Chapter XX: A Man's Confession 253 (3)

So had suggested Oakes. He had known about Hallen, as he knew the history of all police officers, and had thus given hope to the man who had been used to better things. Instantly Hallen had seen that to antagonize Oakes would be foolish; to aid him, and perhaps obtain his advice and friendship, would ultimately redound to his own future credit and, possibly, advancement. For Oakes's work had brought him in contact with police heads in all the large cities. His boldness and genius for ferreting out mysteries were known to them all, and they had paid him the compliment of studying his methods carefully.

Hallen had agreed to have Oakes's testimony at the inquest taken at just the proper moment for effect, and had agreed to call Dr. Moore as an expert.

Of course, the coroner did what the Chief asked.

As Oakes had said: "If you want expert evidence, get it from Moore; if you don't ask him, you won't get it in Mona."

The idea of Oakes bringing in his testimony as he did was part of the plan to watch the audience. The planning of the Chief and himself had accounted for the somewhat informal presentation of the evidence that I had noticed. In rural courts, affairs are not conducted as they are in the city, and I had observed a quick swing to affairs, hardly accounted for on the ground of practice. I recognized the hand of Quintus Oakes, and knew that the scene had been carefully manoeuvred.

Hallen sat in his office on the evening of the day after the inquest, reviewing the happenings that had crowded so fast in Mona, and thinking, not without misgivings, of the wave of suspicion that was rising to interfere with the affairs of the town.

At this moment the editor of the "Mona Mirror" entered--a whole-souled, fat individual, breezy and decidedly agreeable. He was one of the natives, a man of growing popularity and decided education. Dowd was his name, and he hated _that fellow Skinner_, who edited the rival newspaper, the "Daily News."

Skinner had "bossed" things in a free-handed fashion until Dowd (a clerk in the post-office until middle life) had decided to enter the field of journalism--less than two years before. Dowd was inexperienced, but he was bright, and he wielded a pen that cut like a two-edged sword; and the love that was lost between the two editors was not worth mentioning.

As Dowd entered and found Hallen alone, he took off his hat and overcoat, and laughed sarcastically. He really liked Hallen, and was on intimate terms with him. Hallen looked up. "Well, what's ailing you now?" he said.

"Oh, nothing. Only this town is going loony, sure as fate, Hallen. What are you going to do?"

Hallen chewed the end of a cigar viciously. "I am going to do the best I can to solve the mystery; if I cannot do that, I can at least keep order here. Give me a few 'specials' and the necessity, and I will make these half-crazy people do a turn or two."

The burly chief turned the conversation into other channels, but Dowd was satisfied. He knew the speaker well.

_CHAPTER X_

_The Cellar_

Meantime our first experience at the Mansion, previously recorded, bade fair to be a serious one. When Oakes had collapsed on his return from the cellar Dr. Moore fortunately was sufficiently recovered to reach his side in a few seconds.

"Elevate his feet, Stone. He'll be all right in a few minutes; he has fainted."

I did as directed, and Moore threw the half of a pitcher of water on the unconscious man's neck and face. Gravity sent the blood back to his head, and when the water touched him, he gasped and presently opened his eyes. Then we carried him to the bed.

In an instant he attempted to rise, but the Doctor refused to allow it, giving him instead an enviable drink from his flask. "Keep your guns by you," said Oakes, "and give me mine."

The tension had told on me, and Moore was now by far the best man. He smiled and ordered me to take a drink also, and to sit down. I obeyed, for I felt, after the excitement, as limp as a boy after his first cigar.

Dr. Moore was examining Oakes's head. "Fine scalp wound," said he, and proceeded to sew it up and dress it. His pocket case came in handy. He had been wise to bring it. "Hurt anywhere else, old fellow?" asked he.

"No; sore as the devil all over, that's all," and Oakes arose, took off his coat, and began to bathe his face. "Keep an eye on that door," said he.

I was myself now, and took my chair to the hall door, sitting where I could command the head of the stairs and could also hear anyone who might approach from below.

"What happened?" asked Moore.

"Well, nothing very much," said Oakes; "only I guess I got a mighty good licking."

"You look it," said I. "Did you shoot for help?"

"Yes, I did. I could not _shout_. The shots saved my life."

"How? Did you kill anyone?"

"Don't know, only the other party kindly quit killing me when I began to shoot. I heard something drop, however, and there may be a dead body somewhere."

The shots had aroused the household, and we heard shouting and cries from the Cooks and from Annie. Soon they appeared, hunting for us, all distraught and frightened. They said they were in the kitchen when they heard the shots, and did not know whence they came. This was probable, as the cellar was away from their section. Annie cried when she saw Oakes, and ran out to bring in more help. One of the gardeners returned with her, and as he came into the room I received the impression of a silent, stern-looking man, past forty and rather strong in appearance, although not large. He had seen better days.

"Ah!" said he; "ye have run up aginst it agin, sorr. It's nerve ye have, to go nigh that room after what ye got last time." Oakes looked at me and at Moore, and we saw he wished us to keep silent.

"Yes! I shan't try it again in a hurry. What's your name?" he asked.

The question came quick as a flash. I knew he was trying to disconcert the fellow.

"My name is Mike O'Brien, sorr, gardener; you remimber, 'twas me that helped you last time, sorr."

"You mean you stood by and let the others help me, Mike."

We knew now that this was the indifferent gardener of whom Oakes had spoken.

"Thrue for ye, sorr; 'twas little enough I did, and that's a fact; I'm not used to being scared to death like ye be, sorr." Was that an unintentional shot, or was it a "feeler"?

Oakes had a sharp customer before him, and he knew it.

"Where were you when you heard the shots, Mike?"

"In the woods at the front of the house. I was raking up the leaves, be the same token."

"What did you see?" Oakes spoke in a commanding voice and fingered the breech of his revolver in a suggestive way.

"I seen a shadow come out av the cellar door."

"What door?"

"The _only_ cellar door; near the side av the house, sorr."

"What sort of a shadow?"

"'Twas the shadow av a man, and a big one. The sun cast it on the side av the house, sorr."

Oakes thought a moment, then arose and said: "Step here, Mike, and point out the side of the house you mean."

Mike hesitated. The other servants withdrew at Oakes's suggestion that he wished to talk with the gardener. The latter advanced. We felt that Oakes was trying to spring a trap.

"The side of the house where the cellar door is," reiterated Mike.

"Nonsense, O'Brien. Your story is impossible. The sun was then in the east and the shadow would have been thrown on the east wall. There is no door on that side; it is on the west side of the house."

O'Brien looked at Oakes defiantly.

"Yer intirely wrong, sorr. _There is_ the cellar door to the east." He pointed to a hatch, opening about forty feet from the house, near the well. "The door _ye_ saw on the west is niver opened--'tis nailed up."

The tables were turned. Oakes was disconcerted.

"If what you say is true, you have my apology. I have not investigated closely."

"So I thought, sorr," was the answer. And we all wondered at the amazing coolness and self-possession of the man. It was one against three, and he had held his own.

"Sit down, Mike," said Oakes. "How long have you been here?"

"Only a matter av six weeks. I came from New York and tried for a job. Maloney, the head man, giv me wan."

"Where is Maloney?"

"He was in the tool-house whin I come by, sorr. He didn't hear the commotion, being sort o' deef."

"All right, Mike! Stay where you are a moment." Then Oakes turned to us.

"Just after Moore was attacked I heard a sound like a quick footstep, and having certain suspicions of my own, made a dash for the cellar. I found there was no cellar under the north wing; but toward the west, and directly beneath the dining-room, was a door. As I opened it all was dark; but my eyes soon accustomed themselves to the light, and I made out a good-sized chamber--and what I took for a man near the farther end. I remained silent, pretending I had seen nothing, and, closing the door, made a movement back up the cellar stairs. There I waited for about five minutes. The ruse worked. The door of the chamber opened, and a man, dressed in a dark cloak and a mask, partly emerged, and, I _thought_, started for the other stairs at the west end of the cellar. I jumped and grappled with him, but he struck me with the butt end of a revolver, and I was dazed; in another minute, he was punishing me severely. I fired two shots, then he threw me away from him and disappeared. He was stronger than anyone I ever met," said Oakes, apologetically, "a regular demon, and he got in the first blow. I think I wounded him, however."

"What shall we do?" said Moore.

"Go quickly and investigate," was the answer. "Here, Mike, you lead the way."

Mike did not hesitate. If playing a game, he did it well.

"Want a gun?" said Oakes.

"No, sorr, not if youse all are armed. Guess we can give him all the scrap he wants."

We descended the stairs, Oakes last, as became his condition. He touched Moore and myself, and pointed to Mike. "Watch him; he may be already armed," he whispered.

The cellar was lighted by one window at the western end. A door at the same end, which evidently led to some stairs, was padlocked, and, as Oakes said, had not been recently opened. The dust lay upon it undisturbed and the padlock was very rusty. This corroborated Mike's story. The door above that opened on the ground. It was boarded up, he said.

No means was found of passing beneath the dance hall, as Oakes had said. From the lay of the ground, we concluded that the cellar was very low there and not bottomed--a shut-in affair such as one finds in old buildings of the Colonial epoch. Across the cellar, to the other side--the south--the same thing pertained except at the western extremity under the dining-room; there a door opened into a cellar room or chamber.

"Here! take this," said Oakes, handing Mike a small pocket taper. "Light it."

Mike did as told, and stepped into the room, I after him. Oakes held the cellar door open, and I, happening to look at him, saw that he was watching Mike as a cat watches a mouse. He had dropped a match at the moment, and, with his eye still on the gardener, stooped to pick it up. His hand made a swift, double movement, he had the match and something else besides; but Mike had not observed, and I, of course, said nothing.

The room was low and without windows, but the air was remarkably clean and fresh. "Plenty of ventilation in here," said I.

"Yes, and blood too," said the gardener.

Sure enough, the floor was spattered with it.

"Mine, I guess," said Oakes. "Moore, kindly fetch a lamp from upstairs. Ask Annie for one."

Moore went, and soon brought down a small lantern. We could hear Cook's voice at the head of the stairs; also his wife's and Annie's. It was the long-expected hunt that no one had ever before made, and which might clear up the mystery at any time.

By the better light we saw evidences of the struggle that had taken place--a strip of Oakes's coat, and a piece of glazed red paper an inch or so long, and perhaps half as broad--white on one side, red on the other.

"Piece of a mask," said I; and Oakes placed it in his pocket.

Dr. Moore walked to the east side of the room, where he and I saw a door in the wall, and some plastering on the floor under it. Mike was busy examining a heap of rubbish at the other end. His conduct had been most exemplary. Moore turned the light on the door, and we three observed it for a moment. Mike had not seen it distinctly, if at all.

"Moore, come here," said the detective, retreating; and the Doctor followed with the light.

"Come on, Stone." I left the room with them.

"Curious!" he heard Mike say behind us.

"What is curious?" asked Oakes.

The smart hired man answered. "Mr. Clark, the air is good in here. Where does it come from?"

"I guess we have learned all we need this time, Mike," was the reply, and the gardener came out reluctantly.

Oakes had seen the door in the wall: it was all he wanted to know. He closed the outer entrance of the room, and called to Cook for hammer and nails. The man brought them quickly; then the leader took a board that was standing against the wall, and Mike and Cook nailed it across the door from frame to frame.

"Mr. Clark, ye will _have_ the devil now, sorr," said Mike.

Oakes took a pencil out of his pocket and wrote "Clark" on one end of the board; then with a single movement continued his hand over its edge carefully, and on to the frame, where the line terminated in a second signature--"Clark."

"Anyone removing that board has got to put it back to match that line," said Oakes, "and that with a board is practically impossible where nailing has been done. Now for the exit that opens near the well."

We went back through the cellar hall and found at the east end a door ajar. It did not lock, and was hung on rusty hinges. Beyond was a dark passage.

"Where does this lead, Mike?"

"To the opening by the well, sorr."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know, myself, but Maloney said the outside opening by the well led into the cellar; Cook says so, too. 'Tis a passage they used in wet weather, sorr."

"Mike, you and Cook go round and guard that outer door by the well. Open it. I'm going through."

"Mr. Clark, don't go in there alone!"

"I'll attend to that," said Oakes. "You go with Cook."

The two went to the well and lifted the hatch door. As they did so, Oakes held a lighted match inside one end of the tunnel. It blew strongly toward us; the air was rushing in, and we knew the passage led to the opening. We heard their voices calling to us. Dr. Moore spoke.

"Oakes, you shall _not_ go in there; you have done enough to-day; you are a wounded man." I caught up the lantern and my revolver, and Moore followed.

"Hold on!" said Oakes. "You are in the most dangerous part; don't be rash. Here, Stone, you go first--and Moore, you follow about ten feet behind, without a light, in order that you may be undetected. Take matches. I'll stay here with the taper, and watch. When you get to the other end, don't go up the steps leading to the ground until both Mike and Cook show themselves. We know nothing about them, you know. Be cautious. The man we want went out this way, whoever he is."

I threw the light ahead and advanced some ten feet. I heard Moore following. "Careful!" said he in a whisper.

Again I threw the light ahead, and beheld only the walls of the square tunnel. I could hear the breathing of Moore behind me. I knocked on the wall here and there with my revolver; it rang true and solid. We gradually advanced until we beheld the daylight and saw the men waiting at the head of the stone steps.

I ascended. Moore took the lantern and called back to Oakes, addressing him as Clark. In a moment he came.

"Stay where you are, Stone," said he to me. "Come here, Mike."

Mike descended willingly enough. I watched Cook and looked all around.

"Open that door." Oakes pointed to a little wooden opening in the side of the stairs. Mike obeyed, but instantly closed it again with a bang.

"A man!" said he.

Oakes and Moore levelled their revolvers.

"Come out," said the detective, "or take the consequences. I shall shoot."

Mike opened the door again, hiding his figure behind it for protection as it swung out. I expected to see some one shot, but Moore threw the light in, and instantly Oakes dived forward into the alcove of stone. We could hear him chuckle. Cook, at my side, was standing on one leg in his excitement. Then Dr. Moore burst into laughter.

"What is it? What's the matter?" I cried. I could not see very well, and ran half-way down. Oakes was standing beside Moore, trying to look grave. In his hand was a red paper mask and a long black robe!

O'Brien looked on, his eyes twinkling, but his face serious. "I'm thinking it's lucky, Mr. Clark, sorr, that ye saved yer ammunition," said he.

"Yes," retorted Oakes, "and it's still more fortunate you're a good actor."

O'Brien's somewhat insolent manner changed instantly to one of civility, and Oakes turned to us.

"No wonder some said there was a woman in this affair."

Then he ordered the hatch door nailed down, and handed the things to me. "Please take these upstairs, Stone; we must investigate this more fully," and we withdrew to discuss our findings.

"What do you think of O'Brien, Oakes?" I asked. "He seems to be a cool sort of a customer."

"Yes, he is no ignoramus. He's a shrewd fellow, and a deep one; but I have learned a few things."

_CHAPTER XI_

_The Night Walk_

Events were following each other rapidly at the Mansion. After leaving the cellar, Oakes led us back through the grounds, around the south side of the house. There was no entrance to the cellar there, apparently.

When we reached our rooms and I had deposited the mask and gown on my table, Oakes turned to the care-taker, Cook, who accompanied us: "You have been several years here, have you not?"

"Yes, Mr. Clark."

"When did the first trouble begin?"

"About three years ago, sir, following some repairs that were made after Mr. Odell Mark bought the place from his brother."

"What do you know of those repairs?"

"Well, sir, as perhaps you have noticed, the door from the dining-room to the parlor opens on a short hall about three feet deep. Now, sir, Mr. Odell Mark had the wall thickened between the rooms; he thought it was weak, and this hall represents the thickness of the wall."

Oakes stood at the window, his hands in his pockets, looking out.

"Did you see that wall being built yourself, Cook?"

"I didn't notice particularly, sir."

"Well, Stone, we'll try the simplest theory first. Will you kindly go with Cook up to the roof and look around carefully. I have an idea that the wall is double, and that you will find an opening up there somewhere."

We went, and, as Oakes had surmised, soon found a small opening like a chimney, grated in solidly and protected by a covering, and so reported.

"Good!" said Oakes. "The wall is double--in part at least--and the opening was carried into the cellar room and a door placed there."

"What for?" said I.

"Perhaps to ventilate it. We may find some other reason."

"We seem to be solving the mystery," was Moore's comment.

Oakes looked at him quizzically. "Are you satisfied, Doctor, that there is a physical agent at work here?"

Moore grew red. "Certainly," he said. And Quintus smiled.

"I thought probably you would be convinced in time. A thorough licking is an excellent argument. It is my belief that the escapes were made through that double wall, and that we shall find movable panels in the dining-room."

"But the motive! We are strangers; we gave no provocation," I cried.

"We have yet to learn the motive; also _why_ a man should wear a robe. The mask is sensible enough, but why he impeded himself with a robe is beyond us as yet. It would hide his body, to be sure, as the mask would hide his face, but it would certainly greatly affect his chances of escape, if pursued. Cook, why was no investigation ever made before?"

"I don't know, sir. Mr. Odell was very timid."

"Did you ever go through the tunnel to the well?"

"Yes, sir. I used to go before the mystery began, but never afterward."

"How about the place in the stairs where the robe was found?"

"That was always there, sir, and used for the gardener's tools."

"Then the gardener knew of it?"

"Maloney, the older one, did, I am sure; he has been here a long time."

"Was he here before the mysteries?"

"Yes, sir, he has been five years on the place."

"Cook, what do you think of the murder of Winthrop Mark?"

It was one of those sudden questions that sometimes bring results.

"I don't know, sir--it is terrible, sir, of course."

"Where was Maloney yesterday, Cook?"

The man looked long at us. "He was here when I got up at six o'clock, raking the leaves on the front walk."

"Indeed!" said Oakes. We could not tell whether the answer surprised him, or not.

"I suppose Mike worked all day?"

"Yes, sir, he was about on the place the entire time."

Oakes made no remark whatever at this, but dismissed Cook.

"We cannot go too far in presence of the servants," said he, "for I am only Clark the agent here, you remember. The time is coming when we may have to declare ourselves and we may need police help to make arrests, but," he smiled, "we have Hallen as a friend, I guess."

Oakes was calmly sanguine, I could see, but of course he did not know that collateral events were brewing of grave importance to us all.

"Now for the robe and mask," said he.

I handed over the mask, an old affair and considerably worn from usage. A piece of it was missing, which Oakes replaced with the fragment of paper picked up in the cellar; it fitted exactly, settling the fact that the mask had been worn by the man who fought him in that place.

The detective looked it all over and said: "This is such as was sold in New York years ago. It is ordinary, and offers no clue as to the owner or the place of purchase. I know the kind."

The robe was fairly long, and made of old velvet lined with satin, quite shiny inside and out. The name of its maker had been carefully cut away. It was spotted with blood--Oakes's, no doubt--for it was fresh.

"It served a good purpose this time, anyway," said I; "saved the man's clothes from being marked."

"Medium chest measure," said Oakes. "Try it on, Stone."

I did so, and it just met around me.

"Good! The fellow who wore it is not a giant in chest measure, at all events, though larger than you, probably, since he wore it next to his undershirt."

"How in the world do you know that, Oakes?" said the doctor.

"Look at the discoloration of the lining on the shoulders, and also across the chest and back. The soil is old, but there is a moisture about the front yet, the moisture of fresh perspiration--it has been used quite recently. _That_ would not have come through a coat or a vest. I should not be surprised if he had worn it over his naked chest."

"Where do you suppose the outfit came from?" I asked.

"Probably a relic of some masquerade ball of many years ago. This house used to be a popular place for entertainments."

"What did you pick up in the cellar when you stooped for the match?"

"Oh, you noticed that? See for yourselves," and he showed us an old-fashioned heavy-calibre cartridge.

"And how about the closet in the steps, from which you took the robe?" I pursued.

"I happened to see the door, although both of you missed it. The person who hid the disguise there is quite familiar with that exit, evidently. That narrows the search considerably," said Oakes. "But the robe is a mystery; it is a senseless thing to use under such circumstances."

"Yes--senseless; that is the word," spoke up Moore.

Oakes's eyes searched the physician's, but the latter made no further remark. I thought Oakes was sizing him up as pretty far from "senseless" himself.

We now examined the robe more carefully, and saw that it was soiled with what appeared to me to be soot. Oakes shook his head. "No, it seems to be wood ash of some kind; see how light some of it is," he said.

He ran his hand along the inside of the robe, and found a small, well-worn slit--an opening to a deep pocket. Instantly he turned it inside out, and a small roll of paper dropped from it. He carefully unfolded it and spread it on the table.

"It is a piece of an old newspaper," said he, "and has been read much. It has been thumbed till it is ready to fall apart. Read it, Stone. Your eyes are best."

I studied a while, and then began:

"DAILY NEWS, _October 30, 189-_.--The body was found face
downward, on the main Highway, just below the crest of the Mona
Hill. It was first seen by John Morney, who was going to the
reservoir in advance of his gang of laborers. They were in sight
when he discovered it; the time was therefore shortly before
seven. The men were going to work at 6.30 from Mona. They
recognized it instantly as the body of Orlando Smith, our
beloved and esteemed citizen. Death had occurred only a short
time before, and the murder must have been done about daybreak.
It was evident that Mr. Smith was returning from his factory,
where he had spent the night, the shift having been doubled
recently, owing to the pressure of business. Later examinations
showed that the bullet entered the chest and was from a large
revolver, a 44 or 45 calibre. The ball was not found.

"We are unable to give any more particulars now, before the time
of going to press."

"That is all," I said.

We remained standing while we thought over the matter. There was a satisfied air about the detective that I could not quite fathom, and Dr. Moore seemed to be quite pleased also.

"Well, what is it?" I asked.

With a voice that betrayed traces of elation, Oakes answered me: "The man in the cellar wore this robe; if he thumbed this paper, the murder of Smith interested him. The murder of Mark was similar, and I believe our Mansion affair is going to involve us in a peck of unexpected trouble. The clues are showing now, and we must know more about the Smith murder, as well as the Mark affair."

"Yes," put in Moore, "and all about the suspected motives in the Smith affair."

Oakes smiled. "Don't be too previous, my boy. If Hallen looks for our help, well and good. Otherwise, remember, I have given my word not to interfere with his search at present. Meanwhile, we must get into town and look around."

"You must remain here," said Moore. "You cannot go out until that wound begins to heal--in a day or so."

"That is so," said Oakes. "But perhaps Stone can find out what is going on."

So it was arranged that I should call on Chief Hallen that evening and spend a few hours in Mona.

At supper, Oakes said that tomorrow he would have men from the city who would make a complete search of the walls, and perhaps tear down some partitions. "Masons, and other workmen, you know," said he; and I saw a twinkle in his eyes and realized that he was going to surround himself with men, in case of an emergency.

"Are you expecting trouble?" I asked.

"No," said he, grave again in a second, "but I believe in being forearmed. This matter is capable of developing into a very serious affair for all hands, especially if we have a band of conspirators against us."

"_A band!_" said I.

"Yes, certainly. Has it never occurred to you that there may be several desperate characters in this affair and the murder? This is no boy's play; we are facing unknown dangers. Now, Stone, go about town carefully, and send this cipher to New York first thing. When you come back, tell Chief Hallen that I want you escorted to the Mansion by two men. Remember! He will understand, for he spoke to me of the advisability of giving me aid."

It all seemed strange to me, but I was not fearful when I left just at seven for the town.

I took the short cut over the bridge, and up the hill beyond, and they watched me as I crossed the rolling plains to Mona.

It was a clear night, and I could see well over the hills, the three-quarters moon giving me excellent light. I could not help thinking how careful was this man Oakes, and what a peculiar nature was his; alert, severe even to austerity at times; then solicitous, friendly and even fond of a joke. I was more than glad that I came, although I realized that perhaps it was foolish to interfere in such affairs. Of course, that murder of Mark had been cast upon our notice by curious circumstances, and unexpectedly.

As I walked over the rolling ground, I kept my eyes well upon my surroundings; but not a living thing did I see except myself and the night birds until I entered the town.

There was an air of subdued excitement about the place. As I walked to the post-office to send my despatches the loungers seemed numerous, and some were amiss in their greetings; others, whom I knew, approached in an affable manner enough, but there seemed no genuine friendliness.

The telegraph manager took the cipher and smiled when he saw it. Then he said to me in a whisper: "Tell Mr. Clark there is trouble coming."

To my look of surprise he answered: "Oh, that's all right; I had a visit from your friend before he went to the Mansion."

Again I recognized the work of careful Oakes, and understood why he did not hesitate to send the cipher--a thing unusual in a small town.

The indications of impending trouble in town were quite impressed upon me. The little hotel was the centre of a lounging crowd, large, and composed of representative men as well as the usual hangers-on. There were evidences of much interest around the police building also--much more than would occur under normal circumstances in a town of this size, and even more than was present the night before.

I noticed a couple of brawls, and considerable raising of voices; many men were walking about as though watching the others. The prairie fire had been lighted; the sparks were burning near the roots of the grass; the air was uneasy--ready to rush in as wind, to fan and feed the first flame.

I visited the Chief, who was with his subordinates. He invited me into the private room, and then said:

"Mr. Stone, I am doing all I can to detect this murderer and to satisfy the public demand for his apprehension, but the clues are practically worthless. The populace is uneasy and suspicious."

Then he detailed to me all that he knew. I then told him how the people's actions had impressed me.

"I am going to have all I can do to keep order. I am going to ask your friend Oakes to take a hand."

"He will do it," I said, "for he is greatly interested."

"It is for the welfare of the town which I serve that I ask him to join me in this matter. Go to him, and tell him I shall see him in the morning if possible."

I was glad that affairs were taking such a turn, for I knew the facts in our possession, and that Oakes's counsel would be valuable.

I then requested an escort of two men to accompany me on my return to the Mansion, as Oakes had suggested.

"Certainly! I had no intention of letting you go back alone," he said; and then he summoned two of his men clad in citizen's clothes and introduced them to me. "Now take a walk to the outskirts, and return the same way by which you came. My men will follow you at a short distance."

Before I left I noticed my companions--fine-looking fellows both of them--and saw the tell-tale pouching of the hip pockets, and knew that we were all well armed.

"In order not to attract attention, we will walk some distance behind you. We will keep you within sight and hearing. If we fire a shot, return to us."

I started across the rolling country, and saw the two figures behind me. Why were they so careful? Why did they not accompany me? They separated, and we advanced, I myself following the narrow path.

The night was still. I halted occasionally and looked back--a dim figure would halt on my left and on my right. It was lonesome, but I felt I had company.

I neared the slope to the pond, and looked down; there was nothing visible, and I began to descend with an easy stride. Although nearing the Mansion, I felt an unaccountable dread. This was the trying part of the journey, and my followers were now invisible to me, being on the plain above the crest of the hill. I gripped my revolver firmly, and stepped rapidly on to the bridge; but as I did so I heard a pistol shot from above, and knew instantly that I was in danger--that my companions had signalled me to return.

I faced about, and commenced my ascent of the hill.

From somewhere near a voice came to me clearly. "Run for your life," it said.

I could see nothing, but retreated hurriedly, and was soon with the others at the top of the hill.

"Why did you tell me to run?" I panted.

They looked at me. "We said nothing," was the answer; "we merely signalled you to come back."

"Well, someone ordered me to run for my life."

"Ah!" said they. "We thought we heard a voice. We saw a figure at the other side of the pond. We came over the crest cautiously, and he did not expect us. He was crossing in range of the light from the Mansion gate when we detected him. So much for following you!"

"Well, but who spoke to me? He could not have done so; his voice would not have sounded so near."

"No, evidently someone near you was watching him; he was about to waylay you, and the watcher knew it and warned you."

We heard a commotion and saw a figure dash from the bridge, away toward the north end of the pond, and disappear.

Then another figure showed at the crest on the River Road and followed him at breakneck speed.

"See--the man on the bridge was the fellow who warned you. The other is after him. He won't catch him, however."

"Come!" I cried; and we darted down and over the bridge to the road above, but nothing was visible. Suddenly a couple of figures emerged from the darkness by the Mansion gate. We recognized Oakes and Moore, who had been awaiting us.

We related the circumstances of our return to the Mansion to them.

"Yes," said Oakes, "we were watching the man near the road. He had a gun, and was evidently waiting for you. We were just going to make a rush at him when we saw you run back at the signal."

"Who was he?" asked I.

"I will answer the question by asking: Who was the man who warned you?"

"I haven't the least idea," said I.

"You see, you were in great danger, and only that man's foresight saved your life. But there are _two_ unknowns now--the friend and the enemy."

We watched my escorts descend and cross the bridge, mount the ascent and disappear over the crest toward Mona. Then the moonlight silhouetted their figures for an instant, as they turned and waved a farewell.

_CHAPTER XII_

_The Witness_

Mr. George Elliott, aristocratic, well-to-do club-man and all-round agreeable fellow, lived in bachelor apartments on the upper West side of New York.

He was engaged now in the brokerage business, but, times having been dull, he found it rather difficult to occupy himself and was anticipating taking a vacation--but where, he had not yet decided.

Events were shaping themselves, however, to bring him into the happenings at Mona as one of our party.

On the corner, near the apartment, was a boot-blacking stand, presided over by one Joe, an intelligent and wide-awake colored youngster, whose general good-nature and honesty had made him popular with many. Among his patrons and general well-wishers was Mr. Elliott, to whom Joe had taken a particular liking, and whose opinions the young negro had often sought in an off-hand way; for, despite his general air of reserve and hauteur, Elliott was kindness itself at heart, and a man who could be easily approached by those who were suffering from worry and hardship.

At about the time of the beginning of this story, Joe's mother had been taken sick and had died in Troy, and the boy had gone up there for a few days.

Then he had gone to Lorona, a little town farther south, and from thence to Mona on his way home to New York. At Mona he had seen a terrible thing--a murder.

Bewildered, frightened, overawed by his fateful knowledge, he had managed, however, to reach New York, where he sought out Mr. Elliott for counsel; he knew the latter was kind and good and would tell him what to do. Joe realized that he needed advice--that he was in a terrible fix, being the only witness, so far as he knew, of a crime of the worst kind.

As Joe told Mr. Elliott the things he had witnessed, that gentleman realized the tremendous value of the evidence being told him.

By adroit questioning, he determined that the celebrated Quintus Oakes was in Mona. The boy said he recognized him, for he had frequently "shined" Mr. Oakes's shoes in times past on Broadway. Elliott realized that as he was called Clark at the inquest--according to Joe--the people in Mona did not know him as Oakes; he must be travelling under an _alias_, on important business probably. Elliott also grasped the fact that Oakes was there at the time of the murder by coincidence only. He had read of the affair in the evening paper, but only in a careless manner. It was all of deep interest now.

What should he do with Joe?

If he allowed the boy to think that he was in a tight place, he might run away, and that would defeat justice. There was the alternative of telling the police; _that_ would mix himself up in an unpleasant affair, and Joe might not be believed--might be falsely accused of the murder.

Again, he knew Mr. Oakes. He had seen him at the Club, and he did not desire to frustrate whatever investigations the detective might be making.

The best solution would be to find Quintus Oakes and tell him. He certainly would be able to give some attention to the murder, even if not in Mona for that purpose. Meanwhile, he himself would hold the boy at all hazards.

With skill scarcely to be expected from one of his easy-going type, he told Joe to remain and sleep in his flat that night and that he would fix things for him. The terror-stricken negro was only too glad of sympathy and protection from one of Mr. Elliott's standing, and complied; for he was at the mercy of his friends. What could he, a colored boy, do alone?

After tired nature had asserted herself and Joe had fallen asleep in a room which had been given him, Elliott called up Oakes's office by telephone. In less than an hour a dapper young man sought admission to the apartment, and was met by Elliott. He introduced himself as "Martin--from Oakes's place." In a few words Elliott explained matters, and Martin said:

"Let Joe go to his boot-blacking stand in the morning. Get your shoes shined, and place your hand on his shoulder in conversation, so that he can be identified before you leave. Our men will be in sight. Then meet me at the elevated station, and we will go to Mona together, if you care to do so."

"Good!" said Elliott. "I am willing; I will take my vacation that way."

And that was how, several hours later, Joe went to his boot-blacking stand, feeling secure in being near friends, and oblivious of the fact that strange eyes were watching all his movements.

A little later Elliott patronized the stand, and in leaving placed his hand on Joe's shoulder and said: "Nobody will trouble you, old fellow. Don't say a word; it will all come out right. I will back you to the limit."

And after that several pairs of eyes watched every movement of the boot-black. Several affable strangers gave him quarters for ten-cent shines. Joe was not in the police net, but he was in the vision of those silent men whom one cannot detect--those experts employed by men like Oakes. Escape was impossible for the negro.

Joe remained in good spirits, for had not Mr. Elliott befriended him? He was ignorant of the doings of those brief hours when he slept.

Elliott's going to Mona was perhaps unnecessary, but he felt a natural curiosity to know Oakes better, as well as to see the outcome of the case and the effect of the evidence the negro possessed. He was also actuated by a desire to do all he could to establish the accuracy of the boy's statement, and to see that he obtained as good treatment as was consistent with the ends of justice.

He and Martin arrived at Mona the day after the murder--our first one at the Mansion. The two stayed at the hotel and studied the town, finding it impossible to go to the Mansion without creating talk.

As Martin said: "We must go slowly and not appear too interested in Oakes, or rather Clark, as he is known up here--so the office informed me. So far as we know he has nothing to do with the murder case, and we, being strangers and consequently subject to comment, must be guarded in our actions. I have seen and heard enough to realize that there is much suppressed excitement among the people. We must communicate with Oakes quietly, and find whether it is wise to see him. He may not desire our presence at the Mark place."

_CHAPTER XIII_

_The Plan of Campaign_

Next day, as we were at breakfast at the Mansion, the masons and carpenters came. Curiously enough, one of them brought a note from Martin, asking if it would be convenient for him to bring a stranger, with valuable information, to see Mr. Oakes that morning; and the man found it convenient to drop into town a little later and incidentally to meet Martin and let him know that Oakes expected him. Then he went to the hardware store and bought a few trifling things, as any carpenter or mason might do.

"Looks as though I am going to hold a reception this morning," said Oakes: "The Chief of Police making an engagement last night for an interview this morning, and now Martin asking for another."

"What is Martin doing up here?" asked Moore.

"Well, don't get impatient. He has something important, anyway. Just wait." I think Moore felt aggravated at Oakes's apparent indifference. Of course it was simulated, but he seemed so calm and oblivious of the mass of happenings that had put Moore and myself in a state of extreme excitement.

It was not long before Martin and Mr. Elliott were with us. Oakes received Elliott in a most agreeable manner, which placed us all at ease. He said he knew Mr. Elliott by sight, and esteemed it greatly that he should extend information to him. Also he was sure it must be of great value, since the gentleman had travelled all the way from New York to place him in possession of it. And this was said before any information was given. We saw that our friend was a diplomat.

Quickly Mr. Elliott gave all the particulars of the negro's confession, and the detective said: "If I am called into the case by Chief Hallen, I shall want to see the boy; if not, the information should be given to the Chief, as the matter belongs to his jurisdiction."

Looking out of the window at that moment, I espied Hallen coming up the walk.

"Good!" said Oakes. "Now, Mr. Elliott, will you kindly retire with Dr. Moore, while Stone, Martin and I hear what the Chief has to say."

When Hallen came up, he seemed very cordial, but worried, and made no attempt to disguise the fact that he anticipated trouble with the unruly element in Mona by Saturday night.

"You see," he said, "we are few here, and I have been kept busy with the brewing uneasiness in town and cannot handle the murder affair satisfactorily. I have come to ask you to help me, if you are sufficiently at leisure. We cannot get any clues at all, save that the man was killed by a bullet of large calibre in the hands of a good shot, as the distance from which it was fired would seem to show. The road has been searched but nothing found, and the crowd that went with you to the dying man's side trampled away all clues on the ground.

"My men have reported to me the curious affair of last night," continued the Chief. "I suppose you have a explanation for it; in any event, it must be followed up. The people must be diverted, and more must be done at once than I can do. Will you help me?"

"Yes," said Oakes. "Of course!"

"Hello, what ails your head?" said the Chief, after thanking him.

And then Oakes told him as much as was necessary of the events of the day before.

"I am very glad your _carpenters_ have arrived," said the Chief; "they may help." He smiled, as did Oakes. They understood one another--they were in similar lines of business.

"Now that I have a hand in this thing, let's all get acquainted," said Oakes; and he called in Moore and Elliott, and the discussion became general.

Elliott was admitted unreservedly to our councils, especially as Oakes knew that he held the keys to the conviction of the assassin--the witness.

Oakes, in his fluent style, acquainted the Chief with the fact that the negro was already under surveillance and that, in his opinion, he should be brought to Mona for further examination.

"Yes, but we must smuggle him in. It would be unwise to let the populace know we have him now; they might infer he was the murderer and violence would certainly be done him. At present, I have all I can do to keep order in the town," said Hallen.

Then he gave a lucid account of the wave of suspicion and of the evidences of nervous tension the citizens were showing.

"Why," said he, "almost every man suspects his neighbor. Life-long friends are suspicious of one another and business is nearly at a standstill. One man looked at another in an absent-minded sort of a way to-day, and the other retaliated with a blow and an oath, and asked him if he would look at his own arms--not his neighbor's."

"Yes," said Oakes, "we have here a great mental emotion--_suspicion_--to deal with, which may amount to a public calamity unless checked. One must always take account of the actions and reasonings of communities. Emotional waves rush through them as through individuals sometimes. Look at history, and consider the waves of religion, emotional in character, that have occurred. Look at the unreasonableness developed in our own country from ignorance and fear, when witches were burned at the stake!"

"Oakes," said Moore with a smile, "you seem to make mental processes and conditions as much of a study as the physician does."

"Certainly," Oakes replied. "It is most important. Did we not study the workings of a criminal's mind, for instance, we would often be baffled. You see, the determination of the probable condition of such a one's mind is often paramount, especially in such a case as this. In other words, was the _motive_ one that would naturally sway an ordinary healthy individual under the conditions appertaining to the crime--the so-called _sane_ motive? Or was it in any way dependent upon peculiarities of the criminal's reasoning--a motive built up of something unreal, a _delusion_ in the mind of one not in his right senses?"

I myself had frequently had cause to study such mental processes in the practice of my profession, but I was amazed at the knowledge shown by Oakes, and stated in such a broad, untechnical manner. The man was no ordinary one, to be sure, but I had scarcely expected him to show such education in these matters.

I now recalled what Moore had once told me of Oakes's all-round attainments.

Dr. Moore broke the silence.

"You are a lalapazooza, Oakes."

Oakes did not notice the remark, but said: "I don't know what other men do, but I have tried to bear in mind such things."

"Yes," said Hallen, "and consequently there is only _one_ Quintus Oakes."

"It seems to me," continued Hallen, "that your work here at the Mansion will soon lead to results, and I trust that you will find time to consider the murder also."

"Gentlemen," said Oakes very seriously, "from what I saw after the Mark murder in town and from what you report, I feel that Mona is in a very serious plight. I shall make time, Hallen, to do what little I can."

And thus Quintus Oakes became the leader in the unravelling of the Mark murder mystery.

After a few remarks of no particular consequence and a more or less general conversation, he resumed:

"Suppose, Chief, that we now smuggle the negro into Mona as soon as possible, and bring him here. I believe that if Mr. Elliott goes back with Martin and they explain things to the boy, he will come without much trouble. It must be impressed upon him that he is regarded in the light of a _hero_: appeal to the innate weakness of the race--desire for flattery."

"I believe we can bring him here easily," said Elliott, "for he has confidence in me."

"If he refuses to come," said Hallen, "we can get him here in plenty of ways."

"Yes," said Oakes, "Martin knows how; leave it to him. Only, we must have him soon, and he must come here by way of another station, incognito, lest the people become too excited."