The Mystery of the Moor

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 443, 27 August 1928, Page 5

The Mystery of the Moor

* By

J. S. Fletcher

CHAPTER XX (Continued) “They’d have to escape through drain-pipes or rat-holes to get away from my men,” answered Maythorne. “They’re safe enough!—were when I left my office, anyway. Oh, yes, we’ll go round to Eccleshare’s when we’ve finished in the City. But Armintrade first —we must know where we are as regards that business.” We entered Courthope’s bank together and sent in our cards to Armintrade. Without delay we were ushered into a waiting-room, and then left, to nurse our impatience, for a good ten minutes. Then a door suddenly opened, and Armintrade himself appeared on the threshold of what was evidently the private parlour of the management. I have already said he was a slyfaced, bearded man, of a supercilious manner—he looked slyer, more supercilious than ever as he stood there in his fine City clothes, inspecting us. But his eyes smiled —a bit sardonically, I thought—and his manner was outwardly courteous. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” he said. ‘‘Come in, if you please.” We went into the room. Armintrade seated himself at his desk and motioned us to chairs around him. He took small notice of Maythorne and myself; his attention gave itself to the solicitor. “Well, Mr. Crole?” he began. ‘‘What can I do for you?” “You can give us some muchneeded information, Mr. Armintrade,’ replied Crole, promptly. “You are aware, of course, that, having acted as the late Mr. Mazaroff’s solicitors here in London, I have employed Mr. Maythorne to inquire into the mystery of his murder. Now, we have ascertained from Mr. Herman Kloop, of Capetown, a close, personal friend of Mazaroff’s, now in London, that Mazaroff possessed two extremely valuable diamonds, one of which was in his Possession when he went North, to Marrasdale, and the other of which had been in your keeping, as Mazaroff’s agent, for some months. Kloop tells us, too, has just told us, in fact, that you have sold these two diamonds to a syndicate for two hundred thousand pounds. Is that correct?” Armintrade. whose smile, sardonic and inscrutable, had never left his nodded. “Quite correct!” he answered. “You have the details to the fun.” Crole gave him an understanding look. “Do you mind telling us all about Jt?” he asked. “I gather tjie whole thing is plain enough—when explained.” “Plain as a pikestaff,” replied Armintrade. with a laugh. “I have a cted as agent or intermediary, or Whatever you like to call it, for Alazar °ff for some time —I knew him. by correspondence, through my association with my former bank. Well, now. as regards these blue diamonds —great parities. As you say, I have had the fir st in my hands for some time. The second he handed to me personally j

at Marrasdale the day after he arrived at the Woodcock.” “Ah! —you met him there?” “Certainly I met him there!” “By appointment?” “To be sure—by appointment.” “Precisely where?” “At Birnside Cross-Roads, at noon. We were together only ten minutes or so.” “Well? And what happened?” “We discussed the sale of the diamonds, and came to an arrangement.” “May I ask what it was?” “Certainly! He gave me an option on them.” “Ah! I see! An option? Just so. You were to have them at a price?” “Of course. But I’ll show you the terms, in Mazaroff’s handwriting. He had brought me this, already written and signed—there you are!” From a drawer in the desk before him he produced a sheet of letter-paper and handed it to Crole. who took and read it attentively. “I see!” he said, handing it back. “He gave you the option for one month of buying the diamonds for a hundred and seventyfive thousand pounds. And—-you have taken it up?” “I have taken it up, and I have sold the two diamonds, as you said, to a syndicate, for two hundred thousand. That’s all!” Crole nodded. Then he leaned forward a little, looking Armintrade steadily in the face. “Just so! Then —what about the option money? One hundred and! seventy-five thousand pounds? Which, j of course, should and would have been paid to Mazaroff.” “Exactly! The money is at the disposal of the late Salim Mazaroff’s rightful heir or heirs, beneficiaries, residuary legatees, or who ever has a proper and legal right to it.” Crole pointed to me. “Mr. Holt there is Mazaroff’s residuary legatee.” he said. “He comes in for—everything!” Armintrade laughed, and gave me a shy smile. “Lucky for Mr. Holt!” he remarked. “But —are you sure of that. What about these queer facts relative to the identity of Salim Mazaroff with Andrew Merchison, and Mrs. Elphin-stone-being in reality Mrs. Merchison —and so on? Besides, I understand that the will made at York is lost?” “The will is here!” said Crole, holding up his envelope. “You can see it and read it.” Armintrade’s face underwent a change as he took and read the will. He gave a long, careful look at the signature; another at Crole as he handed back the paper. “What,” he asked, “what do you, a If fish wore boots and spectacles. And horses played in bands; If cows caught mice and cats did sums. And elephants had hands. Thus, thus I babbled with the ’flu. What nonsense to be sure! No.w I’m quite well; and many thanks To Woods' Great Peppermint Cure! 64

solicitor, say about that will?” be asked quietly. “That nothing whatever can upset it,” answered Crole, promptly. “It won’t be contested, either. Everything that Mazaroff died possessed of belongs to Mr. Mervyn Holt. So —” “So I owe Mr. Holt one hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds,” said Armintrade with a laugh. *. “Very good!—shall I send the cheque and the papers along to you, Mr. Crole? Just so —it shall be done at once. Glad you’ve found the will.” We all rose. For the first time Maythorne spoke addressing Armintrade. “You didn’t think it necessary to give evidence at the inquest?” he suggested. “What evidence had I to give?” asked Armintrade. “My affairs with Mazaroff had nothing to do with his murder.” “Have you any theory, yourself, about his murder?” continued Maythorne. “I have had two. One was that he may have been followed from London by somebody who knew that he had the second blue diamond on him—he was a very careless, thoughtless man! —the other that it was just a common, vulgar murder for the sake of robbery by one or other of those men whom he had been treating at tlie Woodcock. For instance, where is that man who disappeared—Parslave? So far, I believe, the police have failed to track him. Possibly he murdered Marazoff, robbed the body, and cleared

out. Anyhow—lie’s vanished.” Alaythorne nodded silently, and without more words we took our departure. CHAPTER XXI.—FRESH LINKS We took our departure, silently and unceremoniously, as if we had been very ordinary customers, doing very ordinary business. But outside, in Mincing Lane, Maythorne halted, and looked questioningly at Crole. “Satisfied?” he asked. “A? far as that goes—yes,” replied Crole. “There’s no doubt about the option—that’s clear enough. No getting past Alazaroff’s own handwriting and own terms! I suspected something of the sort. I couldn’t believe that Armintrade would sell those diamonds unless he’d a legal right to do so. All that remains now is to receive his cheque for the amount of the option. Y'ou’U see I shall get it as he promised—at once. And that settles that part of the case.” “Very well—if you’re satisfied,” said Maythorne. He moved forward a few yards and again stopped. “I wish we knew a bit more about Mazaroff’s movements on the day following his arrival at the Woodcock,” he muttered. “It’s all vague, shadc%y, uncertain, and yet bits keep coming out You didn’t know much of hrs doings that day, did you, Holt?” “Next to nothing—in fact, nothing,” I answered. “He told me after breakfact that he wanted to have the day to himself. He set out soon afterwards, carrying a stout walking-stick, and wearing a pair of blue spectacles. I think he put those on as a sort of dis-

guise, for I never saw him wear eyeglasses of any kind at any other time, and I know his eyesight was unusually good. He was out all day. I never saw him at all until evening. I don’t know where he went, nor whom he saw.” “Of course, he knew the country—intimately,” remarked Maythorne. “We don’t know where he may not have gone, nor whom he mayn’t have seen nor (a most important thing!) what appointments he mayn’t have made for the next day or evening.” “The next day he was with me,” I said. “That Is, for practically the whole of the day. We were motoring round about—rexamining churches, ruins, and that sort of thing. It was not until evening, after half-past seven, that he disappeared.” “Went to meet somebody, without doubt,” muttered Alaythorne. “And met his death! Well, the next job is Eccleshare and Parslave. If we can’t get some light through those two . . He paused, looking round for a taxicab. As he signalled to one a little distance away, Crole spoke, shakihg his head.

“My impression is that Eccleshare will have as straight a tale to tell us as we’ve just heard from Armintrade,” he exclaimed. “We’re off the track, Maythorne! Or, rather, we’ve never been on it. I’ve got an intuition that neither Armintrade, nor Eccleshare, nor Parslave know anything about nor have anything whatever to do with Mazaroff’s murder. We haven’t got deep enough! We’ll have to dig down a good many feet yet.” “All the same, we’re going to have things out with Eccleshare and Parslave,” answered Maythorne. “We may get a hint a bit of a clue; anything. Perhaps,” he added, as we settled ourselves. in the cab, “perhaps I’ve got a pretty good 'idea of how things are, myself, Crole—but I want all the contributory information I can get. And I want to know why Parslave has been safely hidden in Dr. Eccleshare’s house in London ever since, this affair happened. Conduit Street!” he called out, as the driver closed the door on us. “I just vant to call In there for a few minutes before we go on to Eccleshare’s.” At Maythorne’s bidding we got out at the corner of Conduit Street and walked along to his office. Outside his door stood a fine, obviously brandnew Rolls-Royce car, in charge of a chauffeur whose livery was just a little too grand Crole smiled at the sight of it. “One of your aristocratic clients, eh. Maythorne?” he observed, chaffingly. “A duke or a duchess at least —what?” “On the contrary, If you want to know,” answered Maythorne, who had given car and chauffeur a sharp glance, “that’s Sir Samuel Leeke’s car—or one of ’em —and his livery. And I’ve a pretty good idea as to whom we shall find upstairs.” “Who?” asked Crole. "Lady Leeke?” “No —but his nephew, Mallison,” retorted Maythorne. “A thousand to one on It! I’ve been expecting him thees last twenty-four hours. Come in!” We went upstairs to Maythorne’s palatial rooms. One of the girl clerks came forward as we entered the outer office. “Mr. Mallison —waiting to see you, sir,” she said. We went forward to Maythorne’s

private room. There, dressed in the very height of fashion, his silk hat tilted to the back of his head, his hands in the pockets of his beautifully creased trousers, stood, examining a picture, the young man whom I had seen Mazaroff talking to at Huntington. and at York. He turned sharply as we walked in, and a flicker of his quick eyes showed that he recognised me. But he instantly picked out Maythorne. “Oh—er—Mr. Maythorne?” he said. “I —er —just dropped in to see you, don’t you know —this Mazaroff affair. My uncle, Sir Samuel Leeke, you know ” “I know!” broke in Maythorne, cheerily. “Very good of you, Mr. Mallinson, I am sure. Take a chair, Mr. Crole —Mr. Holt.” Mallison dropped into a chair and grinned at me. “Seen you before,” he said. “Saw you at Huntington—with Mazaroff.” “And —later —at York,” said I. “Just so-—at York, too,” he assented. “Queer business, ain’t it?” “What do you know about it, Mr. Mallison?” asked Maythorne. He took a box of cigarettes from his desk and passed it round. “We’re anxious to get any information we can. And if you can tell us anything ”