Chapter XX: A Man's Confession 253 (5)

Joe's left hand went to the arm at his neck, but he was powerless.

In a voice as firm as a rock, clear and emotionless, Oakes cried out: "Don't move, boy! Don't try to run."

And then he said to us: "This boy is _not_ the murderer; he is only a scared, unfortunate negro, and I will prove it."

The meaning of the words came to the boy gradually, and he became limp in the chair. Oakes relaxed his hold.

"Now, boy, if you try to run, we will bore you," and Chief Hallen drew his revolver and put it before him on the table.

"Now, Joe, show us your arm!" commanded Oakes.

The negro arose staggering, and took off his outer garment and his shirt. There, on his left arm, was a large irregular birthmark, blue and vicious-looking.

Oakes looked at it. "Gentlemen, this boy is a victim of circumstances. This is no cross, but the coincidence of a mark on the left arm has scared him nearly to death. That, in my opinion, is why he was afraid, and why he acted so peculiarly."

This was said deliberately, and with emphasis.

The negro fell on his knees. "Oh, Gawd! Oh, Mr. Oakes! Dat is it. Dat is it. I never done any murder. No! no! _no!_" and he burst into racking sobs. The strain was terrible. Dowd opened a window.

Hallen spoke. "How are you to prove his innocence, Mr. Oakes, as you said?"

There was a slight element of doubt in the question.

"Get up, boy," said Oakes; "get up." And turning to us, the cool man looked long at us all, then said: "The evidence showed conclusively that the weapon used was a heavy one, of 45-calibre probably--a revolver in all likelihood, and fired from a distance of about one hundred and fifty feet. That means a good shot. Now, this boy is right-handed, as you have noticed, but he could not use his right hand to shoot with, for the first two fingers have been amputated near the ends. Plenty of loss to preclude good pistol shooting!

"To have used such a weapon with the left hand, and with such accuracy, is out of the question save for a fancy shot. If this boy could shoot like that, he would not be boot-blacking for a living.

"Again, he has not noticeably strong arms, nor a wrist powerful enough to handle a heavy weapon properly. The boy is innocent--in my opinion."

"Oakes, you are a demon," said Hallen.

"Oh, no, I hope not; only I hate to see mistakes made too often. Poor devil!"

And Oakes patted the boy on the back.

With a pathetic, dog-like expression, sobbing with joy, the befriended negro seized the man's right hand and, kneeling, showered kisses upon it.

_CHAPTER XVII_

_Checkmated_

The negro was led away. He was in better spirits now, and smiling as only a negro can. That extraordinary genius--the mystic Oakes--had, by a process of reasoning that Joe himself was able to follow, not only cleared him of suspicion, but made a _hero_ of him. The innate vanity of the race was reacting on the boy, and coming to the rescue of his nervous system, recently so severely strained.

When he had gone, Oakes turned to us and, interrupting our exclamations, remarked:

"Now that we are all here together, it would be wise perhaps briefly to review what clues we have obtained and their probable significance."

We all assented to this suggestion, and by tacit consent Quintus Oakes began:

"First, we have found that the _cartridge picked up_ in the cellar, and evidently dropped by the man in the robe, _is of the same pattern as the old ones in the pouch upstairs_.

"They all belong to the old revolver which was taken away from its place--and for which another was substituted since my first visit here. With regard to its calibre (the important point), _that old revolver meets the requirements of our deductions about the weapon used to murder Mr. Mark_. Therefore we have a chain of evidence connecting my assailant in the cellar--the man in the robe--with the assassin.

"We know also that the revolver was fired not far from the hundred-and-fifty-foot distance; _the man was an excellent shot_, for you must consider the old style of weapon.

"He must have been _large_, or at least _strong in the wrist_, for a good shot with such a weapon cannot be made by a weak person."

I interrupted: "The murder of Smith was considered to be due to a pistol ball of large calibre. Could the same weapon have been used?"

"It could," said Oakes. "That one has been in the family for years. The style of the cartridges is somewhat similar to our modern ones, but they are very old, as we know by their appearance.

"Further," he continued, "in my opinion the 'woman story' connected with the Smith murder is based on a _man_ in a black _robe_. It may have been the same man who is at the bottom of these later mysteries--though we are to remember that when Mr. Mark was killed Joe saw no _robe_.

"In the annals of crime we find very few women doing murder in that way; it is a man's method.

"We must look then for a _strong-wristed_ man--a man who has also strong arms, and a _cross_ on the _left_ one; finally, a man with a knowledge of revolvers, and who has in his possession--or has had--a large, old-fashioned weapon and cartridges, and also a robe.

"And one thing more strikes me," added Oakes in a slow, deliberate voice, "he is a man _with a mania_--_an insane man_--always, or at intervals."

"Yes," said the doctor. "I had concluded so too, Oakes. The wearing of a robe--especially in a confined place like the wall space--the cutting out of a panel and the peculiar method of attack seem nonsensical and without proper reason. And the absence of provocation for those assaults, and for the murder of good men like Smith and Mark, point strongly to an unbalanced mind."

"Probably correct," Oakes replied. "And I should say that the _insanity is present at intervals only_."

"Mr. Oakes," said Chief Hallen then, "don't you think it advisable to investigate that story of the bandana handkerchief as soon as possible? Affairs in town may become pressing at any time, and we may be needed there."

"Yes, Chief, certainly. We should lose no time about it," said Oakes. Then he spoke to Martin; and the latter retired and presently returned with Joe.

The detective asked the boy if he would go and point out the stone from which the murderer was leaping when the handkerchief fell into the water. "You know it is nearly full moon and several of my men will go with you, and so will Mr. Martin."

The negro assented reluctantly, though bravely, for he was not devoid of superstition. Oakes called in four of his men and said:

"Go with Mr. Martin and Joe. Take lanterns, and find the handkerchief which is at the bottom of the stream if the boy is telling the truth, and the murderer has not recovered it. He did not notice it drop, did he, Joe?"

"No, Master Oakes; he just flew along and never looked round. He did not know where it dropped." The negro was using good English, and standing erect with a very important expression. He was innocent, and the central figure now. He realized that dignity was becoming. An educated boy of his race can show great self-control under such circumstances. Vanity--thou Goddess of Transformation!

While the searching party was gone, we spent the time discussing Mike's peculiarities--most of all his horseback ride in the moonlight, a curious departure for a hired man.

"This whole thing is unusual in the extreme, Stone. Since the night that you were escorted to the pond by Chief Hallen's men and there warned of impending danger, and your unknown friend was chased by the man lying in wait for you, I have had a net around Mike and Maloney and Cook, but with negative results," said Oakes.

"You see, Maloney and Cook go about their business in a quiet fashion, while Mike cannot be approached very well; the men report him as very shrewd and suspicious."

"Did you find out where Mike went on his horseback trip?"

"No, that is another curious thing. The Lorona man who brought him the horse says he has done it for a few days and received good pay. The horse was always returned promptly, once or twice by a boy; the other times by Mike himself."

"To have done that, Mike must have walked back from Lorona," said Hallen.

"No, he may have ridden part way. We found a man this evening who saw him take a team on the Lorona Highway and ride into Mona after dark."

"Where is Mike now?" I inquired.

"Since the episode of that horseback ride, witnessed by Dr. Moore and yourself, he has disappeared."

"Disappeared!"

"Yes, eluded all our men and never returned the horse."

"Skipped! Got away!" we cried in amazement.

"Yes, but he won't stay away long; he will come back."

We did not quite understand Oakes's speech, but there evidently was something behind it.

At this point, with his characteristic swiftness of movement, he lighted a cigar and began to smoke, offering the box to us all.

That meant that, as far as he was concerned, talking on business had ceased for a time. He was now recreating.

* * * * *

Elliott and I walked to a window and looked out upon the front walk and the road, conversing upon the manner in which Joe had been brought to Mona.

He had resisted the idea at first, but through the efforts of Martin and Elliott, and the promise of a reward, he had finally consented to the journey. They had explained to him that his refusal would defeat the ends of justice, and that escape was impossible; and when he realized that he had been unconsciously talking to watchers, and polishing their shoes in his innocence, he saw the folly of further remonstrance. Thus was the important evidence of the negro secured.

The strain of events was telling on us all. Quintus Oakes showed his deep concern by a tendency to leave us and remain alone.

As Elliott and I were talking, he looked at the rolling hills beyond the pond and exclaimed:

"Look! Can I be mistaken, Mr. Stone? Look in the direction of Mona--away off on the plateau--is not that a horse?"

I followed his pointing and discovered in the moonlight the figure of a horse advancing rapidly over the blue-green fields, along the path that led to the bridge.

Oakes advanced to the window and gazed intently, shading his eyes with his hands. On the crest of the hill that dipped to the pond the horse soon stood out clearly against the dark blue of the sky. We could see a figure which had lain low on his neck rise and sit straight in the saddle, then flash a light.

From near the road, on our side of the pond, came an answering light; a man stood there and exchanged signals with the horseman.

The rider was moving his arms rapidly, and with them the light. The other was answering in a similar manner.

Oakes remained quiet, and we all gathered at the window about him.

"What is it?" I asked.

He turned and said to me: "Here, write as I read."

I took an envelope and pencil from my pocket and wrote as Oakes deciphered the signals.

"A message from Mona," he cried. "Quick!"

Then he read the letters as they appeared:

"Discovered. Skinner has extra out. Pronounces me false; says Hallen has tricked the town. Beware of Skinner. Tell Hallen to look out. Am off for New York."

Then came a long wave over the head, and the horseman dashed back toward Lorona.

We detected another horseman at a little distance, who joined him; they rapidly disappeared together.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Oakes. "He has done his duty well."

We saw the man on this side run post haste for the Mansion. As he rushed up the steps, Oakes met him. "All right, boy! I saw the signals myself." Then to us he said: "Quintus Oakes the false is discovered. That was he; he came to warn us."

"Then Skinner has caught on, confound him," said Dowd, and we all silently assented.

Oakes paced the room slowly. "Boys, we have been unexpectedly checked. The enemy has a strong hand: there is trouble ahead."

"Yes, there is that," retorted the vigorous Hallen. "I must get away to headquarters, gentlemen!"

"Correct!" answered Oakes; "and we will go with you, Chief. If trouble is coming, we will be useless here."

With one accord we prepared to depart for Mona immediately. The carriage was brought to the door and saddle-horses also.

Then we waited anxiously for the return of Martin's party. We were not long delayed. A commotion in the hall was heard, and in stepped Joe and Martin, followed by the men. Oakes's assistant advanced and laid a red handkerchief, dotted with white spots, upon the table. It was wet and heavy, and knotted by its four corners so as to form a pouch.

"We found it, sir, in about two feet of water, partly covered with sand. Its weight was gradually sinking it into the bottom."

Joe laughed hysterically and lapsed into negro dialect: "See, Mars Oakes! see, boss! I dun tole you the truth."

Oakes seized the handkerchief, and we all looked inside. It contained a few large cartridges.

"They match the one I found in the cellar, and those of the old revolver," said Oakes. "The man of the Mansion mysteries and assaults _is_ the murderer of Mr. Mark."

We were intensely excited as we stood there viewing the evidence that was so conclusive. Not one of us made a remark, but the deep breathing of some and the pale faces of others showed the interest that was felt by one and all.

Oakes discovered on one end of the handkerchief the initial "S," and we all studied its appearance closely. Then Oakes asked Hallen if such handkerchiefs were unusual in Mona.

"No, not at all; there are hundreds of them sold here, especially to the laborers on the water-works--the Italians and Poles," answered the Chief.

"It is a very peculiar 'S,'" said Oakes, as he folded the handkerchief and put it in his pocket, giving the cartridges to Martin. He said nothing more, but seemed serious and thoughtful, as usual. And then we set out all together on a wild drive to police headquarters.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the crowds were increasing. The square, with the hotel on one side and headquarters on the other, was the centre of a vicious body of men, pushing, struggling and forcing its way along, and pausing now and again to surge around headquarters. We could all see that Hallen was to have his hands full.

"I should like to see Skinner very much," remarked Oakes in a sarcastic vein.

"I should like to see his arms," said Moore; "they might be interesting."

Oakes looked at the speaker with one of his undefinable expressions. We could not tell whether the shot had been a true one or not.

_CHAPTER XVIII_

_Misadventures_

Toward morning the crowd thinned. The street grew more quiet, although the very air still throbbed with action, even as the heart-strokes within us. Quickly as events had come, we were yet only in the midst of our experiences.

The clock in the Chief's room was striking three, and drowsiness was stealing over me, as over the outside world, when a knock came at the front door and Hallen admitted a man, weary-eyed and panting. I recognized him as one of the men who had been masquerading about the Mansion as a carpenter. He was dressed in a heavy jersey without a coat, and was evidently suffering from fatigue.

He walked over to Oakes and spoke to him in a low voice. The detective asked a question or two, and turning looked at Dr. Moore, asleep in a chair, fagged out, then at me. I was wide awake, anticipating more trouble. "Stone," said he, "are you good for a ride with me on horseback? We have found something important."

"Yes," I answered, "I am ready."

Speaking a word to Hallen and Martin, Oakes drew me aside. "Leave your overcoat. Come, we are needed."

We passed out into the night and down a side street, led by the man who had summoned us. In a few minutes we reached a stable and found horses, and I knew that it had been so arranged. We were mounted and off without notice from any but an hostler and the proprietor, who had told me that my horse was strong and capable.

We pounded to the east, along the Highway, toward Lorona, for a mile or so, then swerved into a narrow road winding across the plateau to the south and west. I knew we were making for the River Road below the Mansion. I had heard of this lane, which swept in a long curve around the southern end of Mona, connecting the Highway with River Road about two miles south of the Mansion gate.

As we galloped along, Oakes communicated to me the cause of our trip.

"Two of my men have located a hut deep in the forest at the south end of the Mansion grounds. There is something going on there. They think they have the murderer. One of the men came for me; the other is watching."

I felt the blood surge to my brain, and the hardships of the night were forgotten in the intensity of my anticipations. At last, and I was to be at the finish!

Instinctively I felt for my revolver. It was safe, and the assurance that it was with me gave relief.

Fortunately, I was a fair horseman and my mount was one of those animals that respond to the rider's every command. My two companions were also well mounted, and the long ride was soon over. Arriving at River Road, we dismounted and left the horses in charge of the man who had accompanied us. Another man now came from the darkness--another of Oakes's retinue. He was to lead us to the hut.

Then we three entered the fringe of the woods, and cautiously followed our guide deep into the denser section. The moon was hidden occasionally by fleeting clouds, and as we advanced farther and farther, its rays ceased to reach us. All was gloom, deep and almost impenetrable.

Our guide whispered: "He is in the hut, sir, waiting for someone. Follow me."

Then he advanced a few paces, and led us through a more open section of the forest. Soon he stopped.

"Stay here until you see a light flash ahead; that is his signal. He has been here an hour, but his friend is slow in coming."

"Perhaps he knows it is too dangerous," said Oakes.

Our guide went from us to a short distance, to keep separate watch.

The giant trees around were more scattered than elsewhere in the forest through which we had passed. Occasionally the sheen of the moonlight was visible far above us as the branches swayed in the breeze. Here below, the air was quiet and the gloom deep. Our eyes, accustomed to it now, could detect the silent army of tree-trunks around us for a considerable distance.

The air was chilly, but excitement kept us from feeling the need of our great-coats. Beneath our feet the ground was soft but dry, and the leaves were scattered about in profusion; for this was the fall of the year and the woods had begun to strip at the touch of the frost king.

Quintus Oakes stood by my side behind a tree. We were both gazing intently in the direction that had been indicated to us. Nothing was visible for a few moments, when suddenly Oakes pressed my shoulder with his hand and said in a low, quiet voice: "See--off there, that flash!"

I had noticed nothing, but as I drew breath to answer, I beheld the diverging rays of a light--probably a lantern--play up and down a tree-trunk at least a hundred feet away. It moved quickly, and then jumped to another trunk; in its transit it threw a long, narrow yellow streak on the ground between. Then it would be lost suddenly to our view. I thought the trees intervened in our line of vision at such times, but Oakes explained: "He is waiting and signalling with a dark lantern; see how the light is shut off at will. He is surely within a hut of some kind; I can see the outlines occasionally."

"What can he be up to?" I whispered. "He is at least a mile from the Mansion, and nearly as much from the road."

"That light is a guide," said Oakes. "His confederate cannot find the hut without it; the forest is too dense."

We waited in silence, stealing very carefully nearer to the hut, and our patience was finally rewarded. We saw the door, which was sidewise to us, open with a quick movement and a man enter. Then all was dark within and without, save in one little spot where, through the back wall of the hut, a few rays found exit in long, narrow streaks of yellow light, scarcely visible to us.

"He has turned his bull's eye away from the window and the door, and has not shut it. They are using the light for some purpose," said the detective, touching my arm and motioning me to follow him.

With utmost caution we advanced until we were near enough to hear voices. At first they came to us as a low, indistinct muttering, but as we neared the hut we determined that they were raised in argument. At our distance, however, we were unable to recognize either.

"Keep away from the front," said Oakes, "lest the door be opened and we be discovered."

We stationed ourselves in the shadow near the window, which was low in the side of this curious log-cabin--for such we saw it to be. It was boarded inside evidently, for the light was kept from without too well.

Through the window we beheld two dim forms bending over a board table. One was handling something like paper, in the diverging streak of illumination from the bull's eye opening of the lantern, which was on the table, facing the back wall of the hut, just as Oakes had said.

The figure could not be distinguished either as to face or form, for the light was very indistinct save in the immediate path of the rays. As we moved ever so little from our chosen positions, our vision of the table and the streak of light upon it was cut off, owing to the small size of the window. I knew by the movement of Oakes's arm that he had secured his weapon, and I closed my hand about mine, holding it--muzzle down--by my side, ready for instant use.

The voices within, became louder, and I distinguished the words: "You _must_, man, you MUST get away."

It was answered by a half-mumbled protest, and then we saw one figure arise and stoop over the light on the table.

"Here, take this, and go!"

Oakes touched me. "The murderer preparing to get away," he said.

We could see a pair of hands counting what appeared to be money; then they extended their contents to the other hands that awaited them. The figure who had given the money arose, and with his back to us made as if to leave. Suddenly, without an instant's warning, we saw the form of the other come partially into view, and an arm steal slowly upward. As the first figure moved away, it closed about his neck and a death struggle began, revealed to us by the blurred swaying of the two and a deep, despairing gasp from the man being strangled.

"Murder!" said Oakes, and we moved toward the door of the hut with one thought in mind--the helping of a fellow being meeting his death at the hands of what we believed to be the assassin of Mona.

I was excited; it was unquestionably the most trying moment of my life, and I met it as we had not foreseen. Advancing two steps hurriedly, my feet caught in one another somehow, and with a wild war-whoop of distress I fell forward on my face, carrying Oakes with me in a crashing, headlong mix-up that must have been heard for a hundred yards in that still morning air.

It was all over!

The two in the hut heard us, the strangler released his hold and the light was extinguished instantly. Out of the door the figures flew like demons. They were both anxious to escape detection--that was evident. They must have thought it was the charge of the Light Brigade.

Oakes and I were up and after them. He shouted a word of command, then I heard more footsteps, and our guide answered. Instantly came the sounds of a struggle, fierce but short, in the darkness beyond. We could see nothing, but we heard a heavy fall, and then the rush of an escaping man, or men. Oakes and I were quick to reach the spot, and managed to find our forest guide groaning on the ground.

At Oakes's suggestion we carried him back to the hut, which I ascertained was now quite empty. It was a grewsome experience, this. Oakes refused to allow a match to be struck, saying: "Don't draw their fire, Stone; we may be in a nest of them." My chagrin was deep as I thought of the opportunity that my clumsiness had brought to naught. We soon succeeded in reviving our man; he had been felled by a fist blow on the face, evidently.

"Did you see the other fellow?" asked my companion.

"Yes, sir, I saw one; he was Skinner. I caught his face in the lantern light just as they doused it."

"Indeed!" cried Oakes. "Skinner! You mean the man who runs the newspaper--the one I have ordered shadowed."

"Yes, sir; the same. It was he who was counting the money."

"Yes, that agrees. Go on. Who was the other?"

"I did not see him at all, Mr. Oakes, but I ran into him, or rather he into me. I have a piece of his shirt here, sir."

The man handed something to Oakes, and together we peered at it in the dim morning light. We soon determined that it was a good-sized piece of the neck of a shirt.

Then, watching carefully the woods around, I stood on guard, while Oakes examined the inside of the hut. It was an old hunter's cabin evidently, and had not been recently used. The table was made of rough boards, and was supported by two stumps. It might have served as a place to lie upon also.

Oakes uttered an exclamation, as the guide handed him a piece of paper money that was on the floor. Nothing else was found. The lantern had gone with the men.

"One man was giving money to the other to get him away, and nearly lost his life in defense of the rest in his possession. This is a piece of a bill torn off in the struggle," said Oakes.

"Do you recognize this shirt pattern?" asked he.

"Yes, sir," said our guide; "it is like what O'Brien wears."

"Exactly!" said Oakes. "And you"--he addressed the man--"come with us to the road. Can you walk that far?"

"Yes, indeed. I am all right now, but I was finished for a few minutes."

"You were knocked out well," remarked Oakes; "lucky you were not killed."

We returned to River Road by the way we had come, arriving there as dawn was breaking and the sun beginning to throw his rays across the plateau before us. We found our horses and the man who had escorted us from Mona.

Oakes spoke to him: "Here, Bob, let Paul ride on your horse; he has had a smash. You walk. Both of you go to the Mansion and tell the others to find O'Brien, if possible. Paul will explain. Make no arrests, but don't let your man get away."

We vaulted into our saddles and galloped ahead. As we were returning to headquarters by way of the Corners I felt like a culprit; I was devoured by chagrin, and thoroughly ashamed of my awkwardness.

Oakes's face was grave--much more so than usual--but he rode his horse with alertness and confidence, and I wondered at the endurance he displayed--also at his consideration; for in this hour, when keen disappointment must have been his, he did not mention my mishap, which had so changed events. He acted as though it were beneath him to notice it, and that made me all the more mortified; but at the same time I vowed to redeem myself in his eyes.

Dashing toward the Mansion gate, we both pulled up our horses as Oakes uttered a sudden exclamation. He rested one hand on the pommel of his saddle and pointed with the other at a man inside the Mansion gate. His back was toward us, and he had been raking the walk apparently.

"Look--notice!" and the voice of my companion grew sharp and significant; "look!"

The man was now reaching upward with one hand, the rake held within its grasp, and with a graceful, well-calculated swing he was deftly denuding a branch overhead of its dying leaves.

"Well, I see," I answered; "it's Maloney cleaning up."

"Exactly!" came the staccato answer; "but how about the strength of the wrist that can handle such a heavy rake with such certainty?"

"Oh, yes, he's strong," I cried. "He's got plenty of muscle, apparently."

"He has a strong wrist and a strong arm, and not such an awfully large chest," answered Oakes calmly, as though speaking of the weather or of something of no importance. Fool that I was, it was only then that his meaning suddenly went home to my slow-acting brain. I saw a light in Oakes's eyes that I had never seen before--cool, steely, calculating.

"No," I whispered; "_impossible_!--but you are searching for just such a person."

"Yes, of course," was the laconic answer; "but let's talk with the gentleman of the rake."

Oakes led the way to within a few feet of the gate, then rising in his stirrups shouted to Maloney.

The latter turned, and with a look of recognition came quickly toward us. "Good morning, sir;--good morning, Mr. Clark. I was going to headquarters for you soon, sir; they told me you had gone there with Chief Hallen----"

"Yes! Why did you wish to go there, Maloney?"

"Because, sir, there is something wrong--something about the mystery here. You know, sir, you left word to report if anything unusual happened."

Maloney spoke quietly, and without embarrassment. We had noticed before that he was fairly well educated--another victim of unfortunate circumstances.

"What has occurred?" There was a hard ring in Oakes's voice. It told me to be discreet; I had heard that accent before.

"Mr. Clark, I went down to Lorona last night to see my brother, who is sick. When I returned it was late. I was on horseback, and I noticed a man on the road lighting a lantern. I spoke to him; he would not answer, but started into the timber at the far south end of the grounds."

"Well, what was peculiar?"

"It was Skinner, sir."

"Skinner!"

"Yes, sir; I saw his face by the light. I thought it strange, tied my horse and followed him. He went a long way into the woods to a hut, and waited a couple of hours with the light. Then another man came, and they had a quarrel. There was a terrible noise, and then the light went out and they disappeared. I went back to my horse and have just got here."

"Who was with Skinner?"

"I don't know, sir. I was facing the door of the hut, but it was too dark to see. They worked with a dark lantern."

We had quietly walked our horses up to the gate while listening to Maloney. Oakes's eyes were upon the ground.

Suddenly he looked up. "Thank you very much, Maloney. You have done well in reporting to me. I will see Chief Hallen; this is a matter, perhaps, for the police, certainly not for me, to work on."

Wheeling our horses, we darted to the Corners and on toward Mona.

Quintus Oakes was very quiet; he seemed annoyed--or nonplussed--and the pace that he set was terrific. As we neared the town we slowed up, and I asked excitedly of the taciturn man by my side: "Tell me, what's up?"

He turned slightly in his saddle. "Maloney was there; he acknowledged it. So far he told the truth; but he _lied_ about returning on horseback. There were no hoof-marks going toward the stable--none entered the Mansion gate. And he lied also about his brother in Lorona, for there is no such relative of his there; Maloney has no brothers or sisters hereabouts."

I now remembered Oakes's careful scrutiny of the ground while we were talking with Maloney, and I also realized how close was the net he had spread about everyone at the Mansion.

"If Maloney was at the hut, how did he get back ahead of us?" I asked.

"Ran, of course--took the inside way through the woods; he knows the paths well. He may not only have been _near_ the hut, Stone, he may have been _in_ it. If so, he tried to kill Skinner, for the old man had money."

Then Oakes continued: "Perhaps it was Maloney who was about to get away, if he could. But he can't," the detective added with a sardonic laugh, as he closed his jaws firmly.

"But," I exclaimed, "suppose it was Maloney, what of O'Brien? He was there; we have his shirt--in part at least."

"Oh, bother O'Brien! he makes me tired," cried Oakes enigmatically; "he will get himself into trouble some day."

"Yes, yes," I contended; "but he too has strong arms and a strong wrist and could have used the revolver."

"Surely! So could many men. These clues are merely the primary ones. Many men answer their requirements. They are worth very little by themselves. They simply point to a certain type of man. They are simply _links_, as yet unforged into the chain."

"But one thing more, Oakes," I cried, "why should Maloney volunteer the information that he was at the place if he had no good excuse for being there?"

"That's it exactly. Perhaps he mistrusts he was seen and wants to get in his story first. Perhaps he cannot hold his tongue; perhaps his mind is weak. We are looking for a mind somewhat unusual, Stone, remember that."

We were now at the Square in front of the little hotel and, dismounting, we proceeded to enter the door of the inn. As we did so, I took my companion by the arm and drew him aside.

"Say, Oakes," I said, "don't tell Dr. Moore how I involved matters by that stumble. I would never hear the end of it."

Oakes looked surprised, then his eyes beamed in merriment. He smiled ever so slightly.

"That certainly was a beautiful charge you made over me," said he.

He did not promise not to tell, however; but months afterwards, Dr. Moore learned all about it from me, and I then found that Quintus had remained silent.

_CHAPTER XIX_

_A Faulty Story_

After breakfast, while Oakes gave the doctor a brief résumé of our night's adventure, the two rival newspapers came out with "extras" on the recent doings. Skinner's comments were sarcastic and bitter, and, while not actually inciting to lawlessness, played upon the roused feelings of the towns-people by scathing allusions to Hallen's inefficiency, and by reiterating the story of the false Quintus Oakes.

Our friend Dowd, on the other hand, came forward with a moderate, well-worded article that swayed the minds of the more thoughtful. The reading of his words won us more friends. Who does not like to hear two sides of an argument, or to read cool words of wisdom from one whose career entitles him to respect?

We had learned at breakfast that Hallen had taken hold with a grip of iron during the night. Many arrests had followed his activity, and the quietude of the forenoon was largely due to his efforts of the night before.

As we stood outside the hotel remarking upon the changed appearance of the streets, our attention was attracted to a small crowd approaching the Square from the direction of the Corners. There were men running ahead and shouting; then a close, compact body swaying around a central attraction. We thought we detected a man being helped along as though he were severely injured, and we clearly distinguished the words "Shot at!" "The murderer!" and many expressions of anger and terror.

Oakes looked into the mass of men and scanned the pale face of the injured one. "It's Maloney," he said, seizing the doctor and myself by the arm. He pushed his way forward as the crowd recognized and opened for Mr. Clark.

"Well, Maloney, what is it?" asked Oakes.

"I was shot at, sir," he exclaimed, "shot at, in the very spot where Mr. Mark was killed; and then, sir, someone hit me a blow on the head, and I fell."

I saw Oakes run his hand over Maloney's scalp.

"I was dazed, sir, when these men found me," finished the gardener.

"Yes," said two laborers, "we found him on the ground just waking up, and acting queer-like. And here's the revolver; it was lying behind the rock, sir."

"How did it happen?" asked Oakes.

"I heard a shot near me," Maloney answered, "a heavy revolver shot. I turned, and was then hit with something like a sand-bag, I guess, for everything got dim."

Hallen walked him into the headquarters building, to avoid the rapidly increasing crowd.

"Shut the doors," he ordered. The command was quickly obeyed, and we who had worked together were all within the building now, away from the crowd.

"Who was it?" asked Hallen of Maloney.

The man hesitated a while, but upon being pressed for an answer finally replied: "I have not dared to mention my suspicions, sir, but the fellow looked like Mike O'Brien. At any rate, he was wounded; he was walking with a limp, sir, and I saw blood on his trousers leg. He must have been in a scrap or an accident."

"When I was coming to," he continued, "I saw him hiding a revolver behind a rock. I pointed out the place to the men when they came a few moments after, and they found it."

"Why did you not cry out for help?" asked Oakes suddenly, even viciously, I thought.

Maloney answered quickly: "Because he thought I was dead, and I let him think so. If I had made any noise, sir, he would have finished me. I did not move until I knew help was near."

"Good!" said Oakes; "you had presence of mind. Let us see the revolver; the men left it here, did they not?"

Hallen stepped forward with the weapon.

Oakes examined it; but his look informed us that it was not the _old_ one taken from the wall in the Mansion.

Further questioning failed to reveal anything of importance, but it seemed clear from what Maloney said that the assaulter escaped on horseback after he was seen by his intended victim, for Maloney insisted that he had heard a galloping horse afterwards.

"He was wounded, you said?" queried the detective.

"Yes, sir, quite badly, I thought."

Moore examined Maloney's injury and took careful note of his condition; then the gardener was told to go, and he was soon joined outside by the two laborers--his new found friends. Together they went for the hotel bar across the street. As they disappeared, Oakes exchanged glances with the doctor, and I knew that something was wrong. There came a long silence, which Hallen finally broke.

"This is a queer story, Oakes; I don't understand it. Is it the murderer at work again--and O'Brien accused? You say the Mansion mysteries are the work of the same hand that shot Mr. Mark, and possibly Mr. Smith. But those mysteries are old, and O'Brien is a recent arrival here and knows very little of the Mansion. I cannot see his guilt. How do you explain it, Oakes?"

The keen man addressed faced the Chief, and we all knew the words that were coming were valuable.

"Chief, I have just told you of Mr. Stone's adventures with me this morning--of my proof that Maloney lied to us. Well, he has lied again."

"Yes," chimed in Dr. Moore, "the man's a fake. He was not seriously injured, if at all."

"I saw through Maloney's story instantly," continued Oakes. "He said he was assaulted by O'Brien, who was, according to his own story, a badly wounded man. He said O'Brien hid the revolver afterwards, while he, Maloney, was shamming death, and that O'Brien sought to escape. It is nonsense."

"Why? I fail to see!" I asked excitedly.

Oakes turned to me: "Why, Stone, don't you see the flaws? Would a seriously injured man attempt deliberate murder? What show would he have to escape? Then, again, if able to get away himself, would he hide the revolver near the scene of the crime, behind a rock? No, he would take it with him as a defensive weapon, or else hide it where it never could be found; in the Hudson, for instance, or the brook--both near at hand."

"True enough," cried Hallen, his face showing his admiration; "but what's your idea, then, Oakes?"

"Just this, gentlemen. Maloney _himself_ shot O'Brien, and seeing the latter escape knew that his game was up, for he had been identified by O'Brien. So he hid the revolver that he himself used, and then pretended to have been sand-bagged and shot at. He relied on the weight of his word against O'Brien's, not knowing anything of the evidence collected against him or that we were anything but agents and workmen about the Mansion?"

The Chief looked long and half sceptically at Oakes, then asked: "Does Maloney meet your requirements? Does he fill the bill?"

"Well, he has a strong wrist and long arms," answered Oakes--"that places him among the _possibles_; he also has a comparatively narrow chest, such as the man had who wore the robe--you remember we reasoned that out. Those three things cover much ground. Then, again, he is an old resident, knows all about the Mansion, was here when Smith was murdered."

Elliott now spoke up: "Oakes, you said the murderer was a good shot. Is Maloney a good shot with a revolver?"

"Yes, he was; he used to belong to the National Guard years ago. He was a splendid shot then, according to evidence procured by my men."

"But the revolver to-day was not the old one?" queried the Chief.

"No," answered Oakes; "but he can easily have two."

"I had better arrest him now as a suspicious person," exclaimed Hallen excitedly.

"Not yet. Let us be _sure_ first--remember Skinner has a motive for crossing us; he has tried to defeat the aims of justice right through. He was dealing money this morning to someone; suppose it was to Maloney--what is his reason?"

Hallen thumped the table furiously as though a new thought had come to him. "Skinner answers the physical requirements also, Mr. Oakes--he was also a guardsman--a good shot."

"Yes," answered Oakes, "but scarcely strong enough to overpower me at the Mansion."

"Unless he was acting while in mania, as we presume this criminal acts," said Moore.

I sat spellbound as these men discussed the intricacies of the affair, realizing the truth of their reasonings and marvelling at the clues, conceptions and brilliant memories revealed, especially by the masterly Oakes.

"Too bad you cannot find Skinner, and see what he is up to," I remarked.

"We must let Hallen keep watch on him until we are ready for our final move. It would be easy to arrest him on suspicion, but that might defeat our object, and, again, I do not believe in making arrests until my case is clear," said Oakes.

"Do you not think Skinner might be the murderer?" I asked.

"Not as I see things now. It seems more probable that he is interested in someone whom he wants to get out of harm's way. His motive throughout this affair has been to hide the guilty, I think."

"And what do you make of that man O'Brien?" queried Dowd; "he seems to be a mysterious fellow."

Oakes and Hallen exchanged knowing glances. "He's another possibility; he's a little Tartar," said the detective.

"But won't Maloney get away now?" asked Elliott.

"Nit," was the answer from Hallen. "Those two 'laborers' with him are my 'specials.'"

I was getting entirely tied up now, but, desiring to appear erudite and worthy of such company, I blurted forth: "Who is Mike O'Brien, anyway?"

Oakes looked at us all coolly and exasperatingly. "He seems to be a little extra thrown in. I'll tell you all about it when you tell me if the 'S' on the handkerchief has anything to do with Mr. Skinner."

An exclamation of surprise went up. We had all forgotten _that_. But before we could resume, a message arrived for Oakes. It was brought by one of the men whom we knew so well by sight around the Mansion. He told of the finding of a burned tree, hidden in the forest, near the scene of the murder of Mr. Mark. Those who were searching had discovered that the tree was recently struck by lightning and that within its burned interior was ash.

The man had brought some with him, and also a small, crumpled piece of newspaper. Oakes looked carefully at them as we glanced over his shoulder.

"At last!" cried he. "Here is wood ash--wet, as was that on the robe; and here is paper like that of the 'Daily News,' which we found in the robe; is it not?"

"Yes," cried Moore. "It is indeed--can it be?"

"Yes," came the answer from Oakes; "my orders to search for the origin of the ash have been crowned with success. The robe was in that tree."

"But," I cried, "of what value is that?"

"Just this--the robe was not worn at the time of the murder. Remember, Joe did not see it--it had been hidden, probably. The murderer used it to go and to come in, but for some unknown reason discarded it at the shooting."

"Excuse me," said the messenger, "excuse me, Mr. Oakes--but that's about right. The tree was beyond the stone where he crossed and lost the handkerchief. He was running for the robe, sir; the murderer was after his disguise."

Oakes looked at his subordinate calmly and smiled ever so slightly. The man bowed and retreated, abashed at his own impetuosity.

Hallen turned to our friend Oakes and said: "I never in my life saw anything like this--like you."

Oakes, always ready to side-step praise in any form, answered, with one of his chilling glances: "Oh, bother! You're young yet, Hallen; you need age."

Hallen half resentfully yanked his cap on his head and strode to the door.

"Well," he remarked, "here's where I take a look at Maloney's arms--I am dead tired of theorizing."

"Stop!" commanded Oakes; "you'll spoil it all."

"I won't spoil the cross on the arm--the cross of indigo--if it's there; and if it ain't there, it ain't. Hang it all, anyway." And forthwith Hallen strode out the door, down the steps toward the hotel bar-room, with Oakes and the rest of us following in a vain endeavor to head him off.

When we reached the bar-room, Hallen was already in the side room. We rushed toward the little room door, expecting to see Maloney in the grasp of Hallen; but instead, we beheld the Chief gazing in stupefaction at his two men dead drunk, heads between their hands on the little round table.

"------------,----!" cried the Chief in a voice that shook the glasses on the shelves in the bar-room and brought the white-coated attendant with one bound to the door. "Hell--en--Maloney's escaped."

"Escaped!" cried the bar-keeper. "Escaped!--nit. Why, he paid for the drinks and walked out half an hour ago--said he had a job at the Mansion. These fellows--gosh!" cried the man as he shook them--"drunk! What's up--what does it mean, Chief?"

Then Quintus Oakes spoke in tones of dulcet and ineffable sweetness, cooingly, charmingly. "It means that Chief Hallen pays for a round of the best you've got. In order to see a cross on a man's arm it becomes necessary first to catch the man--something like the bird's tail and the salt proposition."

"Mix 'em up quick!" shouted Hallen, advancing to the bar. "Hell--en--be damned! Get the two samples of Mona's police out into the air! Hell--en----!"

_CHAPTER XX_

_A Man's Confession_

The assault upon Maloney was now the talk of the town. Hallen, who had enjoyed a respite from censure, was again furiously blamed for inability and incompetence. None but our select few discerned that Maloney was lying, for none knew as much of the intricacies of the case as did we. All were crying out for the instant arrest of the one who had attempted to kill him, but none but the few who had heard Maloney's statement within headquarters knew that it was O'Brien he had accused--and only those few knew that his story was probably false.

Although the order had gone forth quietly, as we knew, to "find Mike O'Brien," still it was not known to any save Hallen's and Oakes's men.

The masses were in ignorance of the strides we had made twards the solution of the horrible happenings at Mona, and, of course, Hallen was getting more than he deserved in the way of criticism.

Oakes told us that he momentarily expected some new developments in the case, as Hallen was endeavoring to find Skinner and bring him to the Mansion. His surmises proved true, for it was found an easy matter to locate the old man; and early in the evening Hallen arrived at the Mansion and joined us in the apartments upstairs, and with him were Martin and Skinner.

Dowd, the rival of the old man, was with us, having begged earnestly of Oakes to be allowed to follow as close to the action as possible, and having stuck by us like a veritable leech since the morning. Dowd was a nice fellow, and a newspaper man from start to finish, and he seemed to have developed a great liking for Oakes.

We were all upstairs when Martin ushered in the tall, rather slender, but powerful old man, Skinner. None of us, save Hallen, had seen him at close range before; but I saw a curious expression, half of defiance, half of dismay, in his face, that made me watch him most closely. Dr. Moore was scanning his features carefully in a way that showed he had detected something, but Quintus Oakes, rising from his seat and advancing politely to meet the old gentleman, seemed neither to have seen anything nor to know anything. He was just the polished gentleman we all knew so well; but I noticed that, as he shook hands with Mr. Skinner, he cast a quick glance at the man's arm and the wrist, and then at the old man's eyes.

Moore whispered: "He has excluded Skinner as the criminal. Look! see him take it all in."

Oakes was leading Skinner to a seat, and as he walked, he spoke freely. He had discovered that which Dr. Moore had also seen, but which I had failed to detect.

"Mr. Skinner, allow me," said he, gracefully. "It's not well lighted here; I imagine that little white scar on your right eye--on your cornea, just in front of the pupil--interferes somewhat with your vision."

"Yes, Mr. Clark, it does interfere just a trifle."

"Just enough to spoil duck-shooting, eh! I understand you used to be quite fond of that sort of thing, Mr. Skinner."

Moore and Hallen exchanged glances; and the knowledge was general to us--the old man was _not_ the murderer, for the assassin could shoot well, and the old scar on the eye prevented that in Skinner's case.

"But to what do I owe the honor of a request to call at the Mansion, escorted by such a nice young man, to see Mr. Clark, the agent?" queried Skinner.

The old fellow was shrewd--he looked at Hallen and smiled half-heartedly. Then he looked at me, and remarked that we had met before somewhere, and extending his hand to Moore, he said he guessed he was glad to know us all better. Then turning quietly to Chief Hallen, he laughed, and gave us a shock from which we were unable to rally for a few moments.

"Well, Chief, they're keeping you busy. They tell me you don't like it because I exposed that fellow who palmed himself off as Mr. Quintus Oakes--that man Rogers, you know."