The Mystery of the Moor

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 423, 3 August 1928, Page 5

The Mystery of the Moor

By

J. S. Fletcher

CHAPTER I. —MR. MAZAROFF. It was Dick Harker wno first put me in touch with the man whose mysterious murder, while in my company, iormed the basis of what came to be famous in three continents as the Mazaroff Affair. Harker and I were old schoolfellows; we entered the Army together as subalterns; we were in the same battalion throughout the Great War; we were wounded on the same day, and in the same scrap—a fortnight before the Armistice; we were sent to the same home hospital, and were eventually discharged from it at the same time, each unfit for any further military service, but fortunately in possession of our full complement of limbs. And the first thing r hat struck us, then, was that the world upon which we emerged was a vastly different world from that which existed when we went out with the First Hundred Thousand; and the second, a sure conviction that nothing was ever again going to be what it had been before. We were on the threshold of the utterly unknown, and it Was excusable in each of us that for a while we loafed, mightily, about London, watching and wondering. Harker walked into my rooms in Jerm?*n Street one morning while I was still at breakfast, and flung down a ropy of “The Times,” indicating a blue Pencilled advertisement in the personal column. . “That’s your job, Mervyn,” he said, jo his usual direct fashion. “Get busy!’* I took up the paper and read the advertisement before making any remark. The Advertiser, who has recently returned to England after a prolonged absence, and is desirous of making an extensive tour through the Northern Shires, in his private automobile, desires the company of a bright, sociable, well-educated and young gentleman, preferably an ex-officer, invalided out of the service, whom he would entertain most hospitably and remunerate generously. Applications, full and precise details and rekrences, to be addressed Box M. 5343, “The Times.” E.C.4. Paper aside and went on wim my breakfast.

housewives specify “Radium” Pnn\ they order Boot, Floor, or MetoJ M s “ and thus get the best and clieap--19.

“There’ll be about ten thousand applications,” 1 remarked. “More or less —more, it anything.” “Somebody will emerge,’ asserted Marker. “Why not you?” “Or —you?” I suggested.

“No!” he answered peremptorily. “It’s your job. I’ve another notion In hand for myself. Odd advertisement, though. Isn’t it? —some millionaire chap, I should think. Makes one a bit inquisitive to know who lie is.” I think it was more out of curiosity than anything that I replied to that advertisement, setting forth my qualifications and detailing my references. The references were unexceptional; the qualifications as boldly stated as modesty permitted. Yet I never expected any r.eply. I knew well enough that there were hundreds of men whose qualifications and references would be just as good as my ownwhy should I be singled out? It was therefore with a good deal of surprise that, about a fortnight later, I received and read the following letter: Hotel Cecil, September S, 1919. My Dear Sir, —I am much obliged to you for your letter of August 23. I think you and I would get on together very pleasantly, and I shall be further obliged to you If you will call on me at this hotel to-morrow morning about half-past twelve o’clock, so that we may have a little talk. —I remain, my dear sir, truly yours. Salim Mazaroff. I was puzzled by the signature. Somehow, the phrasing of the advertisement had given me the idea that the advertiser was an Englishman who had been away from his native land for a long time, returned to it, and was anxious to revisit the scenes of his youth. But there was nothing English about the name of my correspondent, nor could I tell what nationality it represented. Nor could Dick H “But what’s that got to do with it?” said he. “No doubt the old chap’ll give you a jolly good time, and a fat cheque at the end of it. Don’t let the opportunity slip. Be punctual. I walked into the Hotel Cecil next MOTHERS' PRIDE Nothing pleases a mother more than to" see her children eating heartily. Especially so, when it is good, plain, nourishing food like sandwuches made with GILLARD’S PASTES. Every variety guaranteed pure. All Stores.—4