The Mystery of the Moor

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 440, 23 August 1928, Page 5

The Mystery of the Moor

By

J. S. Fletcher

CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE MISSING MAN. “No!” replied Sheila. “Never! Whose is it?—What is it?” Holt picked up the brooch and began to finger it. Turning it over, be pointed to the pin at the back, which was considerably worn, and fitted loosely to its socket. “It would easily slip out of any woman’s gown,” he said. “That pin’s almost worn out. As for the rest of it, that’s beautiful old silver, very old, and quite thin now, here and there, and the stones are of the best quality of cairngorm, full of transparency and colour. This has been considered a brooch of value in its day, aivl has doubtless belonged to somebody of consequence. And—l picked it up at Reiver’s Den, close to the spot where MazarofE’s dead body was found.” He was watching her still more closely as .he . said this. She turned on him a’ quick, questioning glance that shifted from him to the brooch, and he picked up the brooch again, and restored it to his pocket. “So—to the best of your recollection —you’ve never seen it before?” he said. “Never!” she repeated. “Never!” Presently we all three went downstairs, and into the street. I got a taxi, and Sheila and I got into .it Maythorne, with another admonition to us to be at his office at ten o’clock next morning, said good-night and went off; we, too, sat out on our ride to Maida Vale. In the lights of Piccadilly Circus we turned and looked at each other. She suddenly laughed shyly. “Mervyn!” she said. “Were—were you glad to see me?” “Will it be an answer,” said I, “if I tell you that I’d been thinking about you all the evening?” “That’s a fiiee answer,” she laughed. “Oh, well—now don’t let’s talk—we’ll talk to-morrow, or next day, or some other day. But you can hold my hand, if you like, till we get to the end of the ride.” We held each other’s hands—in silence —all the way to Maida Vale. I saw her safely in charge of her friend, and went back home in the same cab. Wondering, of course—wondering . . . what next? I was back at Ashington Mansions soon after nine o’clock on the following morning, and by half-past Sheila and I were walking down Edgware Road on our way to Maythorne’s office. It was a fine, crisp autumn day, but that was not the reason why we -walked instead of riding the mile and a-half that lay between Maida Vale and Conduit Street. I think that we both had a mutual feeling of •wanting to be together as long as possible, in full enjoyment of our liberty There, amidst the crowded London streets, we were alone in a sense in which we could not have been alone in the solitudes of Marrasdale, and the sensation was as novel as it -was delightful. Yet I knew it could not last, and we had not been walking far when Sheila voiced exactly what I was feeling. “Mervyn, I’ll have to go back, you THERE is a Herbal Remedy for every disease. An instructive book Herbs and Herbal Remedies, sent free. —Write Hall’s Botanic Dispensary, 117 Armagh St., Christchurch.

know,” she said; “I’ve done what I came for —given you the will —and now I’ll have to go home soon, anyway, and fafee the music. Of course, my mother has guessed long since what’s happened. And there’ll be a nice row.” “I shall have to go back there, too,” said I. “So will Maythorne, and perhaps Crole. Couldn’t we all go back together, and then —” “To sort of buck me up ?” , she laughed. “That won’t save me." I shall have the liveliest quarter of an hour I ever had in my life. And I shall only have one retort to make—not a nice one to make to one’s own mother —and that’s to ask her what she was doing with that will, and how she got it. And if I know her, she won’t say.” It was on my lips to retort that Mrs. Elphinstone would probably have to say, whether she liked it or not, but I refrained. “There may be developments before it comes to that,” I remarked. “The fact is, we none of us know whore we are. I don’t, anyhow! Maythorne says we shall find out, and that then there will be a tremendous surprise. As for me, I feel as if I did not know what on earth’s going to turn up next.” “Anything may,” said Sheila. “I suppose the thing is in these cases to be ready for anything, and surprised at nothing.” And at that very moment a surprise was within touching distance of us. We had walked down Edgware Road as far as Churqh Street; thereabouts the traffic in road and sidewalk was' thick, for the road itself is a main artery, and business people were hurrying along the pavements toward the tube stations. Suddenly. Sheila stopped dead and clutched my arm; turning sharply on her I saw that she was staring as if fascinated at the open door of a tobacconist’s shop, a few yards ahead of us. “Mervyn!” she whispered. “Parslave! Gone in—there!” I, too, stared —incredulous. “Parslave!” I exclaimed. “The man missing from Marrasdale? Impossible!” “I tell you Parsalve has just gone into that shop—the tobacco shop! Parslave! Do you think I don’t know Parslave? As well as I know my own mother! Parslave is in that shop! Come back!” We drew back a little, against the window of another shop; there were so many people hurrying by, one way or the other, that we bad a reasonable chance of seeing without being seen. “You’re certain?” I said. “Dead certain! Parslave is in there! Listen!—did he ever see you at the Woodcock?” “Not that I know of. He may have done. I don’t remember him, of course. What's he like?” “Tallish, thin, wiry man—rather gipsyish in appearance—dark. He’s in a blue serge suit—new. I was sharpeyed enough to notice that. Watch for him—let me stand in this shop door.” “He’ll know you?” “Of course! If he comes this way I’ll slip into this shop and buy something—anything. If he goes the other —follow. Good heavens! —what is he doing here!—in London?” It was a dnapery establishment by which we were standing, with a deep

doorway—Sheila slipped within its shelter, and affected an interest in the goods displayed behind the plate glass; I. half-hidden, kept an eye on the tobacconist’s door. And presently out came such a man as she had described, a tall, wiry fellow in a ready-made suit of blue serge, obviously a countryman, bronzed in cheek and neck; he carried a packet of tobacco in one hand and was already opening it with the other; absorbed in this, he looked neither to right ,nor left, but turned along the pavement away from us. “Look again!” I 'said. “He’s out — going in the other direction.” Sheila came out of the doorway and glanced down the street. “That’s Parslave!” she said. “But I knew it was. What next?” “We must follow him,” I answered. “No matter where he goes, I’m going to track him. Look here!—l’ll keep a little way behind him; you keep a little way behind me. Whatever you do, keep me in sight. Now then — careful!” So we began our chase of this man who had disappeared from Birnside on the night of Mazaroff’s murder, and for whom the police had already instituted a hue-and-cry. They were wanting him bjidly at Marrasdale — and here he was, quietly buying tobacco in a busy London street! Parslave went slowly away in front, and just as slowly Sheila sauntered after my in the rear. I took stock of my man as I shadowed him at ten or twelve yards distance. He was a muscular, sinewy fellow, well set up, springy of step; his slop suit did not obscure the general athletic bearing of his figure. Yet it was easy to see he was the countryman in town; he showed hesitation in crossing streets: now and then he cannoned into hurrying passers-by. But he was cool enough, and enough; as he walked along he transferred the contents of his packet of tobacco to an old skin-covered pouch; he filled anch lighted his pipe, making a shield against the light wind with both hands, after the countryman’s fashion; pipe in lips, and in full blast, he thrust his hands in his trousers pockets and trudged forward again, looking to neither right nor left —another trick of habit common to countrymen. Certainly, he was an easy man to follow, and it needed little watchfulness on my part to see that he had not the ghost of an idea that he was being followed. By this time we had crossed the end of the Harrow Road, where it debouches into the Edgware Road, and here the crowds on the sidewalk grew thicker than ever. Parslave went straight on, keeping well to the front of the shops, and new r once looking round; the smoke of his pipe trailed steadily over his shoulder. But he turned at last—to his right sharply, into Praed Street. Fifty yards along that, after a moment of hesitation at the traffic, he crossed the roadway, and a little further along the other side, turned again, down one of the mean streets which lie between Praed Street and Oxford and Cambridge Terrace. It was quieter down there, only a few slatternly women and crawling children were about the side-walk, and I hesitated as to following him, for h£ had only to turn in that street to spot me at once. But he did not turn, and sauntering after him," at a considerable distance, I saw him enter the side door of a house —a rather bigger, more pretentious house than those Don’t be satisfied with an ordinary polish. “Radium” Polishes for Boots, Floors and Metals are QUALITY polishes. 22.

that flanked it. Then he disappeared. And realising then that if I wanted to know something I must act quickly, I hastened my steps, walked swiftly past the house he had entered, and on the side-door, on a dirty, uncleaned brass-plate read, to my utter amazement: Dr. Eccleshare. _ Surgery Hours, 9.30 to 11 a.m. 7 to 8.30 p.m. I turned on my heel as I read that, and hurried back to the top of the street, where Sheila was already hanging about. She saw the excitement in my face, no doubt, and she joined me quickly. “Got him?” she asked. I touched her arm with one hand, pointing with the other to the house at the further end of the street. “You see that house down there? — the one that stands out from the rest?” “I see it!” “That’s Eccleshare’s! Ecclesbare’s, do you understand? Dr. Eccleshare. Surgery hours 9.30 to 11 in the morning, and 7 to 8.30 in the evening. Eccleshare’s good Lord! And —- Parslave’s in there!” “She stood staring, at me for a moment, open-mouthed—a queer little pucker formed itself between her eyebrows. “Eccleshare’s? Then— And—Parslave went in there?” “Parslave went in ■ there. He’s in there!” Then silence fell upon us. We WITH CRACKERS Something out of the ordinary is “ANCHOKHEEM” on crackers. Very appetising indeed for morning tea or supper. "ANCHOKREEM" is far more tasty and delicious than ordinary pastes. Just try it. Guaranteed pure and free from preservations. All Stores. —3

stood, mutually questioning each other. It seemed a long time before either spoke. But Sheila spoke first. “Eccleshare’s house! —and Parslave in it? Then here’s some devilry at work. Mervyn!—what’s to be done? Of course, I see how things are. Eccleshare sent Parslave here—to hide!” But I had been thinking during that moment of silence—thinking fast. “There’s only one thing to be done,” I said. “Look hefe--you do just what I tell you. Get a taxi-cab at the corner of Praed Street there. Go straight to Maythorne’s—lo3b Conduit Street —got that? —-and tell him exactly what’s happened. Get him to come back here with you, and to bring his clerk, Cottingley. Meanwhile, I’ll keep an eye on Parslave and that house. Now, hurry!” She went off on the instant, without as much as a word, and I turned to watch the house fifty yards away. And I had not watched long before Parslave came out again, and came my way, too. I shifted my position, going across the roadway in Praed Street, and affecting an interest in a second-hand book shop. But I watched Parslave all the same, out of the tail of my left eye. He came up the street, still smoking his black pipe—he was now carrying a rush basket, such as servants use when they go shopping. And Parslave was going shopping. I sauntered after him (on the opposite side) along Praed Street. He went to a greengrocer’s shop; he bought potatoes and a couple of fine cauliflowers. And that little domestic mission fulfilled, he went leisurely back to Dr. Eccleshare’s. I pictured him and some housekeeper woman in there —Parslave would doubtless be peeling the potatoes, like any tame Whenever a cold threatens you, get “XAZOL," the commonsense remedy. 60 doses for Is 6d. —13.

family man, and exchanging pleasant talk with the female presiding genius —and yonder in the Northumbrian wilds, three hundred miles away, the police were wanting him ... on suspicion of murder! X was laughing softly over this when a hand was laid on my arm—so quietly, but so firmly that the very uncanniness of the touch made me jump. I looked sharply round —to see Maythorne’s queer clerk, Cottingley. His eyes were brighter, his lips were grimmer, his entire appearance more ferrety than ever. He jerked a thumb over his left shoulder, silently, and following the gesture I saw, a few yards away, Sheila, Maythorne, and a strange man. I looked at the strange man first, wondering who on earth he was. Then I had a sort of dawning comprehension—he was somebody or other got up for the part of the confirmed loafer, the type that just hangs about and hangs about —and is still found hanging about, doing nothing. “Guv’nor!” said Cottingley, as if introducing Maythorne. “Here!” I went up to Maythorne and Sheila. Cottingley at my heels. The loafer person made a slinking movement to the rear, and began to study the contents of a shop window. His whole attitude was that of a man who awaits orders with philosophic indifference. Maythorne gave me a glance that meant more things than I could realise. (To be continued.)