The Mystery of the Moor

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 451, 5 September 1928, Page 5

The Mystery of the Moor

- By

J. S. Fletcher

CHAPTER XXIX. —THE BOAT TRAIN.

"Bit difficult to leave her out, isn’t it?” lie retorted, smiling. “After what we’ve just heard. I don’t disbelieve her taie—not I!—though I'm more than a bit surprised that a young woman like her—clever girl—should let herself be trapped in that fashion. Trapped she was, no doubt. But I don’t believe her mother was trapped.” “What?” I exclaimed. “Why, you’ve just heard ”

“I’ve just heard what we’ve all just beard,” he interrupted. “My opinion is that it was all a put-up job between Mrs. Elphinstone and this woman Murdoch, and that Miss Merchison’s been taken in by both. I think that Mrs. Elphinstone went willingly to that bouse and stood the detention there she wanted for nothing. You heard! -so that her daughter, who was beginning to know too much and to get dangerous, should be kept safe and Quiet while the Murdoch woman got hght away! And I’ll lay all I’m worth |° a penny piece that Murdoch knocked that chap Bownas on the head in that back alley, and that by she’s— somewhere!" ‘You don't think that Mrs. Elphinstone knew anything about Bownas?” 1 said. “Good Lord! according to you—”

According to me, sir, Murdoch nnn*dered Mazaroff, and Mrs. Elphinstone's well aware of it,” he said, determinedly “There’s what the law- • - e rs call prima facie evidence of that, anyhow, and Manners here agrees "ith me! And we’re not going out hotel until that doctor comes ach, and then we’re going to see if * rs. Elphinstone isn’t lit to be questioned. And if she isn’t —just yet T'tnen we’re going to stay on the prel®es till she is. So there!” Before I could- say anything the ° uter door opened and Maythorne " kalf his face inside the room. Holt!” he said. I Went to him; he drew me into the ° r ndor and closed the door. "Message from Cottingley,” lie said a a Whisper. “He's been carrying on nffi ° se investigation of steamship ®ces this last 48 hours, working like “ “ lg P r - And at last he’s hit on cln i n ®' This afternoon a woman 1 se iy answering to the description b * ave him of Alison Murdoch, i * wo Passages for New ZeaCn New Zealand Shipping A® Pany’s offices in Cockspur Street, Kv 6ir ship the Rimertaka, which ' Ves Southampton early to-morrow nor m The boat train is tlle ten tinli to- night from Waterloo. Cot(nifif ys down there—he’s got a tlio v detectives with him from lard: to save time he went there

| and told what he’d discovered. We’ll l get down there at once. The immediate question is—shall we tell those fellows inside? What do you think?” declared that he won’t leave this hotel till he’s questioned Mrs. Elphinstone,” I replied. “He’s going to wait for the doctor’s return.”

“Then come on!” he said. “it’s now about nine-twenty—we shall be at Waterloo in plenty of time. Gad! X shouldn’t wonder if Cottingley’s struck the trail at last. I told you what a sharp chap he is.” We ran down to the entrance hall; outside there were two or three taxicabs standing about; Maythorne made for the first.

“We’d better pull up a little short of Waterloo,” he remarked as we got in. “Stop in York Road, by the hotel there,” he added to the driver. “You see. Holt,” he went on as we moved off southward, ‘‘if this woman is Murdoch, she’ll know you, from having seen you at the Woodcock; she may know me, though I don’t remember her. So we must move warily; if she’s attempting a total clear-out, the least thing will put her off. But —she booked two passages, this woman of whom Cottingley s heard! Now, for whom can the other be?” “Can she have had an accomplice? —if this woman really is Murdoch?” 1 suggested. “She had accomplices here in London in that Harrow Road affair, no doubt,” he answered. “May be the brother she spoke of to Mrs. Elphinstone and Miss Merchison. But as to an accomplice . in the Mazaroff business —now! If she had He paused there and remained silent so long that at last I asked him what he was thinking about. “I was thinking this,” he answered slowly. “This!—that if this woman Murdoch really murdered Mazaroff and had an accomplice, and if Murdoch is the woman who booked two passages for New Zealand this afternoon, and if—it’s all if, you see!— if the second passage is for the accomDlice why, then, we’re probably going to have a very astounding surprise and revelation! But as I say, it’s all ifs.” We got out of the cab at the corner of York Road and walked quickly toward the big station. Before we were half-way up the incline we met Cottingley. He was lounging along with hfs hands in his trousers pockets and a cigarette hanging loosely from The corner of his queer mouth, and

he looked as phlegmatic and unconcerned as ever.

“Thought you’d come this way,” he said as we paused. “You’re in good time —twenty-five minutes yet. X should say she —they, J mean—’ll not turn up till the last thing. And all’s ready. The only thing is, if this woman is the woman we think— Murdoch—who can recognise her, positively?” “Mr. Holt can,” answered Maythorne. Cottingley regarded me with specu'lative eyes—l fear I was not of any great account in his opinion. “Knows her?” he asked. “I know her!” I answered. Without another word he turned on his heel toward the front of the station. “What’ll be done is this,” he said, walking between us. “The Southampton train leaves number four platform at 10 o’clock precisely. I’ve got two thoroughly dependable men from the Yard-—had to go there and tell ’em everything, of course, if I meant to do any good —and they and I’ll be on the platform. She’ll not know us. Now then, is there any fear of her knowing either of you?” “The strong presumption,” replied Maythorne, “is that she’ll know us both.” “Very well,” said Cottingley. “Then, *h is is what to do. I’ve already, with the detectives, given the tip to the railway authorities —-that there may he an important arrest, d’ye see? Now, I’m going to post you two just within the barrier, where you can’t be seen. You’ll keep there till the passengers begin coming through for the train. I shall he close by—the detectives’ll be a yard or two further on, in touch with me; there’ll also be two or three railwaypolice about, in case there’s any bother. Now, if Mr. Holt there recognises this Murdoch woman, he’ll signal to me by lifting his hat the instant she passes him—and you can leave the rest. The only other thing is that if we make the arrest, I’ve arranged with the station people that the detectives are to hurry her off to a little office on the platform—you follow.” “All clear!” said Maythorne. “We’ve got you, Cottingley.” Cottingley threw away his cigarette. “Come on, then,” he commanded, with a glance at the great clock. “They’ll be opening the barriers in a minute. After me.” We passed into the big, brilliantly' lighted station. Even at that hour of the evening it was crowded. Cottingley moved swiftly ahead of us through the groups, passed us through a barrier with a whispered word to the man in charge, and suddenly twisting to his left, ushered us behind a high wooden partition, a few y'ards away from the gate whereat tickets were punched. There was a dark, cavernous recess there; he signed to I us to step in.

“Remember!” he said. “If it’s the woman we want, up with your hat! But—be sure!”

He swung on his heel, moved off into the light of the big lamps above the platform, and, pulling out his cigarette case, began to smoke, loafing idly about. A few yards away two solidly'-built men, who, from their outward appearance might have been highly-respectable citizens going home late to their suburban residences after a day’s business in the City, stood; loafing, too. But as they chatted together, I saw that their eyes were not long away from Cottingley', nor from the barrier, nor from the gloomy recess in which Maythorne and I waited. That waiting was about as big a trial of my nerves as I had gone through since I heard the last shots fired in Flanders. Folk came stream-

ing in upon the platform; porters went by with piles of luggage; there were all the the scenes and sounds, hurryings and bustlings, incidental to the departure of a big express hound for a great shipping centre. But what we waited for—l with straining eyes and throbbing nerves—was long in coming. Across the broad expanse of station, above some far-distant platform, hung a clock. I could not avoid an occasional glance at it. Never, surely, had the hands of a clock moved more slowly! Twenty minutes to ten. Fifteen minutes to ten. Ten minutes to ten. Five—four—three . . . “Holt,” whispered Maythorne. “Sharp now! Is this she?”

A woman was just coming through the harrier, a tall, slim woman, of erect, easy carriage. By her side

was another woman, slighter in height, of fuller figure, and heavily veiled. I could not see her face, but the face of the taller woman was that which I had seen two or three times in the big kitchen at the Woodcock. A second later she and her companion, each carrying a substantial-sized valise had passed the ticket-puncher and come full into the light. I had no doubt then, and my hand went up to the brim of my hat as if a machine had moved it. “Come on,” said Maythorne. “Now for it! But —who’s the other?” The two women were being hurried into a third-class compartment by an already impatient guard as the two detectives, some railway policemen, Cottingley, Maythorne, and I closed round them. One of the detectives laid a hand on the taller woman’s arm. . . It was the first time in my life I had ever seen an arrest, and I was amazed at the quickness, the dexterity, the absence of fuss, in it. We had the two women into the little office close by, and the door locked, and the blinds drawn, before I had realised what was happening. As the key turned in the door I heard the whistle of the guard and the shriek of the engine as the 10 o’clock sped out to time. And then I turned ... to answer a question. “That’s Alison Murdoch —yes!” I said. “Yes—without doubt.” The senior detective turned on the other woman. She was leaning against a table. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. Her whole frame trembled.

“ Take off that veil!” snapped the detective. “Come on, now!” We stood staring intently as the woman lifted a hand and divested herself of the thick veiling that had completely obscured her features. It fell aside, and it was from Maythorne, usually so cool and collected, that the first excited exclamation broke. “Good God! Mrs. Musgrave!” Mrs. Musgrave burst into tears and turned on Alison Murdoch, who stood close by, grim and defiant. “You said it would be all right!” she wailed reproachfully. “You swore to me that we were safe, this way! You said and said again that there wasn’t the least chance of ’em catching us—” “Hold your tongue, you fool! snapped Alison Murdoch. I stood by, sick, wondering, while Cottingley, under the detectives’

supervision, unlocked the women's! valises and turned out their contents. There was money there in a surpris-' ing quantity —banknotes that had been Marazoff's, of course—and there were diamonds, and Mazaroff’s per- j sonal properties. And in Alison Murdoch's valise there was a gold hunter watch, within which was an inscription to the effect that it was a present to James Bownas from his colleagues. “There's always something that these people forget,” remarked Maythorne, when, a quarter of an hour later, he and I were driving back to Short's Hotel. Or, rather, always

some absolutely idiotic mistake they make. If Alison Murdoch hadn t thrown that will into the Elphinstone’s library, it would have been hard to get at the real truth about Mazaroff, and if she hadn’t been so covetous and grasping that she couldn’t refrain from carrying off that poor chap Bownas’s presentation watch, we should probably never have convicted her of murdering him. However, there they both are! But . . . Mrs. Musgrave!” “Which of them shot Mazaroff. l “Ah he replied, knowingly. “That’s a stiff ’un, Holt! But, Mrs. Mus-

I grave knows, and Mrs. Mußgrave will I tell! She’ll not face it out like the | other. We hurried upstairs as soon as we reached Short’s Hotel, to find Corkei- ! dale and Manners talking to the doci tor and Sheila in an alcove that opened off the corridor. Corkerdale was evidently still indiscreet. The 1 doctor looked somewhat annoyed, and ' Sheila was obviously angry. “You must see, doctor, that It's a question of duty,” Corkerdale wa.' saying as we came upon them. “I want some explanation from Mrs. Elphinstone—” “There’s no need now, Corkerdale." interrupted Maythorne, laying his hand on the detective’s shoulder. “It’s all over! We’ve got 'em: They’re safe under lock and key.” Sheila uttered a sharp cry of surprise, and Corkerdale turned quickly on Maythorne. “Got ’em?” he exclaimed. “Who’s ; got ’em?” “Well, if you want to know, my j clerk, Cottingley—smartest man in ! Europe at your game!—he got ’em. j With the help of some of your own j people, to be sure. But the kudos is i Cottingley’s,” replied Maythorne. “Top-hole capture!” j “And who’s he captured?' deI manded Corkerdale, almost incredul- [ ously. j “Who?’ Maythorne glanced at Sheila. ( “Well,” he replied, “there’s no I secret about it now. Two women, Alison Murdoch and Mrs. Musgrave, and there’s no doubt about it, either —they | had property belonging to Bownas on them —actually on them!” Corkerdale turned to Manners, who, at the mention of Mrs. Milsgrave’s name, had opened his mouth and his eyes to their widest extent. “Oh, well.” said Corkerdale. “In i that case, of course, I think we needn’t wait to see Mrs. Elphinstone!” It was some days before I, myself, saw Mrs; Elphinstone. At last I was admitted to see her. We exchanged a few conventional remarks about her • state of health. Then she sat for •some time in silence, steadily staring at me—staring so steadily that I be i gan to feel desperately uncomfortable. Suddenly she spoke. “I suppose,” she said, “I suppose that you and Sheila will become enj gaged—eventually?” j I thought, then, that I had better speak. “The fact is, ma’am,’’ I replied, , “the fact—er—is—that Sheila and 1 are engaged arready!” [THE END.] ■