we can get out for a walk?’’ “There’s the top of the cars, Miss Dome,” Eaton suggested. “If we could get up these, we’d get a fairly decent walk and see everything.” “Good!’’ the girl applauded. “How do we get up?” "I’ll see the conductor about it,” Eaton offered; and before Avery could discuss it, he started back through the train. CHAPTER V The Hand in the Aisle. The man whose interest in the pas senger in Section Three of the last sleeper was most definite and under standable and, therefore, most openly acute, was Conductor Connery. Con nery had passed through the Pullman several times during the morning, had seen the hand which hung out into the aisle from between the curtains; but the only definite thought that came to him was that Dome was a sound sleeper. Nearly all the passengers had now breakfasted. Connery, therefore, took a seat in the diner, breakfasted lei surely and after finishing, walked back through the train. Dome by now must be up, and might wish to see the conductor. As Connery entered the last sleeper his gaze fell on the dial of pointers which, communicating with the push buttons in the different berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and lie saw that while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the ar row marked “3” was pointing down. Dome was up, then—for this was the arrow denoting his berth—or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. “Section Three’s getting up?” he asked. "No, Mistah Connery—not yet,” the porter answered. “What did he ring for?” Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came out of the washroom and looked at it also, “Fo’ the Ian’s sake. I didn’t hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus’ have been when I was out on the plat form.” “Answer it, then,” Connery directed. As the negro started to obey, Con nery followed' him into the open car. He could see over the negro’s shoul der the hand sticking out into the aisle, and this time, at sight of It, Connery started violently. If Dome had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his hand hang out in the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. The long, sensitive fingers fell in precisely the same posi tion as before, stiffly separated a little one from another; they had not changed their position at all. “Wait!” Connery seized the porter by the arm. “I’ll answer it myself.” He dismissed the negro and waited until he had gone. He looked about and assured himself that the car, ex cept for himself and the man lying behind the curtains of Section Three, was empty. Walking briskly as though he were carelessly passing up the aisle, he brushed hard against the hand and looked back, exclaiming an apology for his carelessness. The hand fell -back heavily, inertly, and resumed its former position and hung as white and lifeless as before. No response to the apology came from behind the curtains; the man in the berth had not roused. Connery rushed back to the curtains and touched the hand with his fingers. It was cold! He seized the hand and felt it all over; then, gasping, he parted the cur tains and looked Into the berth. He stared; his breath whistled out; his shoulders jerked, and he drew back, instinctively pressing his two clenched hands against his chest and the pocket which held President Jarvis’ order. The man in the berth was lying on his right side facing the aisle; the left side of his face was thus exposed; and it had been crushed in by a vio lent blow from some heavy weapon which, too blunt to cut the skin and bring blood, had fractured the cheek bone and bludgeoned the temple. The proof of murderous violence was so plain that the conductor, as he saw the face In the light, recoiled with staring eyes, white with horror. He looked up and down the aisle to assure himself that no one had entered the car during his examina tion ; then he carefully drew the cur tains together again, and hurried to the forward end of the car, where he had left the porter. “Lock the rear door of the car,” he commanded. “Then come back here.” He gave the negro the keys, and himself waited to prevent anyone from entering the car at his end. Looking through the glass of the door, he saw the young man Eaton standing in the vestibule of the car next ahead. Connery hesitated; then he opened the door and beckoned Eaton to him. “Will you go forward, please,” he requested, “and see if there isn’t a doctor—" “You mean the man with red hair In my car?” Eaton inquired. “That’s the one.” Eaton started off without asking any questions. The porter, having locked the rear door of the car, re turned and gave Connery back the keys. Connery still waited, until Ea ton returned with the red-haired man. He let them in and locked the door behind them. “You are a doctor?” Connery ques tioned the red-haired man. “I am a surgeon; yes.” “That’s what’s wanted. Doctor—” “My name is Sinclair. I am Doug las Sinclair of Chicago.” Connery nodded. “I have heard of you.” He turned then to Eaton. “Do you know where the gentleman is who belongs to Mr. Dome’s party?—Avery, I believe his name is.” “He is In the observation car,” Ea ton answered. " “Will'you go and get him? The car- door is locked. The porter will let you in and out. Something serious has happened here—to Mr. Dome Get Mr. Avery, if you can, without alarming Mr. Dome’s daughter.” Eaton nodded understanding and followed the porter, who, taking the keys again from the conductor, let him out at the rear door of the car and reclosed the door behind him. Eaton went on into the observation car. i, Without alarming Harriet Dome, he got Avery away and out of the car. “Is it something wrong with Mr. Dome?” Donald Avery demanded as Eaton drew back to let Avery pre cede him into the open part of the car. “So the conductor says.” Avery hurried forward toward the berth where Connery was standing '"You See Him as We Found Him, Sir.” beside the surgeon. Connery turned toward him. “I sent for you, sir, because you are the companion of the man who had this berth.” Avery .pushed past him, and leaped forward as he looked past the sur geon. “What has happened to Mr. Dome?” “You see him as we found him, sir.” Connery stared down nervously beside him. Avery leaned Inside the curtains and recoiled. “He’s been murdered!” “It looks so, Mr. Avery. Yes; if he’s dead, he’s certainly been mur dered," Connery agreed. "You can tell”—Connery avoided mention of President Jarvis’ name—"tell anyone who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you saw him just as he was found.” He looked down again at the form in the berth, and Avery’s gaze fol lowed his; then, abruptly, it turned away. Avery stood clinging to the curtain, his eyes darting from one to another of the three men. “Will you start your examination now, Doctor Sinclair?” Connery sug gested. The surgeon, before examining the man in the berth more closely, lifted the shades from the windows. Every thing about the berth was In place, undisturbed; except for the mark of the savage blow on the Bide of the man’s head, th«* was no evidence of anything rautfual. It was self-evident that, whatever had been the motives of the attack, robbery was not one; whoever had struck had done no more than reach in and deliver his mur derous blow; then he ln/1 gone on. Sinclair made first an examination of the head; completing this, he un buttoned the pajamas upon the chest, loosened them at the waist and pre pared to make his examination of the body. "How long has he been dead?" Con nery asked. “He Is not dead yet. Life Is still present,” Sinclair answered guardedly. ’’Whether he will live or ever regain consciousness is another question.” “One you can’t answer?” “The blow, as you can see"—Sin clair touched the man’s face with his deft finger-tips—“fell mostly on the cheek and temple. The cheekbone is fractured. He is in a complete state of coma; and there may be some frac ture of the skull. Of course, there Is some concussion of the brain." Any inference to be drawn from this as to the seriousness of the injuries was plainly beyond Connery. “How long ago was he struck?” he asked. “Some hours. Since midnight, cer tainly ; and longer ago than five o’clock this morning.” “Could he have revived half.an hour ago—say within the hour—enough to have pressed the button and rung the bell from his berth?” Sinclair straightened and gazed at the conductor curiously. “No, cer tainly not,” he replied. “That is com pletely impossible. Why did you ask?” Connery avoided answer. But Avery pushed forward. “What is that? What’s that?” he demanded. “Will you go on with your exami nation, Doctor?” Connery urged. “You said the bell from this berth rang recently I” Avery accused Con nery. “The pointer in the washroom, in dicating a signal from this berth, was turned down a minute ago,” Connery had to reply. “A few moments ear lier all pointers had been set in the position Indicating no call.” “That was before you found the body?" “That was why I went to the berth —yes,” Connery replied; “that was before I found the body.” “Then you mean you did not find the body,” Avery charged. “Someone, passing through this car a minute or so before you, must have found him!’’ Connery attended without replying. “And evidently that man dared not report it and could not wait longer to know whether Mr.—Mr. Dome was really dead; so he rang the bell!” "Ought we keep Doctor Sinclair any longer from the examination, sir?” Connery now seized Avery’s arm in appeal. “The first thing for us to know is whether Mr. Dome is dying. Isn’t—” Connery checked himself; he had won his appeal. Eaton, standing qui etly watchful, observed that Avery’s eagerness to accuse now had been replaced by another interest which the conductor’s words had recalled. Whether the man in the berth was to live or die—evidently that was mo mentously to affect Donald Avery one way or the other. “Of course, by all means proceed with your examination, Doctor," Avery directed. As Sinclair again bent over the body Avery leaned over also; Eaton gazed down, and Connery—a little paler than before and with lips tight ly set. CHAPTER VI “Isn’t This Basil Santoine?” The surgeon, having finished loos ening the pajamas, pulled open and carefully removed the jacket part, leaving the upper part of the body of the man in the berth exposed. Con ductor Connery turned to Avery. “You have no objection to my tak ing a list of the articles in the berth?” Avery seemed to oppose; then, ap parently, he recognized that this was an obvious part of the conductor’s duty. “None at all," he replied. Connery gathered up the clothing, the glasses, the watch and purse, and laid them on the seat across the aisle. Sitting down, then, opposite them, he examined them, and, taking every thing from the pockets of the clothes, he began to caralogue them before Avery. He counted over the gold and banknotes in the purse and entered the amount upon his list. “You know about what he had with him?” he asked. “Very closely. That is correct. Nothing is missing,” Avery answered. The conductor opened the watch. “The crystal is missing.” Avery nodded. “Yes; it always— that is, it was missing yesterday.” Connery looked up at him, as though slightly puzzled by the manner of the reply; then, having finished his list, he rejoined the surgeon. Sinclair was still bending over the naked torso. It had been a strong, healthy body; Sinclair guessed its age at fifty. As a boy, the man might have been an athlete—a college track- runner or oarsman—and he had kept himself in condition through middle age. There was no mark or bruise upon the body, except that on the right side and just below the ribs there now showed a scar about an inch and n half long and of peculiar crescent shape. It was evidently a surgical scar and had completely healed. Sinclair scrutinized this carefully and then looked up to Avery. "He was operated on recently?” “About two years ago.” “For what?’* “It was some operation on the gall bladder.” "Performed by Kuno Garrt?” Avery hesitated. “I believe so.” He watched Sinclair more closely as he continued his examination. Con nery touched the surgeon on the arm, “What must be done, Doctor? And where and when do you want to do It?” Sinclair, however, It appeared, had not yet finished his examination. “Will you pull down the window cur tains?” he directed. As Connery, reaching across the body, complied, the surgeon took a matchbox from his pocket, and glanc ing about at the three others as though to select from them the one “H* Was Operated On Recently?” one most likely to be an efficient aid, he handed it to Eaton. “Will you help me, please? Strike a light and hold it as I direct—then draw it away slowly.” He lifted the partly closed eyelid from one of the eyes of the uncon scious man and nodded to Eaton: “Hold the light in front of the pupil.” Eaton obeyed, drawing the light slowly away as Sinclair had directed, and the surgeon dropped the eyelid and exposed the other pupil. “What’s that for?" Avery now asked. “I was trying to determine the se riousness of the injury to the brain. I was looking to see whether light could cause the pupil to contract. There was no reaction.” “His optic nerve is destroyed.” “Ah! He was blind?” “Yes, he was blind,” Avery admit ted. “Blind!” Sinclair ejaculated. “Blind, and operated upon within two years by Kuno Garrt!" Kuno Gartt operat ed only upon the all-rich and powerful or upon the completely powerless and poor; the unconscious man in the berth could belong only to the first class of Gartt’s clientele. The sur geon's gaze again searched the fea tures in the berth; then it shifted to the men gathered about him in the aisle. “Who did you say this was?” he de manded of Avery. “I said his name was Nathan Dome,” Avery evaded. “No,'no!" Sinclair jerked out Im patiently. “Isn’t this—” He hesi tated, and finished in a voice suddenly lowered: “Isn’t this Basil Santoine?” Avery, if he still wished to do so, found it impossible to deny. “Basil Santoine!” Connery breathed. To the conductor alone, among the four men standing by the berth, the name seemed to have come with the sharp shock of a surprise; with it had come an added sense of responsibility and horror over what had happened to the passenger who had been con fided to his care, which made him whiten as he once more repeated the name to himself and stared down at the man in the berth. Conductor Connery knew Basil San toine only in the way that Santoine was known to great numbers of other people—that is, by name but not by sight. Basil Santoine at twenty-two had been graduated from Harvard, though blind. His connections—the family was of well-to-do southern stock—his possession of enough money for his own support, made it possible for him to live idly if he wished; bijit SunSsine had not chosen to make his blindness an excuse for doing this. He had at once settled himself to his chosen profession, which was law. He had not found it easy to get a start in this, and he had succeeded only after great effort in getting a place with a small and unimportant firm. Within a short time, well within two years, men had 'begun to recognize that in this struggling law firm there was a powerful, clear, compelling mind. Santoine, a youth living in darkness, unable to see the men with whom he talked or the documents and books which must be read to him, was be ginning to put the stamp of his per sonality on the firm’s affairs. A year later his name appeared with others of the firm; at twenty-eight his was the leading name. He had begun to specialize long before that time, in corporation law; he married shortly after this. At thirty the firm name represented to those who knew its particulars only one personality, the personality of Santoine; and at thirty- five—though his indifference to money was proverbial—he was many times a millionaire. “A sound came to his ears—a young girl suddenly crying in abandon.” tTO BE CONTINUED-* SCOUTS (Conducted by National Council ot the Boy Scouts of America.) CHAMPION CHILDREN’S CAUSE On Children’s day during the recenl Safety Week campaign in Greater New York, boy scouts directed traffic, gav« demonstrations of first-aid and marched 7,000 strong in a mammoth children’s parade. The scouts wor« buttons containing the Safety Week slogan, “Don’t Get Hurt!” and carried impressive mottoes emphasizing the need of caution, such as: "The A. B, C. of Safety Is, Always Be Careful,’ 1 “Better Be Alert Than a Cripple,” “A Rash Minute and a Human Wreck," “Better Belated Than Mutilated," “Scouts Are Trained for Safety,” "Be Prepared Is Our Motto.” At the foot of a monument erected In Central park to the memory of th< 1,054 children of Greater New York whose lives were lost In 1921 through preventable accidents, the mayor deo orated with a gold medal Scout Sam uel Levine, who, because of his thrill, ing rescue of two boys under desperatl circumstances had been selected as tin boy scout of Greater New York who had performed the most merltorous ad of life-saving. The medal was especial, ly designed and was the gift of Judge Elbert C. Gary. Because of the number of acts ol heroism performed by scouts, the com mittee who selected the boy to receive the medal found It difficult to reach a decision. Among the outstanding cases were the rescue by individual scouts of a small girl, whose dress had caught afire while she was playing near a bon fire; of a small boy who fell from a dock into deep water; of a girl who had broken through ice while skating; of a young woman who had discarded her water-wings, and unable to swim, ventured too far out in the surf; and of a boy, not a scout who was being carried away by a swift current. The last mentioned rescue was performed by a scout who had sight in only one eye. AN ENGLISH SCOUT LEADER At the Invitation of the American delegation at the recent international conference of scout officials at Paris, Capt. Francis GIdney of England, at tended the national biennial confer ence of scout executives at Blue Ridge, North Carolina, in September. Capt. Francis Gidney is one of the most prominent leaders of scouting in England. He has been a scoutmaster since the early days of the movement, and for the past three years has been camp chief of the well-known Gilwell Park training school for scout lead ers, Chingford, Essex, England. Cap tain Gidney has placed in his camp many of the picturesque features of American Indian and cowboy life. He is an expert in lassoing and rope work of various kinds, and gives credit to our own AVill Rogers for much of his I knowledge, Captain Gidney brought with him an extensive exhibit of Eng- 1 lish scouting equipment and handi* j work. He says: “The only continent on which I have not had the oppor tunity of studying scouting at first hand is Australia, and I am looking forward with keen interest to my visit to this country and to meeting the scout executives at their conference, j It Is a privilege which is much ap- j predated not only by myself personal- j ly, but by the whole scout movement in Great Britain. I do sincerely hope that it will prove a link in scouting operation between the two great coun tries." They Do a Hundred Calories in About 9i E AT a box of little raisins when you feel hungry, lazy, tired or faint In about 9% seconds a hundred calories or more of energizing nutri ment will put you on your toes again. For Little Sun-Maids are 75%' fruit sugar in practically predigested form—levulose, the scientists call it And levulose is real body fueL Needing practically no digestion, it gets to work and revives you quick. Full of energy and iron—both good and good for you. Just try a box. Little Son-Maids “Between-Meal” Raisins 5c Everywhere Had Your Iron Today? 10c Changes Last Year’s Frock to New Putnam Fadeless Dyes—dyes or tints as you wish No Place for the Wife. Green—So you are taking your wife to the lakes of Klllarney? That’s a wonderful place; there are echoes there that repeat the sound of the human voice 40 times. Breen—I guess we won’t go to Kil- lamey.—New York Sun. Mother Says Babies Never Get Real Sick Quick Footwork. “Hello! Hello! Is this you, Mac?" “Aye.” ; “Is this Mac MacPlierson I’m talk ing to?” “Ay; spe’kin’.” “Well, Mac, it’s like this. I want td borrow fifty dollars—” “All right. I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in.”—The Monitor. HIKING HELPED Although he had suffered when a child with infantile paralysis which left one leg in a weakened condition, Frank Bedson, seventeen-year-old Tren ton scout, walked every mile of the 224 miles hiked by the Trenton scouts ou their recent trip to Fort Ticonderoga. At the close of the trip Bedson said to Scout Executive Abriels: “I feel won derfully improved. I don’t believe any thing else could have limbered me up as this hike has done.” AID COMMERCIAL TRAVELERS Scouts contributed assistance to the recent convention of the New England councils of the United Commercial Travelers at Springfield, Mass., by maintaining information and aid sta tions, by furnishing a bicycle safety- first squad, a comfort squad, tratfic guards and a fife and drum corps, and by entering a float in the pageant of industry, a feature of the last day of the convention. THE HEART OF SCOUTING Believing in, loving, and being wil ling to serve one another in the right, is the heart of scouting.—Clarence H. Howard. MAYOR HAS OWN TROOP In Springfield, Mass., Troop No. 12 has both paid honor to and been hon ored by the city’s chief executive, Mayor Edwin F. Leonard, who is one of the community’s strongest support ers of the boy scout movement. Last February during twelfth anniversary week, his honor, as mayor, received the badge of honorary tenderfoot scout. Recently, as private citizen, he was decorated with a veteran pin for ills service*. Troop No. 12 Is “Thg Uayor’s Own" That Teethina, the famous baby laxative and stomach corrective, is the greatest medicine on earth for keeping little children well and happy all the time is conclusively proven by the statement of Mrs. R. B. Bogart, of 80 Lindsey street, Atlanta, Ga., who says: “I have three boys, the oldest five, the next will soon be four and the baby is eighteen months old. I have given them all Teethina whenever they showed the slightest sign of feel ing bad, and not only have the results been wonderful, but none of them have ever been really sick in their lives. I believe their good health is due entirely to Teethina.” Teethina is sold by all druggists, or you can send 30c to the Moffett Lab oratories, Columbus, Ga., and receive a regular size package and also a copy of the valuable Baby booklet.—Adver tisement. A Hot One. She—Of course you threw some rice at Jack’s wedding. He—No; I felt more like throwing a few grains of common sense. She—I see. but you couldn’t spare them.—Boston Transcript. Sore Eyes, Blood-Shot Eyes, Watery Eyei Sticky Eyes, all healed promptly with night ly applications of Roman Eye Balsam. Adt A Boy and His Goat. Ed and his brother Harry were the proud possessors of a goat. One day their mamma said: “Eddie, I saw Nanny standing with her fore feet on the fence.” “Oh, no, mamma,” came the reply. Nanny had only two feet on the fence.” W.L.DOUGLAS $5 $6 57 & 58 SHOES M W. L. Dougins shoes are actually de manded year after year by more people than any other shoe in the world BECAUSE £ k 00 "* 1 ? 3 has been mak ing surpassingly good shoes for forty-six years. This ex perience of nearly half a cen tury in making shoes suitable for Men and Women in all walks of life should mean something to you when you need shoes and are looking f for the best shoe values for your money. 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