Chapter XX: A Man's Confession 253 (4)

This being agreed upon, the conversation became more general, and in answer to questions we found that Oakes had not as yet formulated any solution to the mystery of the identity of the murderer. As he said, the affair of downstairs might be connected with the murder, indirectly or directly, but as yet we had not had sufficient opportunities for studying the surroundings of the house or the life of its attachés to venture an opinion. He laid particular stress upon the fact that opinions should never be formed on poor evidence, since a biased mind was incapable of appreciating new discoveries or new clues. To theorize too much was very easy, but sometimes fatal to detection of crime. He preferred to work along several lines of investigation before concentration on any one idea.

"The affair of last night, in my estimation," said he, "is one of very grave import. Unquestionably, from what you saw, Stone, and from the evidence of us all, there were two men near the place you were going to pass. That the first one warned you and was, in a sense, a friend, is mysterious enough--it needs solution; but that the man who warned you should have run away and been pursued by the other is peculiar, to say the least. The signals of your companions were heard by the man at the bridge undoubtedly, and he ran to escape detection himself. The other--the one on this side, who was a probable assassin--would under ordinary circumstances have run away when he saw you were warned. He did run, but it was after the man who warned you."

"To my mind, the explanation is this," continued the detective. "The man at the bridge is friendly, but cannot expose his identity or risk capture. The would-be assassin was convinced that the man who warned you knew of his purpose. He therefore pursued him--to finish him in self-protection."

"I don't see why," said Moore; "he could have escaped instead."

"Exactly," said Oakes. "He could have done so, but he did not wish it. He has not completed what he wants to do around here. He wished to come back, and to do so with safety he must rid himself of the one who knew of his doings."

"Looks as though he was planning more trouble. He may have been the man of the robe, or the man with the arms," I ventured.

"Or both," said Oakes.

"At all events," said Hallen, "I wish that we could divert the minds of the people in town; the tension is great--too great for safety."

"Perhaps, Chief," said Oakes, "that you and I can arrange a little matter that will distract their attention and which will tend to make them believe that progress is being made."

He laughed as he spoke, and we knew that he was thinking over some little scheme to help Hallen back into popular favor.

_CHAPTER XIV_

_Clues_

The carpenters and masons came and went in a very business-like way all that morning, while we were closeted upstairs with our companion and Chief Hallen.

After he left us, Moore and I walked down to the gate and around the grounds, leaving Oakes to attend to details with Martin. Carpenters were very busy around the dining-room, carrying in boards and implements, and examining the woodwork and the balcony.

A few of the masons were about the grounds, engaged on small details, and all seemed to be on good terms with Cook and his wife, and Annie. Mike was busy at one end of the garden, and Maloney was not far off.

"This, Stone, is to be a day of events here. But things are being done very quietly, are they not? You would suspect nothing out of the way--far less a hunt for a murderer or the investigation of a mystery, would you?"

"No; were I not informed, I should think that Oakes had merely a gang of laborers at work."

"He has that; but he has also a body of the best detectives, for the purpose, to be had. Maloney and Mike are puzzling him considerably, Stone; they are very close to one another always, and seem quite intimate."

"Yes," I replied. "I have noticed it. They both show a great deal of interest in these alterations. Have you noticed how Maloney is watching O'Brien? He keeps him continually in sight."

We had approached the front door of the Mansion as we spoke. Oakes was standing just outside, his eyes likewise upon the two gardeners. Our last remarks were made in his presence, and he entered the conversation with a quiet observation to the effect that Maloney seemed to fear that Mike might not attend to his business, but that Mike _would_, nevertheless.

I was obliged to acknowledge that I did not quite understand.

"Oh, Mike is a good laborer," he explained; "he needs no such watching," and there seemed to be a peculiar significance in his words. They were stated in a slow, indifferent manner that caused me to look at the speaker, but his face wore the inscrutable expression which I had frequently seen before, and I learned nothing. I knew him well enough by this time, however, to realize that something was taking shape in his thoughts.

"Now, let us go inside," said he. "After lunch we will attack the final solution of the manner in which these mysterious assaults were performed. Like all such things, it will be simple enough, I know, and the point remaining to determine will be not _how_ it was done, but _by whom_.

"I feel confident that that door in the cellar room leads upward to an interspace which communicates with the dining-room through panels in the walls. The peculiar noise--the swish--that I heard, resembled the sudden sliding of a board, and it was the conviction that the person who assaulted Moore disappeared into the wall which made me run downstairs. I felt sure there would be some explanation of it below."

That afternoon a systematic search of the entire house was made. The cellar room in which the assault upon Oakes had occurred was thoroughly lighted and examined. The heap of rubbish which Mike had been investigating at our previous visit proved to be composed of plaster and bricks.

The wall in which the door was cut was found to be about three feet thick, and one of the foundations of the house. It was solid, save for a chimney-like opening which had been trapped with the door. Above, at the level of the dining-room floor, the great wall ceased. From one edge was continued upwards the original partition between that room and the next--the parlor; but it was thin, and had evidently been recently strengthened by another wall, slightly thicker, and built from the opposite edge of the foundation, leaving a space between the two. Into this space entered, at a certain point, the opening from the cellar room below.

It was a peculiar arrangement. As Oakes remarked, the new wall had been made with no regard to the economizing of space; for, had it been built immediately back of the old, considerable room would have been saved for the parlor. One of the "carpenters" thought that the original idea had been to utilize the space for closets. The only other possible use for it, so far as we could discover, was the one which Oakes had surmised--ventilation for the cellar. Still, to our ordinary minds, a chimney would have answered that purpose quite as well.

A little further investigation, however, showed the top of the foundation wall to be covered with cement well smoothed, and the walls themselves were plastered. It was generally conceded, therefore, that the first idea had been to use it as closet room, which could easily have been done by cutting doors through the walls. As Oakes said, the notion had evidently met with opposition and been abandoned, so communication had been made with the cellar instead, and the roof opened to afford ventilation.

The opening into the cellar was large. A man could easily enter it, and, standing, reach the top of the foundation wall; then, by a little exertion, he could raise himself into the intermural space. Oakes, Moore and I proved this by actual experiment and found that the passage was quite wide enough to accommodate a man of average proportions.

I have said that the dining-room was finished in oak panels. These had been reached from our side of the wall by removing the bricks and mortar--the same stuff evidently which helped to form the rubbish heap in the room below. One of the larger panels had been made to slide vertically. It had been neatly done and had escaped detection from the dining-room because of the overlapping of the other panels. Some débris still remained between the walls.

"The fellow we are after knew of the space between the walls and worked at the panel after the repairs were completed," was Oakes's remark.

"How do you know that?" asked Moore.

Oakes looked at him and smiled, then said: "Moore, where is your reasoning ability? Do you think, if the panel had been tampered with at the time the repairs were made, that the débris would have been left behind? No! It would have been removed with the rest of the dirt."

We had gone to our rooms upstairs while the men were hunting through the tunnel to the well. They found nothing; everything was as we had left it after our adventures there.

It seemed to us that, all things considered, the work on the panel must have been done by someone within the household, or, at least, that some of its members must have been involved in the matter.

"It may have been accomplished at night, however, and by an outsider," said Oakes. "The servants' quarters are separate from the house. Anyone might easily have entered the cellar by the tunnel route. Still, there may have been collusion also."

"It seems a nonsensical idea to leave the débris in the cellar," I said.

"No, I think not," was the answer. "The care-takers are afraid even to enter that place. The miscreant knew that detection would be probable at the hands of strangers only."

That evening Elliott and Martin left for New York. They were to bring the negro boy, Joe, to Mona. Late at night, before we retired, Oakes asked us to go with him into the parlor.

"What for?" said I.

"To forge another link in the chain--the strongest yet," he said.

"What?"

"Do you remember the cartridge I found in the cellar?"

"Yes, yes; but you did not pay much attention to it, I thought."

He looked gravely at me. "Stone, that cartridge probably corresponds in calibre to the one which was used in the murder of Mark."

"Ah!" said Moore. "I had a notion of that myself. Why did you not tell us your opinion before?"

"Because, when I found it, we were working on the Mansion affair only. I divined the value of the find; but why should I have mentioned it? I was not hunting the Mark murderer then."

"Quintus, you consummate fox--you worked Hallen well!"

"Not at all; business is business. What is the use of gossiping? There are no ladies to be entertained in _my_ profession, Doctor."

He led the way to the parlor--we meekly following--to where a cluster of arms hung upon the wall: one of those ornaments of crossed swords, guns and a shield, so common in old houses.

He remarked that he had noticed these arms on his previous visit. He looked at a revolver hanging across the shield, with a pouch beneath it, and then suddenly, in surprise, said: "Last time I was here, a few weeks ago, there was a large old-fashioned revolver here of 44 or 45 calibre. I remember it well, being interested in firearms.

"This one now here is of a similar pattern and appearance, but of smaller calibre, and newer. Look! The cartridges in this pouch are of about 45 size; they belong to the old weapon and cannot be used with this one."

"Again, some of them are missing; there were at least a dozen before, now there are only three or four. The old revolver and some cartridges have been taken away, and a newer weapon substituted."

"Indeed! But why?" said Moore sceptically.

"Partly because"--and Oakes was decisive, curt, master of the situation--"because this one cannot be loaded. See!" He then tried to turn the chamber and showed us that the mechanism was faulty.

"The old revolver," said he in a low tone, "and some cartridges were taken away, and in order that its absence should be less noticeable, this one was left here--it being useless.

"Now, boys, the cartridge I found downstairs on the cellar floor is a 45-calibre and belongs to those of the pouch and the original revolver, as you see."

He took it from his pocket and showed us that it did _not_ fit the weapon in his hand but matched the cartridges in the pouch. It belonged to the _old_ weapon.

"We are closing in," said I.

"Yes--the man of the robe has the old revolver and cartridges; he took them within the last few days, finding his own weapon out of order. It is he who is responsible for the mystery in this house--and in all probability it is he who shot Winthrop Mark. You remember, the evidence at the inquest showed that a heavy revolver had been used--a 44 or 45 calibre--exactly such an one as the old weapon which I saw here."

"Excellent, Oakes," remarked Moore. "There's only one objection."

"Yes, I know," said Oakes. "You were going to ask why the fellow did not take all these cartridges and put his own in the pouch to match the weapon he left here."

"Exactly," said Moore.

"Well," said the detective, "he either had no cartridges of his own handy, or else, like all criminals, however smart, he tripped--the brain of no man is capable of adjusting his actions precisely in every detail."

"Guess you're right. No man can be perfect in his reasoning, and, no matter how clever the criminal, he is almost certain to make an error sooner or later," said Moore.

"Yes, but it takes peculiar power to discover it," I chirped. The events of the day had tired me, and my mind was growing confused. I desired to go to bed.

Oakes smiled slightly. "No, Stone; it takes study, worry and patient reasoning to discover the faulty link in a clever criminal's logic--that is why there is a profession like mine."

I was half asleep, but I heard him continue: "We may consider we have excellent cause to look for a man who has in his possession an ancient revolver and some very old dirty cartridges covered with verdigris, like these here."

"Murder will out," I interpolated.

"Yes, eventually, sometimes. However, it is easy to say, 'he who had that revolver did the murder,' but as it may have been destroyed since then, or thrown into the river, it is another thing to find the _man_."

We were crestfallen. Oakes himself looked wearied.

"I wish the whole Mansion was in the river, and there were a decent café round here," protested Moore.

"You're a vigorous pair of assistants, I must say," said Quintus. "I have some samples in my room. Come!" and we all adjourned.

_CHAPTER XV_

_The Ruse_

After all, however, the doctor and I decided to spend the night at the hotel and acquire any information that we could as to occurrences in town.

We chose to walk along the River Road to the Corners, keeping ourselves on the alert for any treachery. The night was cool and bracing and the sky cloudless. As we journeyed, the moon rose, throwing its rays athwart the tangled outline of the wood. The great high trees were just beginning to drop their leaves. Occasionally a woody giant, separated from the rest, would fix our attention, standing silhouetted against the background of forest--majestic, alone, like a sentinel guarding the thousands in column behind. An occasional flutter of a night bird or the falling and rustling of the dead leaves was all that we heard as we walked rapidly the mile to the Corners.

As we were about to round into the Highway and leave the forest of the estate behind us, Moore grasped my arm, and led me to the deep shadow of a tree by the roadside.

"Hark! That sounds peculiar," he said. We listened, and heard a thumping sound, repeated at intervals.

"An uneasy horse standing somewhere in the woods hereabouts," said I.

"Yes. What is he doing there at this time of night--and in _these particular_ woods?"

We consulted together and waited. Then, having satisfied ourselves that the noise came from the woods of the estate near the crest of the hill, we decided to investigate as quickly as possible, and entered the forest stealthily and with but little noise. Unused to the life of the woods, we doubtless made more rustling than was necessary, but we were favored by the fact that the trees were not very close together, and in consequence the carpet of dead leaves was not thick.

Halting behind the trunks of trees occasionally, we listened for the sound which came from further within the wood. Soon we came to an opening--a glade--perhaps two hundred feet from the road. The moonlight fell upon the far side, but on the side next us all was shadow--dark and sombre. We stood well within it among the trees. I fancied I heard a horse whinny. The animal was certainly restive. I saw the doctor take out his revolver and lie carefully down behind a tree; I remained standing. We both waited; we were within a few feet of one another, but did not speak.

Suddenly, on the far side we saw a figure walking towards the shade and heard him say a few words to the horse. Quickly he led the animal away into what appeared to be a path. Moore whispered to me: "Watch the road; he is going there."

We retraced our steps and soon saw the horse appear on the edge of the wood. He was a large, powerful animal, and seemed to act as though he understood what was expected of him. The man was still leading the horse, but was now also speaking in a low voice to someone else, who disappeared toward the town and came out on the Highway further down, walking rapidly toward the village, as any belated citizen might.

"See!" said Moore. "He brought the horse and is going back. Watch the rider."

The latter had been standing in the shade looking after the man who had gone, when suddenly, seeming satisfied that he was not watched, he vaulted into the saddle. He came out into the moonlight in a second or two and rode rapidly up River Road, past the Corners and northward away from the town. We had managed to get near the road, and as he dashed into the open we saw that he held the reins with the left hand, his right resting on the horse's neck, and in it, as we both recognized, a revolver.

"A splendid rider," was my remark.

"Yes," said Moore. "Did you recognize him? It was Mike, I thought."

"Yes, Mike it was, and acting in a very suspicious manner. He has done this before, evidently--knew the road and the horse, and was on the lookout for trouble, for he was armed."

We decided to follow the first man, it being useless to attempt to overtake the rider. Taking the darkest side of the road, we walked on after the figure in the distance.

Soon my companion's spirits began to rise and he laughed at our _adventure_, as he called it.

"Stone, I cannot help thinking that you and I are destined to become great sleuths. We have been away from the Mansion only a short half-hour, and already have detected a man on horseback who is carrying a revolver--and have identified him as Mike."

"Yes, we're improving--but why did you lie down behind that tree? Afraid?"

"No!" answered Moore, with a laugh. "I have been studying caution. I want to see Broadway again." Then he continued: "Stone, this adventure is becoming more and more complicated, and occasionally I wonder if I was not foolish in coming here. It is so different from practising surgery--this being assaulted by invisible foes--seeing victims of murder and things like that, to say nothing of men chasing one another by moonlight."

He was half-serious, and I acknowledged that the affair _was_ rather nerve wearing. Then we looked ahead, and suddenly realized that the figure we were following had vanished.

Moore gasped in astonishment. "Hang it all! we certainly are a pair of apes to let that fellow get away. Won't Oakes be disgusted?"

"Yes, and he will have good cause."

The lesson was a needful but costly one. Thenceforth when on business we ceased to discuss our feelings and endeavored to use our eyes and ears more, and our tongues less.

We received a cordial welcome from the people at the hotel and gossiped around the corridor for some time. The crowd outside was sullen, but within the atmosphere seemed less strained. We learned that Chief Hallen had made several arrests that afternoon, a measure which had had a sobering effect. The saloons had been warned not to abuse their privileges. Many persons spoke of the work done by Hallen as excellent; indeed, we were both impressed by the fact that the sentiment toward him, of the better citizens, was friendly. Considerable disgust was expressed, however--privately, of course--at the lack of evidence, so far, bearing upon the murder itself. In the course of the evening we managed to see Reilly the porter, and he pointed out several men to us.

"These fellows are new in town--they must be detectives. If they discover things, well and good; but if they don't, the people here won't stand it--they will resent what they call 'outside' work."

"Hallen must have gone in for business," said I.

Reilly grew confidential. "No, it ain't Hallen, they say. There's a lot of talk about some New York man coming up here to run things."

"Who?"

"Oh, they say that Quintus Oakes--you've heard of him, of course--is coming soon, and these are some of his men."

"Indeed!" And Moore and I exchanged glances.

"But, say," continued the porter, "that is confidential; only we fellows round here know it."

We parted from Reilly. Moore said: "If they know about it in here, of course half of the town has heard already."

"Yes. The tale was doubtless started by Hallen as a great secret; he knew it would spread."

"Evidently Oakes has not been recognized by the people as yet."

"No," I rejoined, "but the fact that the rumor is out shows to my mind that Hallen and Oakes have some little scheme on hand. At any rate, we must know nothing of Oakes; remember that he is _Clark_ to all but a select few."

We decided to go to one of the newspaper offices, after a brief call on Chief Hallen, who gave us no news of value, but was nevertheless very agreeable. He advised us to see Dowd, and gave us a note to him. We found the newspaper man at his office, just finishing his night's work. He was very attentive in furnishing us back copies of his rival's paper, the "Daily News." He said he kept them filed as samples of "daring journalism." "I have only been a couple of years in this business, but I have the pedigree of the town in these newspapers. I got them from people who had saved them--as country people will. Skinner would not sell me any--the rascal. Whenever he grows fresh and criticises things improperly, I investigate what he has previously said on the subject and then publish a deadly parallel column. He has a rather poor memory--and I worry him once in a while," he remarked with a laugh.

We found the paper which corresponded in date to the piece we had taken from the robe. There was a full account of the murder of Smith, which we read, but nothing that seemed to us of any value. On that occasion no clues whatever had been found. _Only_, again the local physicians had thought the wound was made by a large ball.

The old chief of that time had been succeeded by Hallen, who had never been able to gain any definite clue to the murderer. The interest had then died out, and the mystery became a thing of the past.

Dowd discussed the similarity of the recent murder to that of Smith, and hinted, moreover, that he knew the identity of our friend Clark. He said Hallen had made a confidant of him, as he might want to make use of his newspaper.

"By the way, speaking of the old murder, there is something that has never been published, but which some of the old codgers about here have cherished as perhaps relating to it."

"What is it?" asked the doctor.

"Well, a couple of old men who have since died, both milkmen, used to say that once or twice they had seen a woman near the scene of the murder at that hour in the morning. Also, that she always ran into the woods, and was dressed in black."

"Who were those old men?"

"Well, they were both reliable fellows. Their tales were laughed at, so they refused to discuss the matter any more. They both claimed to have seen her at a distance, however; and since they were on different wagons, their stories seemed to corroborate each other."

We expressed our great interest in the news, and Dowd advised us to see Reilly the porter, who had heard the story of the woman from the men themselves.

We returned to the hotel, feeling much elated at the courtesy of Dowd and at the prospect of learning something not generally known, and bearing upon the murder.

Soon we managed to find Reilly. He came to our rooms on the excuse that we had some orders to give concerning baggage that had not yet arrived from New York.

The porter was decidedly intelligent, having been reduced to his present position through adversity, as we already knew. It took only a little questioning to elicit his story, which he told about as follows:

"You see, gentlemen, about the time of Smith's murder the milkmen were in the habit of watering their horses at an old fountain just by our curb, but since done away with.

"Well, about two weeks before Smith was murdered, one of the milkmen, Moses Inkelman, a driver for a large farm north of here, told me that he had that morning seen a very large woman on the crest of the hill as he was driving to town. She was seemingly anxious to avoid notice and stepped into the woods as he passed by. Moses asked me if I thought she was anyone from Mona. He seemed so curious about the matter that several who had heard his story laughed at him. He was very sensitive and did not mention the episode again until after the murder--long after, I remember--and then only to me, when he said: 'If these people would only stop making fun of a Jew, and believe me, they might learn something.' He disappeared a little while afterward, and we learned from his successor that he had suddenly died of heart disease, on the farm.

"The other milkman never told his story save to a few--one night around the stove in a grocery store. The others were inclined to scoff at him; but I remembered what Moses had told me, and saw this fellow, Sullivan, alone.

"It was about a year after the affair. He said that he had seen a woman's figure lurking around the crest of the hill on two different occasions before the murder."

"Did he say anything about her appearance?" I asked.

"No. He said he never came very near to her, but he saw that she always wore black, and ran very heavily. He thought she was one of the drunken creatures that sometimes infest the water front on Saturday nights.

"You see, gentlemen, there were more factories here then, and the town was tougher than it is now, especially along the railroad and shore where the canal-boats came in. The new piers farther down the river have changed all that. Sullivan told his story to the police, but they saw nothing in it, or pretended they didn't; so Sullivan shut up."

"What became of him?" Moore asked.

"Well, sir, that's the curious part of it, to my mind. He was found dead only a short time ago on River Road, 'way down near Lorona, and there were marks on his throat and blood in his mouth. The examiner said he had had a hemorrhage and had choked to death, scratching himself in his dying struggles. But----"

"Well, continue," commanded Moore.

"Gentlemen, I believe he was murdered."

"Why, what makes you think so?" I asked.

"I saw the body at the undertaker's in Lorona, gentlemen, and the marks on the neck were not only scratches, but black and blue patches. The examiner was a drunkard himself and not a good reasoner. I always had the idea that the milkman was choked to death by the woman because he had seen her.

"And the other fellow, Moses--I think he was done away with likewise," continued Reilly. "I tell you, gentlemen, there is more to all this than is perhaps wise to know, unless one keeps pretty quiet."

We tipped Reilly a good fee and then turned in for the night in a most uncomfortable frame of mind. As Moore said: "things are coming up so rapidly here that we will all be twisted before long."

Our visit to the town had so far proved more valuable than we had hoped for, and we both wished that Oakes could have been with us. Several times in the night I awoke, and each time heard footsteps passing to and fro, and subdued voices in the corridor downstairs, and could but reflect how very different this was from the usual quietude of such a place.

When we arose in the morning, Moore remarked that he never knew of such a noisy hotel in a small town.

"Guess the place is going to give me nervous prostration pretty soon, if things keep up like this," said he.

While we were at breakfast, Chief Hallen walked in and sat down beside us in a rather pompous manner, I thought. He seemed desirous of calling attention to himself. "Well, gentlemen," he said in a quiet enough way, "don't be taken aback at anything you may witness to-day. You may have a surprise. I want you to meet me in the hotel corridor soon and see who comes on the nine o'clock train."

He bade us adieu, and walked out in an unnaturally aggressive manner.

"He's showing off like a schoolboy," said I.

"Or else acting," corrected Moore.

We sat down in the corridor by and by. Hallen was talking with the clerk at the desk. The hangers-on were numerous and wore an air of expectancy; they were waiting for some one.

The rickety old carriage from the station arrived at this moment, and the man on the box opened the door with more than usual courtesy. Out stepped a medium-sized man of good figure and a most remarkable face. It was bronzed like that of a seafaring man; the eyes were black as jet and piercing; the nose hooked and rather long. He wore a thick, short moustache, which matched his hair and eyes in blackness; otherwise, his face was smooth-shaven, and his attire was in the perfection of good taste for a business man. When he spoke, one noticed particularly his strong white, even teeth.

"He looks like a pirate from the Spanish Main, dressed up," said Moore.

"A remarkably attractive fellow, anyway."

"Yes," I said; "he has the air of a celebrated man of some kind."

As he walked to the desk, the by-standers spoke in subdued tones, watching him the while. I heard one lounger say: "Sure, that is the fellow. I've seen him before. Ain't he a wonder in looks?"

Chief Hallen advanced and spoke a few words to the stranger, and then shook hands with him. He registered, and the clerk thumped the bell for Reilly with an air of tremendous importance.

As though by accident, Chief Hallen espied us and, taking the stranger by the arm, walked over to us.

We arose and bowed as the Chief repeated our names, saying, so that those near could hear: "Gentlemen, you are from the city. Let me make you acquainted with one of your fellow citizens--Mr. Quintus Oakes, of New York."

Moore calmly shook hands and mumbled something, and then, in a side whisper to me, said: "It's up to you, Stone; say something."

Although I was nearly as surprised as he, I managed to make a few audible remarks about how glad the town would be to know that Quintus Oakes was here. I saw a merry twinkle in Hallen's eyes, but the stranger made a suitable reply, and left us with that peculiar business-like air of his.

I turned to Moore and half-gasped: "What does this mean, old man?"

"A decoy," said he. "Just keep your nerve. Hallen has been giving us practice in acting."

The by-standers and the groups in the street were discussing the stranger with peculiar, suppressed excitement. Many of the smart ones claimed to have seen him before and to know all about him; already, "Quintus Oakes" rang familiarly from their lips.

We presently returned to the Mansion and related to our leader the facts we had learned from Reilly regarding "the woman's" appearances before the murder, the sudden ending of both the milkmen who had seen her, and Reilly's own suspicions in the matter. Oakes was thoughtful for quite a while.

"You have done more than I thought you could in so brief a time," said he at last. "Have you any theories regarding the identity of the woman?"

We had none to offer, and he began to smile ever so slightly. "Well, it seems to me your woman is a mistake--there was no woman. The assassin was a man in a black robe. He ran heavily, of course. You have drawn the murderer of Smith nearer to that of Mark. As regards the sudden deaths of the milkmen, probably both were killed; the examinations after death, conducted as these were, amount to nothing. The murderer of Smith, the two milkmen and of Mark is probably one and the same. Stone, you nearly fell a victim at the bridge the other night, too."

I did not reply, but a cold perspiration broke out over me. The chain of events seemed clearer now in the light of Oakes's reasoning. Then he turned to Moore.

"Doctor, loan me your cigar-cutter, will you?"

The physician reached for it, but it was gone.

"I think this must be it," said Oakes, holding out the missing article. "Next time you hide on your stomach behind a tree, do it properly."

Moore was dumfounded.

"What!" I cried, "you know that too? We did not tell you."

"No, you did not. You began your narration at the wrong end--or perhaps you _forgot_," and his eyes twinkled.

"But how did you learn of it?" demanded Moore, recovering. And Quintus smiled outright.

"My man was behind another tree only ten feet away from you the whole time. When you left, he picked up this as a memento of your brilliant detective work."

Moore and I smarted a little under the sarcasm, and I asked what the man was doing there.

"Oh, he was watching Mike and, incidentally, keeping you two from mischief. You need a guardian. You never even suspected his presence, and--suppose he had been the assassin!"

"Well," I said, "I suppose that you know all about your namesake in town, and don't need any of our information."

He heard the chagrin in my voice and smiled as he replied:

"Don't mind those little things; they happen to all of us. I am glad 'Quintus Oakes' has arrived. Chief Hallen and I concluded that the sudden arrival of such a man as our decoy would have a salutary effect on the citizens. An appearance of action on Hallen's part would tend to quiet their restlessness; and, now that public attention is focused upon _him_, Mr. Clark and his friends can work more freely."

During the discussion that followed, he told us that Mike's errand on horseback was as yet unknown, but that the man whom we followed and lost on the way was from a stable in Lorona.

"You see," continued he, "Mike has been doing this before. The horse is brought from Lorona in a roundabout way. Doubtless, on his return, he leaves it at some spot where it is met and returned to the stable."

"Mike is a mystery. What is he up to?" said Moore. "Can he be the murderer?"

"Wait and see," replied Oakes enigmatically, as he ended the conversation.

_CHAPTER XVI_

_The Negro's Story_

Saturday came and went without event. So far, at least, Hallen's arrangements for the preservation of order had been effective. Or was it that the eyes and hopes of the people were centred upon the new arrival in town, the great detective--as they were led to believe--who had grown famous through his skill in ferreting out just such mysteries. In any case, the Chief's forebodings of a lawless outbreak were unfulfilled.

The real Oakes spent most of his time in the Mansion while we remained in town; but our little party came and went as it pleased. Our movements had ceased to attract that attention which Oakes found so undesirable. As he said, in the well-known phrase of the sleight-of-hand operators: "the more you look, the less you see." The eyes of Mona were focused on the _false_ Oakes--the wrong hand; we ourselves--the hand doing the trick--were over-looked. And the more absorbed they became in the movements of the decoy, the more oblivious were they of the fact that keen eyes were studying them deeply. The criminal, unless very educated and clever, would be fooled with the multitude and caught off his guard.

A rather curious fact was that, while Dowd's newspaper published an article in its personal column about the great detective's arrival and all that he was expected to accomplish, Skinner's journal remained absolutely silent. Dowd said he could not understand it, unless the ruse had failed to deceive Skinner, in which case we might hear from him soon. We knew that our friend Quintus Oakes held the same idea. As he said, if the cheat were discovered it would lead to trouble, which must be met as it arose.

Moore and I became daily more imbued with the spirit of the adventure; besides which, we were keenly alive to Oakes's feelings and his desire to succeed. The newspapers far and near were following the case carefully, and we knew that his reputation and financial success depended largely on the outcome of this case.

A few evenings later Moore and I were standing in the square, discussing the very apparent change in the temper of the crowd since their attention had been directed by the arrival of the man they believed to be Quintus Oakes.

"Yes," said Moore, in answer to a remark of mine, "it is a clever scheme and makes the people think that Hallen is doing something; but how will they take it if they discover the trick?"

"Well, perhaps by that time the real Oakes, our friend, will be in position to reveal his identity--that would calm any bad feeling--they would realize that work had been done quietly all the while."

Moore shook his head doubtfully. "I don't like Skinner's attitude," he said, "he knows something."

Reilly approached us at this moment to say that Clark wanted us at the Mansion immediately, and that a conveyance was waiting for us at the hotel. We went at once and found it, a four-seated affair, with Hallen and Dowd on the back seat. We two sat in front with the driver--one of Oakes's men; and after we had left the town I turned to the Chief and asked him if he knew what Oakes wanted of us.

"Yes," said he; "the _negro_ is here."

Oakes was awaiting us upstairs, with Martin and Elliott. The first thing we learned was that Oakes had recognized the negro "Joe" as a former boot-black on Broadway. Joe's identification of _him_ during the court scene had placed the negro in a state of less fear than would otherwise have been the case.

"He came readily enough," said Martin; "he was threatened with arrest if he did not; but he is acting peculiarly. Seems more worried than an innocent man should be."

"He naturally dreads the ordeal; innocent men frequently appear guilty to the onlooker. The really guilty ones are prepared and go through more coolly," said Oakes.

"Yes, sir, I know that; but this one is different. I should hardly say he is guilty; still, his actions are peculiar--I cannot explain _how_."

"Think a little, Martin," said Oakes. It was the tone of the superior, firm but kindly.

Martin thought a few seconds, then he said: "Well, sir, he seems anxious to describe what he saw, and seems to think that you are his friend and will believe him; but he appears to be actually fearful of punishment."

"Rather ambiguous," said Oakes. "Perhaps he is hiding some vital point, Martin. Is he not?"

"Yes, sir; and that point is against himself."

"Of course it is, or he would not hide it; against himself, or one dear to him."

Oakes's correction was without malice, polite and patient. He was the clear reasoner, the leader, instructing a trusty subordinate--the kindly Chief and his young, but able lieutenant.

We ranged ourselves round the centre-table--we four who had come in the carriage, besides Elliott and Martin, who had brought Joe from New York. Oakes stood near a chair, away from the table and the group. After a moment the negro entered, ushered to the door by one of the men. We must have looked a formidable conclave to the poor fellow, for he halted just inside the door at sight of us all. He was a negro of that type seen in the North--strong, lithe, with a clear-cut face whose features showed the admixture of white blood. He advanced to the chair besides Oakes, and sat down at a sign from the latter.

He was nervous, but a pitiful effort at bravery showed in his carriage and manner. Bravery was necessary. A lone negro boy facing such a gathering, and--worst of all to him--that mysterious, awe-inspiring person, Quintus Oakes!

With consummate tact Quintus won the boy's confidence. Elliott spoke to him, kindly and reassuringly; and Hallen walked over and shook his hand with a protecting air. Joe brightened visibly. It was plain that the men who hunted crime were going to try kindness and sympathy first. It has always seemed to me a pity that such tactics are not more in vogue, especially toward witnesses. The master detective can throw a sympathy into his every act which will win secrets actually barred from other methods of attack.

Reassured, Joe presently began his story. In a clear, remarkably able way (for he had been to school), and with the peculiar, dramatic power possessed by some negroes, he brought vividly before us the scenes he had witnessed. As he warmed to his subject, Oakes and Hallen watched him carefully, but without emotion, occasionally questioning him adroitly to develop points which seemed to them valuable. Dowd took notes, at Oakes's suggestion, for future use.

When Joe's mother died in Troy, he went up to attend the funeral. On his return he stayed a few days in Lorona--a little place already mentioned. It was without railway connections and lay to the east of Mona, along the Highway. He had passed through the latter place afoot, late at night, and had walked the ten miles to Lorona. His sister lived there in service, also his sweetheart Jennie. Naturally, he did not pass it by.

He had left very early one morning to go back to New York and had cut across country from the Highway on the east of Mona, coming around by the hill and the pond, in front of the Mansion, to River Road. He had arrived at the Corners in time to see a milkman pick up a gentleman on the road and drive with him into the town. Joe wanted to get back to New York early and begin work, for he had been absent a week. He was to catch the seven o'clock train, so he had abundance of time, as he could tell by the sun.

He started down the hill slowly, but took the woods along the north side of the Highway; he was fond of the woods and he knew the way--he had travelled it on previous visits. Just after he entered among the trees he heard a shot, followed by a groan--on the road, he thought--a little way above him. He trembled and stood still, then his courage manifested itself, and he crept cautiously to the roadside, which was hidden below by a few feet of embankment. What he saw paralyzed him! A man was lying in the road, and a little lower down on this side, not a hundred feet from himself, stood another in full view, with a smoking revolver in his hand. Instantly the negro understood. A murder--and _he_ was a _witness_! He did nothing--waited. To have shouted would have been to invite death. But he kept his eyes open.

"I'se the only witness. I must look at him good," he thought. The man's back was partly turned, but Joe took in all that he could at that distance, and saw him retreat after a moment into the woods. Then he grew frightened. The assassin was not far from him, but, fortunately, going deeper into the woods, and down toward the stony glade below.

Did the negro run? No. He gathered a couple of good-sized stones and followed. He thought the man on the road was dead; and he saw the other one going down into the gully to cross the small stream at the bottom. "Good!" he thought; "I'll follow him. If he sees me now, and comes after me, I can run a long way before he can climb that hill."

The assassin was picking his way--carefully--until he came to the rocky bottom. He wanted to cross the stream where a large flat rock gave an invitation for stepping. He had followed the stony formation carefully, avoiding the earth; he did not wish to leave marks to be traced.

Now, at this moment the negro became conscious of a new danger; he was near the scene of the crime alone, and if found, he would be suspected of having done it. So he looked about for a moment, and then decided to run back to Lorona and his people. He was growing scared. Who could blame him? He saw the murderer stoop down right below him, deep in the gully; and the negro, obeying a sudden impulse, swung one arm and hurled a stone straight at him. It struck the fugitive on the shoulder, turning him half around; and he broke into a run, full tilt, for the brook and the stepping-stone. Joe had not seen the murderer's face, but he told us that the man's chest was protected only by an undershirt. It was a chilly morning, and the fact had impressed him afterward as curious. He watched, and saw the assassin take the brook like a frightened stag, landing first on the rock in the centre, then on the other side. As he stepped on the rock in the middle of the stream, the boy saw something fall from his waist--something red. It fell into the water.

"I'd like to know what that is," he thought; "but I'd better _skip_." Then horror took possession of him; he crossed the road quickly and dashed into the Mark property. Then he ran to River Road and the bridge, up the incline on the other side of the pond, and into the fields beyond. On he went until Mona was passed; then he sat down in a little patch of wood and thought.

He was sure nobody had seen him except a farmer in the distance, too far away to know he was a negro. He was innocent, and perhaps he had better wait and see the police. Had he done so then and there, all would have been solved sooner than it was; but, poor boy, he had no one to advise him and he was alone with a terrible secret. He had done well; he could identify the murderer perhaps; his was a great responsibility.

He stayed around, and from afar witnessed the crowds of the morning. In the afternoon he sneaked into town, hungry and worn and terribly cold. When he saw the people gathering in the court-room, curiosity conquered. He listened with all his soul, and made up his mind to go in and tell what he knew.

He saw Oakes come forward to give his testimony, and his heart beat fast and furious. He felt ill--the cold sweat poured from him as he heard; but he remained, entranced. He was going to tell all, for surely that tall fellow--Clark, they were calling him,--was the great detective Oakes; he had shined his shoes many times at the stand on Broadway before he went up-town. How peculiar that they didn't seem to know him! Then intelligence came, and he said to himself: "These people don't know him because he does not want them to." Joe did not understand all that had been said, but he knew things were uncanny and that this man Oakes was playing a game.

Suddenly had come the statement of Oakes about the arms, and the tension became too great. He cried out and ran, like the fleet-footed boy that he was, for Lorona.

There he told nothing, except that he had missed the train. His friends gave him food--the murder story was yet vague in the little village--and then he dashed on for New York. He shook the dust from his clothes and, catching a train miles down the line, arrived safely in town. He was far away from Mona at last, but he must see Mr. Elliott, his good friend, and tell him all that he could.

As the negro finished his story he looked around, and partially recovered from the state of ecstasy into which the recitation had thrown him. His eyes were rolling and shifting, his dark skin had that peculiar ashen color that comes to the negro under stress of great excitement.

Dr. Moore arose and walked to the boy, and, placing his hands on his wrist, said reassuringly: "Good boy, Joe! you are a brave fellow."

Oakes handed him a drink of brandy--he needed it--and then we all joined in praising him. He soon recovered himself, and then Oakes took up his position beside him again.

"Now, Joe, what did the murderer drop when he jumped over the stream from the rock?"

"I dunno, Master Oakes--but it was a banana, I think."

"What!" said Hallen; "a banana?"

The negro looked worried.

"Yes, it did look like one of dose red, white, spotted cloths wat de niggers down South wear on their heads."

We all laughed.

"Oh, a bandana handkerchief, Joe."

And Joe laughed also, in relief.

"And now," continued Oakes, "what did it do? Did it float away?"

The boy thought a moment, then his quick brain came to his aid.

"No, no, Master Oakes; it splashed, sure enough it did. It went down--so help me Gawd!"

"Good!" said Oakes. "It contained something heavy, then. Now, Joe," he continued, slowly and clearly, "tell me, when you heard the evidence that the murderer was the man with a mark on his arm, why did you say, 'Oh, Gawd!' and run away?"

We all felt uneasy--the question was so unexpected, to some of us at least.

The negro hesitated, stammered, and lurched forward in his chair. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his brow and on the back of his hands. Oakes was behind him, and in a caressing way slid his left arm across the boy's chest. We divined instantly that that arm was ready to shoot up around the boy's neck for a strangle hold.

Joe tried to speak, but could not. I saw Hallen prepare for a spring, and Martin edge toward the door. Dr. Moore's breathing came deep and fast, and I began to feel like shouting aloud. What did it mean?

"Come! Speak, boy, speak!" said Oakes.

No answer.

Then Oakes stooped forward and said loudly enough for us all to hear, but right in the negro's ear: "Boy, you ran because _you_ have a scar on your left arm!"

We were on our feet in an instant.

"The murderer," we cried.

The negro made a frantic effort to rise, but the arm closed on his neck and Oakes's right hand came down on his right wrist.