"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 hissuccessor 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 hisstory 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 havea 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 fora 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 whohad 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 youforgot," 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 uponhim, 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 thefalseOakes—the wrong hand; weourselves—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 successdepended 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; "thenegrois 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 ofhimduring 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 explainhow."
"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 showedthe 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 hehad 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 wantedto 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—andhewas awitness! 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, butJoe 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 thendecided 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 betterskip." 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 wentuntil 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 callinghim,—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 ecstasyinto 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 becauseyouhave 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.
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 isnotthe 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 limpin 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 aheroof 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 thecartridge picked upin the cellar, and evidently dropped by the manin 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 beenlarge, or at leaststrong 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 issomewhat 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 amanin a blackrobe. 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 norobe.
"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 astrong-wristedman—a man who has also strong arms, and acrosson theleftone; 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 manwith 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 theabsence 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 theinsanity 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 hada 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 beenunconsciously 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, camean 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 withwhite 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 assaultsisthe 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 yougood 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 andfarther, 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 ourfeet 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 isat 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: "Youmust, man, youmustget 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 thehands 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 withChief 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 thoughtit 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 Iasked 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 heliedabout 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 beennearthe hut, Stone, he may have beeninit. 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 hecan'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 simplylinks, 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 hecannot 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 rèsumè 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.