Quintus Oakes
_A Detective Story_
BY
CHARLES ROSS JACKSON
AUTHOR OF "THE THIRD DEGREE"
[Illustration]
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
[_All rights reserved._]
_Quintus Oakes_ _Issued March, 1904_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Rescue 5
II. Quintus Oakes at Home 19
III. Oakes's Experiences 31
IV. The Departure 41
V. The Letter 50
VI. The Murder 56
VII. The Inquest 69
VIII. The Mansion 89
IX. Distrust and Suspicion 100
X. The Cellar 108
XI. The Night Walk 123
XII. The Witness 141
XIII. The Plan of Campaign 148
XIV. Clues 159
XV. The Ruse 171
XVI. The Negro's Story 191
XVII. Checkmated 209
XVIII. Misadventures 221
XIX. A Faulty Story 240
XX. A Man's Confession 253
XXI. The Attack 267
XXII. The Insane Root 278
XXIII. The Test 287
XXIV. Across the Bridge 298
XXV. The Man of the Hour 311
QUINTUS OAKES
_CHAPTER I_
_The Rescue_
It was a warm summer evening; the air was stifling and still. I, Rodney
Stone, attorney-at-law, left my apartment to stroll along Broadway,
seeking a roof garden wherein to spend a few hours of change from the
atmosphere of the pavements, and to kill the ennui that comes to all of
us whom business compels to accept such circumstances.
As I walked down a side street, I noticed ahead of me a colored man rush
out from an apartment house, shouting something that I did not
understand. His actions seemed peculiar for a moment, but a curl of
smoke from one of the third-story windows made known the cause. It was
fire. I found myself among the first to reach the spot. From Broadway a
crowd was coming, such as collects readily under these circumstances. I
was soon mingling with it, watching the police in their endeavors to
rouse the tenants and to spread the alarm on all the floors. The
numerous dwellers were soon rushing out, and I saw several deeds
deserving of mention. As the crowd looked up at the apartment in which
the flames were showing and from which smoke was pouring, a window was
raised--evidently in a separate room--and a young girl appeared standing
at the sill. The effort of raising the sash had been a severe one for
her, for she was not over ten. Looking back into the room, she saw the
smoke filling it, and quickly scrambled out on the window frame. The
engines had not yet arrived, but I could hear them shrieking in the
distance, and we all knew that help was coming.
"Don't jump! Don't jump!" was the cry from us all. I advanced
instinctively, as did many, to be nearer, for we saw that fear had taken
possession of the child and that she seemed about to slide outward and
drop--to almost certain disaster.
A tall, handsome, well-built man in the crowd behind us spoke in a voice
of confidence and assurance.
"Hold tight, little girl. You're all right!"
I noticed that he was breathing hard; he had just arrived in haste.
Even as he spoke, the little one's head moved from one side to the
other, and she seemed in distress. Then something like an avalanche came
from back of me, tearing the crowd asunder. A hand fell upon my
shoulder, and I reeled to one side as the tall stranger sprang forward,
saying: "She is going to faint." Quick wit and quick eye had detected
what none other realized, that nature was being overcome and that the
fall was inevitable.
The limp little body slid a second, then pitched forward. A groan went
up at what seemed sure death. But the stranger's rush was timed to the
instant, and as the child's body curved head downward in its flight, his
strong figure reached the spot and his arms caught the child. The man
braced as they swung downward to his side, depositing the unconscious
girl in my hands and those of a policeman. She did not touch the
sidewalk, but the young giant came to his knees by the force of the
impact. It was a marvellous piece of work and the crowd cheered and
closed in upon the rescuer and our burden. The child was taken away by
those who had escaped. Then all hands looked at the man, and somebody
started to speak to him, and to ask him his name.
He turned to me. "Sorry to have smashed into you that way, sir," he
said. I answered, saying something about I was glad he did--and upon
looking up, I saw he was gone. We watched him, and saw him turn into
Broadway, bound on avoiding further notice.
"Who was he?" cried many.
A thick-set, tough-looking character spoke up: "Oh, he's de gazabo wot
did the turn on de----" At this instant a policeman pushed toward us,
and, shoving a club into the fellow's ribs, shouted: "Come, now, get out
o' this, or I'll----"
The fellow was off, and with him our chance of identifying the stranger
vanished. The police had been too busy with other matters to secure his
name. Another good act to be credited to an unknown!
The fire was soon under control and I renewed my walk, emerging on
Broadway as the shadows of night were coming on, and the street was
awakening to its characteristic summer life.
Suddenly I saw him--the identical man--walking across the thoroughfare.
I quickened my pace, although going rapidly at the time. It was my
intention to get closer to him and notice him better, as I was
interested. He turned up-town, and I saw that, although he was walking
easily, his pace was quicker than mine. What impressed me more than
anything else was his graceful carriage and the fine cut of his clothes.
He was dressed in a dark suit without waistcoat, and one of those soft,
white summer shirts which have become popular of late years. On his head
was a plain but expensive Panama. As he passed up the street ahead of
me, gaining all the while with his easy stride, he saluted a few
gentlemen, and the policemen seemed to know him. He evidently was a
striking figure to other eyes than mine, for I noticed several men stop
and half turn to look after him--a thing that one sees on Broadway but
seldom. He turned into a side street, and again I lost him. I fancied he
disappeared into one of the bachelor apartment houses of that section.
During the rest of the evening I regretted not having made stronger
efforts to learn his name; then I laughed at myself for being so
impressed by a stranger's appearance. The fact was, that the man's
action and personality had affected me so strongly that for days I
frequently found myself thinking of the fire and the rescue. I often
looked along the street when walking, in a vague hope of seeing the
handsome, clear-cut face of the man who had acted so promptly, but so
unostentatiously.
Little did I then know how great a factor that man was to be in the
moulding of my future--how circumstances were shaping, to link his
active nature with my career, and to lead me into one of the most
peculiar experiences that ever came to any one.
Over a month passed, and the first signs of fall were upon us. The
streets were assuming the appearance of activity, and familiar faces
reappeared in the public places, all invigorated and refreshed by the
summer's outings.
Early in October I found myself with my friend, Dr. Moore, a well-known
physician, standing in one of the popular theatres. We had dropped in
for one act or so, and, like many others, were unable to secure seats
owing to the hour and the popularity of the play. At first, engrossed
with the performance, we paid no attention to the audience; but when the
act closed and the lights were turned up, we glanced around as we
prepared to leave for a stroll. My attention was called to some ladies
in one of the lower boxes--two fair-haired and strikingly attractive
young women, and an older one, evidently a relative, for there was a
resemblance in features that was noticeable. The younger ones were
certainly sisters; their similarity of complexion, face and figure
rendered such an assumption a certainty.
My friend noticed them, and a change came over his face; he began to
beam as one does who has seen a friend. We were far off, and in a
position where we could admire, without impoliteness.
"Those are charming ladies," I said. "You seem to know them, Moore?"
"Yes, I have not seen them for quite a while; they are old patients of
mine. Do you see any one with them? If I mistake not, he is somewhere
in the box," continued Moore.
"He!" "Who?" As I spoke I noticed a gentleman--a tall, clear-cut
fellow--lean forward and speak to one of the sisters. As he moved, his
face came full in the light and I recognized him.
"It's he!" I cried. "I've found him at last!"
"Found whom?" exclaimed Moore.
"Him, that man!"
"Great Scott!" said Moore, "you must be sick. What ails you, anyway?
Have you been dining at the Club?"
I turned to my friend and said: "Doctor, I've found him at last--that
man in the box."
"Well, did not I tell you he ought to be there?" said Moore. "Because
you found him, do you think you have accomplished a wonderful piece of
work? Of course he was there."
"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about, anyway?" I asked.
Doctor Moore looked at me as though wondering if I were in my right
mind, then said: "Stone, I am talking about the gentleman in the box; I
said he should be there; he usually is with those ladies."
"Yes," I replied, "it is he!"
"Stone, what's the matter? Come and take something, old man"--and
seizing me by the arm, my companion led me away to the nearest café,
where he watched me closely as he poured out a bracer.
I seized it and said: "Here's to the man in the box! I've found him."
"Of course you found him, old man. I don't see what you are making such
a fuss over that fact for; it's not a question of priority."
"No," I said, "it's a question of identity."
"Explain."
"Well, I want to know who _he_ is. He has worried my mind for a month."
"Oh, is that all?" and Moore heaved a sigh of relief; he had been
genuinely anxious about me, that was plain.
"Have you run up against him anywhere?" he asked.
"No, he ran up against me," I answered.
"Here, sit down," said Moore. "What, in heaven's name, has got into
you?"
"Nothing. Only I desire to know that man's name. I have had an
experience with him."
"Indeed! You're not the first, then; have you been up to anything shady,
Stone?" said Moore, laughingly.
"No, only smoky--a fire. This man saved a child's life in a magnificent
manner. What's his name?"
"Oh! I see. His name is Oakes. You should know that. He left college
just a year or so after you and I entered. Don't you remember the fellow
who saved those boys from drowning in the harbor that day?"
"You don't tell me! Is that Quintus Oakes? I never met him, but of
course I knew him; everybody at college did, after that."
"Yes, that's the same fellow."
"Well, I certainly did not recognize his face. Only saw it a moment, but
there was something about him that seemed familiar--that _walk_ of
his--I remember it now."
As the memories of youth crowded upon me I recalled him well, and
realized that the years had filled out his figure and face; but it was
the same man, the same walk and carriage--I had seen them hundreds of
times. The quick, easy stride, erect figure and commanding bearing that
had marked him so in his youth were as noticeable now, in his full
manhood, as in those years of the long ago.
My companion and I did not return for the last act of the play, but
strolled out in the street, where I told him of the episode of the fire
and the part that Oakes had played in it.
"His actions, both at the time and afterwards when he tried to avoid
notice, are characteristic," said Moore. "He is reputed as doing things
vigorously and opportunely. His presence of mind is marvellous, I am
told. You remember, he had that gift years back in college. Now, it
seems to have developed greatly, until everybody who knows him well
speaks of it."
"Are you well acquainted with him? You seem to know all about him."
"Yes, indeed," answered my friend. "I met him one night several years
back, and I became so attracted to him that I cultivated his
acquaintance wherever possible."
"Then you will understand how I was glad to identify him," was my
rejoinder.
"Yes, indeed; if you like, you can easily manage to meet him."
I expressed my earnest desire, and Dr. Moore promised to arrange it so
that we could meet some evening at the Club.
"By the way," said my companion, "he is probably the best informed,
all-round man you have ever met. He did not cease learning at college."
"Lucky for him," I exclaimed laughingly.
"Well, don't be surprised if he starts in to discuss law with you, and
holds you up at your own profession; he is a surprise party, sometimes."
"All right, but what is his business?"
Moore looked at me, and said: "He is one of the most original detectives
in the country."
"Oh, a detective. Along what lines? He surely is no ordinary one at that
business."
"No. He used to work alone on unusual occurrences, but his success was
so great that now he has a large number of subordinates who do the
ordinary details, and he limits his work to the important points on
select cases. He is not heard of much, and is seen very little, but his
work is in great demand."
I was interested, and asked if he had ever done any special work of
prominence.
"Yes," said Moore. "He solved the matter of the 'Red Rose of Trieste.'
Do you remember hearing of that?"
I exclaimed in amazement: "He! Is _he_ the man who solved that affair?
You must be mistaken. That occurred, or began, in Europe."
"Exactly," said Moore. "Quintus Oakes works there, as well as here. He
speaks German, French, Italian, and perhaps more languages, fluently,
and can secure evidence anywhere. He has travelled over the world
several times. One year he was away ten months on a case, and secured
the necessary evidence for conviction in Sydney."
"I see. He is something decidedly out of the ordinary, as his appearance
suggests."
"He is on a new case just now, and he has promised to let me go, if I
want to. It's a very short affair, and perhaps I will take a vacation
that way. I have not been away yet this year," continued Moore.
We now parted for the evening, and as he started to go, I called out
after him: "Say, Moore, get me into it, if it's exciting. I have had no
vacation yet myself. Introduce me to Mr. Oakes as soon as you can,
anyway."
"All right. I'll arrange for a night at the Club, provided Oakes is not
too busy."
I returned to my rooms, little knowing how things were shaping, from an
entirely independent direction, to throw me, willingly I confess, for a
few brief weeks into a vortex of turmoil, to fight through it side by
side with my friend Moore and vigorous, cool, quick-witted Quintus
Oakes.
_CHAPTER II_
_Quintus Oakes at Home_
It was, therefore, a great deal in the nature of a surprise when, a few
days after parting with Moore, I received a note at my apartments by
messenger requesting me to call on Mr. Quintus Oakes that evening on
professional business. It was written in a brisk, courteous style, but
made no mention of Dr. Moore. Was it possible that I was to meet Oakes
through other channels? I realized that my profession of the law might
give many opportunities for such an interview with him, so I ceased to
wonder, and started up Broadway just before the hour appointed. I turned
into the long, dimly lighted side street near Long Acre Square, and
found that the number designated was a bachelor apartment house. It was
where I had lost him the day of the fire.
Taking the elevator to the third floor, I was directed to the door and
admitted by a Japanese servant, a bright-eyed fellow of about twenty.
He was dressed in our fashion and spoke English well--the kind of a chap
that one sees not infrequently nowadays in the service of men who have
seen the world, know how to live, and how to choose for personal
comfort. It was evident that I was expected, for I was at once led into
the front room and there met by Oakes himself. The instant he saw me, a
look of recognition and mild surprise came over his face, and as he
shook hands he said: "We have met before, at the fire the other day, Mr.
Stone! Won't you please step into my sanctum? We can be more comfortable
there."
He led me through a short hall, into a large airy room, furnished as
half-lounging room, half office. There was a large flat-top mahogany
desk in the centre, with a sofa and several upholstered chairs,
evidently for use as well as ornament. On the walls were pictures of
value, views of foreign places, and oil paintings that a mere novice
could see were works of art. There was that in the room which suggested
education and refinement.
A telephone was on the desk, and loose papers partly written upon bore
evidence that the detective had been busy at work when I arrived.
At a motion from my host I seated myself in one of the large arm chairs
facing him, while he remained standing.
I saw that he was a man about thirty-eight or forty years old, straight
as an arrow and splendidly proportioned. He was dressed in a
well-fitting gray suit.
The light was from above, and Oakes's face showed well--the clear-cut
nose and generous mouth of the energetic American.
He looked at me critically with deep-set, steady blue eyes, then smiled
slightly in a well-controlled, dignified manner.
"Mr. Stone, I am very glad that you were able to come tonight. Make
yourself at home," he said.
I made an appropriate answer of some kind, and then Oakes took the seat
near me and began, without further ceremony:
"I have arranged that our friend Dr. Moore shall come here this evening;
meanwhile, I will inform you briefly of the subject in hand."
"A few months ago Mandel & Sturgeon the attorneys, whom you doubtless
know, consulted me regarding the unpleasant happenings at the mansion of
one Odell Mark, up-State, in the town of Mona.
"Now, Mandel & Sturgeon suggested, also, that you might care to help
unravel the matter, acting as their legal representative.
"I have completed my arrangements for starting on the case, and am
particularly glad to find that you are a friend of Dr. Moore and that
you had expressed to him a desire to enter into some such affair. I
assure you, however, that Mandel & Sturgeon had previously spoken of you
and that this offer was coming as a business proposition. The fact that
you and Dr. Moore had spoken of such a trip is merely a coincidence."
He spoke with a well-modulated voice, and a fluency that told of the
intelligence of the man. His eyes fixed me, but not in an embarrassing
manner; it was the habit of observation that prompted their
concentration--that was obvious.
His forehead was high and slightly furrowed with two vertical wrinkles
between the eyebrows. His face was mobile and expressive at times, then
suddenly calm. In my very brief observation I knew that he was able to
govern its expression well.
In the days that were coming, I learned that in the presence of danger
or possible trickery that face became stony and immovable, a mask that
talked and commanded, while hiding the suppressed energy of the man.
The bell rang before Oakes could proceed with his statement, and Dr.
Moore was shown in. His coming enlivened us both, and after a few words
of greeting I found the opportunity, and said:
"Mr. Oakes, it is not exactly clear to me why Mandel & Sturgeon
recommended me as their representative. They have so many men in their
office whom they might use in that capacity."
"Doubtless you will hear from them yourself before we go, Mr. Stone.
Meantime, I may explain. You were in their employ at one time, I
believe?"
"Yes, a great many years ago."
"They think that some legal matters might arise, where a man on the spot
would be of value, and it seems best that their representative with me
should be one not easily identified as working with them. You know, Mr.
Stone, we are not advertising our mission."
"I have been in Mona as Mr. Clark, their agent, looking after the
Mansion and other property, and if I return there, it must be under some
business pretext, or people will suspect me. You, being an independent
party, not known as connected with the firm in any way, can accompany me
in the rôle of a friend on an outing, or as a possible purchaser. You
see, we are trying to solve a mystery, so the less attention we attract
the better."
"I see. So you have been there already, Mr. Oakes?"
"Yes, gentlemen. I will tell you about this affair very briefly now. You
will learn more later, if you enter upon its solution with me.
"The Mansion was originally the property of George Mark, who died some
years ago, leaving it to his two sons, Winthrop and Odell. Both were
single men at that time, but Odell married a couple of years ago and
persuaded his brother to sell his share of the property to him.
Winthrop, who was the older, did not care to part with it, but finally
disposed of his interest to his brother, who immediately moved into the
place with his bride. The old servants were still in charge, and
everything had been kept up to a high standard of excellence, although
no one had lived there since the old man died.
"Odell had travelled some, and lived mostly in the city, while Winthrop
had been engrossed in amassing a large fortune in speculation. He had
resided in Mona, keeping his own place, saying he did not care for the
Mansion as a home after his father died."
"Then why did he not care to give up his interest to his brother?" asked
Moore.
"That is as yet a mystery. But, as he was a great business man, it is
supposed by some that he saw opportunities to convert the vast grounds
into town lots, and sell at a great advance some day when Mona should
boom, as the town will sooner or later, owing to its natural advantages.
He told many, however, that it was merely a sentiment with him, the
place having belonged in Colonial times to the family. Be that as it
may, however, he finally sold, and never would buy it back again, even
after the mystery had made it practically valueless.
"His brother offered to sell it back for next to nothing, but Winthrop
only laughed, and refused. This conduct seemed to dispose of the
supposition that he was in any way responsible for the occurrences there
which had such a depressing effect in the value of the property."
"Then, if mixed up, he had a deeper motive," said I.
"Yes--if he has really been involved in the mystery at all. You must
remember, however," said Oakes, "that his story may be true. Having
disposed of his share of the property, he may have seen no reason for
bothering with it again, at least until it was clear of the depressing
occurrences which had lowered its value from half a million to
practically nothing."
"Goodness! What were these mysteries?" said Moore, with a feigned
shudder. "Evidently, they are unpopular."
Oakes proceeded slowly.
"They consist of a series of assaults on those who have occupied the
house, and they are conducted in such a way that detection has been
impossible.
"One evening Mrs. Mark was heard to shriek in her bedroom, and when
found by her husband was insane from fright. In her ravings she spoke of
a terrible thing choking her, and of a swishing sound. She never
regained her reason, and is now in an insane asylum. Alienists at first
thought that she had an experience common to those going mad--that she
had been subject to a delusion. But evidences were against this, as she
had in no way shown any signs of mental trouble before. While she was
being cared for at the Mansion, the two nurses in charge had similar
experiences. They reported hearing a tread on the stairs one night and
of seeing a figure disappear into the dining-room. One stated up and
down that it was a woman.
"The patient was removed from the place. Then Mr. Odell Mark received
such a scare one night that he packed up and left the Mansion for good.
He was assaulted by an invisible party from behind, and only escaped
after a severe struggle. Whoever, or whatever, assaulted him
disappeared in an instant, and he swore that he heard the closing of a
door somewhere downstairs.
"Everything was done to keep the truth quiet, but of course it leaked
out and the place has been regarded as haunted ever since. The servants
left, save a few of the oldest, who live away from the Mansion under a
separate roof, and have never seen anything unusual."
"That sounds very thrilling," I said; "but the affair may all be founded
on nervous dread and hysteria."
"So I thought," said Oakes. "I went up there alone recently, however,
and am glad to say that I got back alive."
"What! Did you see it?"
"No, gentlemen, I did not. There was nothing to see; but I learned
enough to know that murder stalks there in the Mansion--that the mystery
is a deep one, and my conduct nearly cost me my life.
"I have faced danger often, but I never faced an invisible violence, or
had such a fight for my life as I had at the Mansion about three weeks
ago."
Quintus Oakes was speaking earnestly, and we both were deeply
interested. That the celebrated detective should have met such an
experience placed the tale outside the realm of fiction. He was a calm
man, used to facing danger, and not one to be easily deceived or
frightened.
"Great Scott!" said Moore, "you must have had a fine time. Tell us about
it. It must have been what the boys call a 'lalapazooza' of a time."
I had to smile at my friend, able and successful, and already a
professional man of reputation, but ever fond of an occasional slang
expression as a relief from the care with which he was usually burdened.
He was well to do, but had been no idler, and knew the meaning of hard
work.
"Yes," said Oakes, "I had a fine time."
At this moment the telephone on the desk rang, and Oakes reached forward
and placed the receiver to his ear. After a few words of business he
replaced it, but I felt a curious sensation of something missing,
something unusual.
His hand had shot forward toward the hook and deposited the receiver
thereon in one quick, instantaneous movement. The action had been so
exact that the contact had given rise to no sound save the after-tinkle
of the bell. Moore noticed it too, and looked at me, as much as to say:
"How was that, for measuring distance?"
Then Oakes wheeled so as to face us again.
"Excuse me for the interruption. Now I will tell you my story in a few
words."
_CHAPTER III_
_Oakes's Experience_
Oakes began:
"Mandel & Sturgeon gave me a letter to the chief care-taker, Cook, and I
went to Mona as Clark, their agent, giving as an excuse for my presence
there that Mr. Odell Mark contemplated making radical alterations in the
Mansion before returning to it. Cook and his wife opened that portion of
the Mansion which I thought best adapted for my temporary
residence--about half of the place, I should say. I spent a few quiet
days looking around the estate and the house. I was always on guard,
however, lest I appear too inquisitive and thereby betray my true
mission.
"There was an old maid-servant, Annie by name, and several gardeners
about. These latter, I found, were never admitted to the Mansion. My
meals were served in the dining-room, and this room was the one in which
I spent most of my time. The servants gave me but little information
regarding the mysterious doings that had so frightened their employers.
I could tell by their action that they were genuinely afraid to be alone
in the place, and they all cautioned me repeatedly. They seemed anxious
that the affair should be investigated, and said that Mr. Odell should
have had detectives at work on the mystery. It was evident they were
afraid that they would lose their positions if no one returned to live
at the Mansion soon.
"I noticed a strong under-current of contempt for Mr. Odell; they seemed
to think he was a cowardly fellow, none too anxious to remain, or he
would have investigated the affair. In fact, they behaved sometimes as
though they thought that he might have been at the bottom of the
mystery. Occasionally, Cook and his wife and Annie had stayed in the
Mansion, cleaning up, and had never seen anything unusual. Nothing had
occurred since Mr. Odell Mark had left--which certainly was peculiar.
"I could see that my true identity was not suspected. My presence seemed
to have inspired confidence in them all. I called Cook and his wife, or
Annie, into my rooms for a talk quite frequently. Nothing happened, and
I began to feel that there was exaggeration somewhere; but,
nevertheless, I moved with caution and slept in the back room over the
dining-room with the doors carefully locked. I insisted that Mr. and
Mrs. Cook sleep in the front room. The servants at first demurred, but
finally consented when I told them that if they did not do so I would
not remain, and would report unfavorably as regards the remodeling of
the Mansion. I noticed that they bolted their doors carefully every
night and kept a light burning in their room. This I knew, as its rays
shone through under their door into the hall.
"This satisfied me that they were on guard and afraid, and consequently
unaware of the real nature of the mystery.
"Late one night, after about a week, I was looking out of one of the
windows in the dining-room, watching a boat passing. The lights upon her
and the throbbing of her engines, half a mile away, were plunging me
into a reverie, when suddenly I felt a peculiar sensation of uneasiness.
I glanced along the porch, and at the windows; everything seemed all
right. I turned, and saw Annie some distance up the hall attending to a
lamp at the foot of the stairs. The afternoon paper lay on the table. I
walked over to it and picked it up, stationing myself a few feet away
from the hall door, where I commanded a view of the entire room, the
windows and the balcony. I heard, or fancied I heard, a step or shuffle,
and then instantly something closed around my throat and I was pulled
backward and downward. I heard a rush in the hall and saw Annie's
terrified face looking into the room, but she did not see me. I tried to
cry out for help, but was unable to raise my voice. Realizing that I was
being killed without aid, I struggled with all my power. I have an
indistinct recollection of a shriek in the hall, then a rustling sound,
as of garments, near me. The next I knew, Annie, Cook and his wife, with
two gardeners, were working over me. One of the gardeners had opened my
shirt and thrown water upon my throat. I was unconscious for some
minutes, they said; but when I recovered my senses I ordered all hands
to keep their mouths closed, under pain of instant dismissal. Inquiries
instituted by me revealed that Annie had first heard my struggles, and
the shriek that had been given was hers. Response had been quick, but
when Cook first entered the room, backed up by the wife and old Annie, I
was lying limp and unconscious, face downward on the floor, as though I
had been thrown violently forward."
* * * * *
The recital of this narrative had been given in a quiet, dignified
manner--one of absolute conviction. It was an impartial statement of
fact, and we were profoundly impressed.
Dr. Moore turned to me and said: "Well, do you feel like joining us?"
"Ah! Then you are in this too?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, Mr. Oakes is going to let me have my vacation in his company."
"I certainly shall go," I said; "it appears to me that this matter is a
serious one."
"It is very serious," Oakes repeated. "There is a deep mystery at the
Mansion, and its solution may be a dangerous one. There is murder in
that method of attack, and terrible strength behind it."
"What is it? A man?" asked Moore.
"That is conjecture as yet," said Oakes. "I certainly beard the sound
made by a woman's skirts, or something of that sort, but the strength
was too great for most women hereabouts."
"Yes, if you were overcome by it," I remarked.
"The servants are firmly convinced that the whole business is
supernatural. That is hardly worth discussing. I have no doubt that you
two gentlemen, as possible purchasers of the Mansion, will have
opportunities to settle the question for yourselves."
There was just the shadow of a smile on Oakes's face as he spoke.
"Did you notice anything peculiar about the people at the Mansion--the
care-takers?" I asked.
"No, I thought their actions were natural, especially when I was
assaulted. One of the gardeners, who did not do very much to help me,
seemed preoccupied and made advances for a better acquaintance before I
left. I think he will bear watching closely; he knows something."
"How long did you remain at the Mansion after the assault?"
"Only a few days," said Oakes. "I could learn nothing alone. It was too
dangerous. When we return, it will be in greater numbers. If our mission
is suspected we will be obliged to work through other channels, but I
think we can fool the care-takers; they will say nothing to you about
the mystery, and they will think that I am more anxious than ever to
dispose of the place. Should our work be suspected, however," continued
the detective, "we will be face to face with complications. We may have
to be reënforced by men from my agency, but they will probably not be
known even to you."
"The reward for the solution of this mystery is a large one, and the
prosperity of the town depends upon it. This matter at the Mansion has
not only affected its own value, as I said, but has helped greatly to
depreciate the worth of the surrounding properties."
Then, turning to Moore:
"I think your professional knowledge may come in handy in several ways,
so you may consider that your time will be well paid for, and your
vacation a profitable one--that is, of course, if you return alive."
This was so seriously said as to cause me a momentary feeling of
discomfort.
We now discussed details and arrangements for our start, for we had
decided to go. Oakes and I were to leave first, while Doctor Moore was
to come a few days later, owing to his inability to get away at once.
Having finished with his story and the necessary details of instruction,
Oakes changed his manner and offered us cigars. The Jap brought in a few
glasses and a bottle, which opened up the social side of our interview.
Noticing that our host had not lighted a cigar, I ventured the remark
that he was not a heavy smoker.
"No," said he. "I very rarely use tobacco during business; it is a
peculiarity of mine, I am told."
His face was quite smiling now.
He continued: "With some it acts as a concentrator of ideas--at least,
so claim its devotees. With me, it dissipates them; I use it simply as a
pleasure when work is done."
While he spoke, I was again impressed with that peculiar celerity of
movement in small actions which I had noticed before.
He passed the cigars in an ordinary, deliberate manner, conversing the
while; but when he reached for a match, I was amazed at the
lightning-like rapidity of the movement. His hand shot out, selected it
from the stand on the table, lighted it and the cigar, and returned the
burned stick to the tray with a rapidity and evenness which made of it
almost a continuous act.
It reminded me forcibly of the movement with the telephone receiver. I
felt that, given the necessity and the occasion, his general action
would be roused to quickness of the same kind--sure and instantaneous.
He impressed me as a man with a tremendous reserve of strength and
vitality.
When we left for the evening, Oakes shook my hand with a stout, firm
grasp, the kind that means friendliness and inspires confidence. When
outside, I asked of my companion what he privately thought of the affair
at the Mark Mansion.
"There is something extraordinary there, surely," answered the
physician. "Knowing Oakes as I do, Stone, I am fully convinced that he
is deeply worried over the matter. He would never think of having us in
such an affair unless he desired our company. He is as brave as any
man--his record shows that; but he is also noted for caution. He sees,
or thinks he sees, a dangerous game here--a plot, perhaps--where our
presence will be a support. He has often told me in conversation, that
he regards the legal and medical minds as particularly adapted to pass
judgment on certain problems of a peculiar nature. He has an idea that
our training will perhaps help him in the matter, I think."
With this remark, we parted at Broadway and Forty-second Street, and
went to our respective homes.
_CHAPTER IV_
_The Departure_
Next morning, while at breakfast, I received a letter from Mandel &
Sturgeon which was satisfactory to me, and I went down to my office and
notified my partner, Hart, that I was about to take a vacation.
Fortunately, we had just successfully finished a long legal fight in the
courts, and my excuse was a natural one.
I then went out and bought a good revolver, such as Oakes had told me to
get when we discussed details the night before. He had insisted upon our
being armed all alike, and furnished with the same kind of cartridges.
We could then exchange weapons in an emergency, and still be supplied
with ammunition.
Having completed my purchase, I went to the Club, where Oakes was
awaiting me. We lunched together, and during the conversation he told me
to express my baggage to the Mansion that afternoon, and to meet him at
the Central Station at eight o'clock P.M.
"And be cautious in your movements," he said. "Here is your ticket. Wear
serviceable clothes and a heavy dark overcoat, such as you had on last
night, with a black Fedora hat. Don't notice me, but enter the same car
as I do on the train. I will contrive to be with you before we arrive at
our destination."
"Why all this?" I asked.
"Well, I wish to be able to identify you easily in a crowd. If I know
how you are dressed, it might be valuable in several other ways also. We
may have to change our plans, in which event it will be easier for me if
I know how you look."
"I do not exactly understand," said I, "but I presume you do."
"Precisely. You may learn in time."
As we emerged from the Club a newsboy came up to Oakes, from whom he
bought a paper, and as he did so, the boy said:
"Martin says you are followed, sir."
Oakes turned to me: "Meet me as I said; and do as I do afterwards in
everything. I shall be forced to change my plans."
The boy had gone after another customer, and Oakes continued: "Martin is
my aide; he has posted me. Good-by! See you later. Explain some other
time."
We parted, and I went about my preparations for departure with that
exhilaration that men feel when about to enter into some strange
undertaking. It was to be a novel experience for me, and I frankly
confess that certain misgivings haunted me. That I was entering,
willingly, to be sure, upon a journey of many possibilities I did not
for one moment doubt; that I should need the weapon already purchased,
and the utmost coolness that I could muster, seemed to me more than
likely. At this date I felt nothing akin to fear, and the knowledge that
Quintus Oakes was to be our leader prevented a too serious estimate of
the possible consequences.
Later on I did feel some regrets at having hurled myself into the
episodes that followed, but this feeling vanished soon in the excitement
of the events that transpired at Mona.
Shortly before the appointed time I arrived at the station and strolled
about the rotunda in search of Oakes.
I espied him at the paper stand, dressed in a dark heavy overcoat and a
hat like mine. His recognition of me was instantaneous, but he made no
movement until, after buying a paper, he walked past me to the door.
Looking at me with a glance that warned me, he stepped out and into a
car that was approaching. I jumped on the same car, and in a very few
moments he and I were going up the Sixth Avenue Elevated stairway, but
acting as strangers to one another.
There were many persons boarding the Harlem train with us. It was a
tiresome ride to the terminus, but when Oakes and I stepped out and down
to the street, he jumped into a carriage in waiting, drawn by a pair of
horses, and beckoned to me. I stepped in also, and sat by his side on
the back seat.
The driver started at a quick pace across the bridge and into Jerome
Avenue.
Oakes turned to me: "It seems that my movements are watched by men in a
rival agency. I have detected no followers, but time will tell if they
exist. I saw a fellow watching me at the station, and we may have easily
been followed on the elevated train; in such a crowd one cannot detect."
"Why do they watch you, Mr. Oakes? Are they suspicious that we are going
to Mona?"
"No, not at all," answered Oakes. "They are watching to see _where_ I am
going. You see," he continued, "I am working on several other cases, and
perhaps they are, too. You realize there are times when men of my
profession cross each other's paths, and it is advantageous to know what
the other fellow is doing."
"I see. Keeping tab on one another!" I said. "Rather expensive work, is
it not?"
Oakes smiled. "Yes, but it is business. I like to know when a rival
leaves town. I keep a pretty close watch myself on some of them."
We drove rapidly, and soon pulled up at an out-of-the-way roadhouse.
"Come," said Oakes, alighting.
A portly German was behind the bar, evidently the proprietor.
Oakes made a sudden movement of his hand, and the door was locked. We
two were then shown into a rear room where two other men were
seated--both tall, well-built fellows, and both dressed as we were, in
dark overcoats and black Fedora hats.
They saluted Oakes, and after a word or two stepped into the bar-room,
where the German served them with drinks. In a minute they were in our
carriage and driving away toward Yonkers.
"I see now why you were particular as to my dress."
"Yes, a substitution like this is useful sometimes. I thought I might be
forced to make one. Much better than nonsensical disguises. We will soon
know if any one is coming after us," he continued. "This is really the
last place before the fork of the road, and anyone following us would
have to be in sight all the time, or else stop here for information."
The proprietor motioned us upstairs to a front room, and Oakes said to
him: "Remember, we have gone to Yonkers." But the good-natured German
evidently knew his business, for he only smiled and went off muttering
something to himself about a "damned good mix-up."
In a few minutes two men drew up in a buggy, and were admitted below by
the obsequious old fellow.
Then we heard the question: "Have you seen two tall gentlemen in black
coats and soft hats hereabouts, Dutchy?"
The German thought a moment: "Yah, yah; dare vas two big fellers just
here; dey vas took some viskey and got away quick."
"Which way?" asked the men.
"Dey vas gone up dar Yonkers Road."
Oakes chuckled. "The old fellow is all right; an old friend of mine."
Then we heard the men say: "Here, Dutchy, here's something for you," and
we knew they had given him a tip.
In a moment they were gone, and the old fellow was to be heard chuckling
audibly to himself: "Five dollar for von great big mix-up."
Oakes watched the team turn up the Yonkers Road after our decoy, and
then he said:
"Come, Stone, move quickly." He led the way downstairs to the back
entrance, and to the stable, where we found a man with a team. He
saluted us. It was the carriage in which Oakes's men had come out.
"Drive hard for the Harlem Station; we can catch the 10:30 train," was
the order.
Our driver evidently knew what to do, and we soon passed out of the
carriage-way.
At the side of the door we halted a moment, and I saw Oakes give the
German a twenty-dollar bill.
"Remember," he said, "not a word."
We caught our train after a long drive to the east, and back over the
Harlem River. When we seated ourselves in the sleeper, Oakes turned to
me quietly. "Please remember, Stone, that you are a possible buyer, and
that I am Charles Clark, agent for the owner of the Mark Mansion. We
have had a pleasant evening together so far, have we not?"
He smiled in his quiet, unruffled manner as he spoke.
"Yes--rather active," I said. "I presume those other fellows are
thinking so too, probably."
"Only the last two," said Oakes; "my men are home by this time."
Shortly after midnight we arrived at the station at the foot of the hill
which hid the beautiful town of Mona.
"Keep your senses alert," said Oakes as we left the train, "for we are
now in the region of uncertainty. We had better not walk to the hotel,
although it is only about a mile. The hour is too late."
The solitary hackman, seeing us approach, roused himself from his sleepy
lethargy and soon we were slowly ascending the hill. The well-kept road
was lighted here and there by electricity, an agreeable witness to the
civilization around us.
I saw Oakes place his weapon in his outside overcoat pocket--as he said,
the most convenient place for it to rest, clad as we were.
The action was a vivid reminder of the experiences of his last visit,
and of the caution of the man.
Without further adventure of any kind we arrived at the little hotel,
with its sleepy night clerk and its gloomy office. This opened right on
the sidewalk by means of a large wooden door, hung a low step above the
pavement, and fitting so poorly in its frame that the rays of the light
from within sought exit beneath it.
_CHAPTER V_
_The Letter_
While Oakes and I were in the first stages of our journey, Dr. Moore
stood in his back office at the close of business hours, wondering if
the adventure that Oakes had so well described to us could in any way
have been originated by other than physical forces. Moore was a deep
student of mental phenomena. He had on more than one occasion heard
histories of terrible tragedies, so real in their wording that the
picture conveyed was the practical guarantee of their origin at human
hands; but, nevertheless, these histories had been proved to be but the
imaginings of a diseased mind--products of a delusion.
In every other respect the narrators had been, in appearance at least,
perfectly sane individuals. While he hesitated to think that Oakes might
have been suffering from an overworked brain at the time, still he knew
that it was not impossible.
The struggles that the servants had heard had been those of Oakes; the
actual evidences so far of assault were vague. Oakes was in a partially
unconscious condition, to be sure; but what evidence of violence was
that?
Moore's cool professional judgment told him that queer sensations are
common after a severe shock, whether delusional in origin or not.
He had known Oakes for years, and the good judgment and coolness that he
had always shown spoke greatly against a recently developed mental
disorder.
Still, Moore was uneasy; he longed for more evidence of physical force
from without--something more positive.
Of course, Oakes was not alone in his experience--there had been
others--but it was possible that the mere contagion of terror might be
in part responsible for some of these. There had been no witnesses. The
statement of violence rested on the word of the victims alone. Dr. Moore
knew that men thinking constantly of the same thing, to the exclusion of
all else, might develop similar delusions. The physician had seen many
strange things, and was not a man to be easily deceived. Could it be
that Quintus Oakes was the victim of a mental process?
It was this very power which Moore possessed--of thinking along such
lines--that made him, in Oakes's opinion, a particularly desirable
addition to the party. Little, however, did the detective imagine that
the trained mind of the physician would first weigh the possibilities of
Oakes's own mental instability.
While Moore was deep in thought, he was suddenly interrupted by the
bell, and the receipt of a note which had been delivered by the postman.
He glanced at the postmark, and saw that it was from Station O and was
mailed at 4:30.
Somehow, he felt an instinctive dread of its contents. Of course, he as
yet had no adequate cause for misgivings; but there was that in the
subject of which he had been thinking that seemed to forecast evil and
dread. His mind was in a state of unrest at the very thought of the
possibilities. He tore the letter open, and read:
"DEAR DR. MOORE: You may not deem it wise to pay attention to an
anonymous communication, but let me assure you that, if you value a
life, you will pay attention in this case.
"It has come within my province to know that a great tragedy may be
averted by you.
"Some short while ago a man, tall, straight as an arrow, and with blue
eyes, went to the town of Mona and stopped at the Mansion. There he came
near being murdered, and if he ever goes back, I personally know that he
will be killed in short order.
"His business was said to be that of an agent for the owners. I saw him
in New York several years ago, and he was pointed out to me as a
celebrated detective, but I cannot remember his name, or that of the
person who informed me.
"At Mona he was known by another name. I cannot go there, however, or
learn any more particulars. The reason I address this to you is that I
know that you are acquainted with him, as years ago I used to see him
often in your company.