citizens detected the condition of affairs. The older residents had
noticed the peculiar similarity of this murder to that of Smith. The
coincidence of time and place was another factor. Could it be the same
assassin? Had he dwelt with them all the while since? The most respected
and wealthy of the inhabitants shared the unenviable position of being
under suspicion; there was no relief for anyone.
The two local newspapers published "extras," and could scarcely supply
the demand. The murders of Smith and Winthrop were reviewed carefully,
and their similarity much written about. The hotel and the two leading
business streets were filled with suspicious, muttering groups.
Nothing had been found missing from the dead man; his watch and money
were untouched. His arrival by such an early train was not unusual. He
frequently went to New York for an outing, and returned before breakfast
to his magnificent place on the hill to the east of the town, where he
lived with two old maiden aunts--his mother's sisters.
Now all this uneasiness and suspicion had been noted--by Hallen, the
Chief. He was a man who, after living in the country for many years, had
finally pushed himself to the top of a large police force in a city of
importance. The physical strain had told on him, however, and now he
found himself back in a small town, recovered in health, but shut in as
to future prospects. The murder of Mark had come to him as a thunderbolt
from a clear sky, but he saw opportunities in it. When Oakes had visited
him and made himself known, he had at first been jealous; but the
former, with his wonderful insight, had made a friend of him.
"Hallen, if you manage this affair well, you will be famous. They are
looking for good men in New York all the while. My work is in the
Mansion; if our paths cross, let us work together."
So had suggested Oakes. He had known about Hallen, as he knew the
history of all police officers, and had thus given hope to the man who
had been used to better things. Instantly Hallen had seen that to
antagonize Oakes would be foolish; to aid him, and perhaps obtain his
advice and friendship, would ultimately redound to his own future credit
and, possibly, advancement. For Oakes's work had brought him in contact
with police heads in all the large cities. His boldness and genius for
ferreting out mysteries were known to them all, and they had paid him
the compliment of studying his methods carefully.
Hallen had agreed to have Oakes's testimony at the inquest taken at just
the proper moment for effect, and had agreed to call Dr. Moore as an
expert.
Of course, the coroner did what the Chief asked.
As Oakes had said: "If you want expert evidence, get it from Moore; if
you don't ask him, you won't get it in Mona."
The idea of Oakes bringing in his testimony as he did was part of the
plan to watch the audience. The planning of the Chief and himself had
accounted for the somewhat informal presentation of the evidence that I
had noticed. In rural courts, affairs are not conducted as they are in
the city, and I had observed a quick swing to affairs, hardly accounted
for on the ground of practice. I recognized the hand of Quintus Oakes,
and knew that the scene had been carefully manoeuvred.
Hallen sat in his office on the evening of the day after the inquest,
reviewing the happenings that had crowded so fast in Mona, and thinking,
not without misgivings, of the wave of suspicion that was rising to
interfere with the affairs of the town.
At this moment the editor of the "Mona Mirror" entered--a whole-souled,
fat individual, breezy and decidedly agreeable. He was one of the
natives, a man of growing popularity and decided education. Dowd was his
name, and he hated _that fellow Skinner_, who edited the rival
newspaper, the "Daily News."
Skinner had "bossed" things in a free-handed fashion until Dowd (a clerk
in the post-office until middle life) had decided to enter the field of
journalism--less than two years before. Dowd was inexperienced, but he
was bright, and he wielded a pen that cut like a two-edged sword; and
the love that was lost between the two editors was not worth mentioning.
As Dowd entered and found Hallen alone, he took off his hat and
overcoat, and laughed sarcastically. He really liked Hallen, and was on
intimate terms with him. Hallen looked up. "Well, what's ailing you
now?" he said.
"Oh, nothing. Only this town is going loony, sure as fate, Hallen. What
are you going to do?"
Hallen chewed the end of a cigar viciously. "I am going to do the best I
can to solve the mystery; if I cannot do that, I can at least keep order
here. Give me a few 'specials' and the necessity, and I will make these
half-crazy people do a turn or two."
The burly chief turned the conversation into other channels, but Dowd
was satisfied. He knew the speaker well.
_CHAPTER X_
_The Cellar_
Meantime our first experience at the Mansion, previously recorded, bade
fair to be a serious one. When Oakes had collapsed on his return from
the cellar Dr. Moore fortunately was sufficiently recovered to reach his
side in a few seconds.
"Elevate his feet, Stone. He'll be all right in a few minutes; he has
fainted."
I did as directed, and Moore threw the half of a pitcher of water on the
unconscious man's neck and face. Gravity sent the blood back to his
head, and when the water touched him, he gasped and presently opened his
eyes. Then we carried him to the bed.
In an instant he attempted to rise, but the Doctor refused to allow it,
giving him instead an enviable drink from his flask. "Keep your guns by
you," said Oakes, "and give me mine."
The tension had told on me, and Moore was now by far the best man. He
smiled and ordered me to take a drink also, and to sit down. I obeyed,
for I felt, after the excitement, as limp as a boy after his first
cigar.
Dr. Moore was examining Oakes's head. "Fine scalp wound," said he, and
proceeded to sew it up and dress it. His pocket case came in handy. He
had been wise to bring it. "Hurt anywhere else, old fellow?" asked he.
"No; sore as the devil all over, that's all," and Oakes arose, took off
his coat, and began to bathe his face. "Keep an eye on that door," said
he.
I was myself now, and took my chair to the hall door, sitting where I
could command the head of the stairs and could also hear anyone who
might approach from below.
"What happened?" asked Moore.
"Well, nothing very much," said Oakes; "only I guess I got a mighty good
licking."
"You look it," said I. "Did you shoot for help?"
"Yes, I did. I could not _shout_. The shots saved my life."
"How? Did you kill anyone?"
"Don't know, only the other party kindly quit killing me when I began to
shoot. I heard something drop, however, and there may be a dead body
somewhere."
The shots had aroused the household, and we heard shouting and cries
from the Cooks and from Annie. Soon they appeared, hunting for us, all
distraught and frightened. They said they were in the kitchen when they
heard the shots, and did not know whence they came. This was probable,
as the cellar was away from their section. Annie cried when she saw
Oakes, and ran out to bring in more help. One of the gardeners returned
with her, and as he came into the room I received the impression of a
silent, stern-looking man, past forty and rather strong in appearance,
although not large. He had seen better days.
"Ah!" said he; "ye have run up aginst it agin, sorr. It's nerve ye have,
to go nigh that room after what ye got last time." Oakes looked at me
and at Moore, and we saw he wished us to keep silent.
"Yes! I shan't try it again in a hurry. What's your name?" he asked.
The question came quick as a flash. I knew he was trying to disconcert
the fellow.
"My name is Mike O'Brien, sorr, gardener; you remimber, 'twas me that
helped you last time, sorr."
"You mean you stood by and let the others help me, Mike."
We knew now that this was the indifferent gardener of whom Oakes had
spoken.
"Thrue for ye, sorr; 'twas little enough I did, and that's a fact; I'm
not used to being scared to death like ye be, sorr." Was that an
unintentional shot, or was it a "feeler"?
Oakes had a sharp customer before him, and he knew it.
"Where were you when you heard the shots, Mike?"
"In the woods at the front of the house. I was raking up the leaves, be
the same token."
"What did you see?" Oakes spoke in a commanding voice and fingered the
breech of his revolver in a suggestive way.
"I seen a shadow come out av the cellar door."
"What door?"
"The _only_ cellar door; near the side av the house, sorr."
"What sort of a shadow?"
"'Twas the shadow av a man, and a big one. The sun cast it on the side
av the house, sorr."
Oakes thought a moment, then arose and said: "Step here, Mike, and point
out the side of the house you mean."
Mike hesitated. The other servants withdrew at Oakes's suggestion that
he wished to talk with the gardener. The latter advanced. We felt that
Oakes was trying to spring a trap.
"The side of the house where the cellar door is," reiterated Mike.
"Nonsense, O'Brien. Your story is impossible. The sun was then in the
east and the shadow would have been thrown on the east wall. There is no
door on that side; it is on the west side of the house."
O'Brien looked at Oakes defiantly.
"Yer intirely wrong, sorr. _There is_ the cellar door to the east." He
pointed to a hatch, opening about forty feet from the house, near the
well. "The door _ye_ saw on the west is niver opened--'tis nailed up."
The tables were turned. Oakes was disconcerted.
"If what you say is true, you have my apology. I have not investigated
closely."
"So I thought, sorr," was the answer. And we all wondered at the amazing
coolness and self-possession of the man. It was one against three, and
he had held his own.
"Sit down, Mike," said Oakes. "How long have you been here?"
"Only a matter av six weeks. I came from New York and tried for a job.
Maloney, the head man, giv me wan."
"Where is Maloney?"
"He was in the tool-house whin I come by, sorr. He didn't hear the
commotion, being sort o' deef."
"All right, Mike! Stay where you are a moment." Then Oakes turned to us.
"Just after Moore was attacked I heard a sound like a quick footstep,
and having certain suspicions of my own, made a dash for the cellar. I
found there was no cellar under the north wing; but toward the west, and
directly beneath the dining-room, was a door. As I opened it all was
dark; but my eyes soon accustomed themselves to the light, and I made
out a good-sized chamber--and what I took for a man near the farther
end. I remained silent, pretending I had seen nothing, and, closing the
door, made a movement back up the cellar stairs. There I waited for
about five minutes. The ruse worked. The door of the chamber opened, and
a man, dressed in a dark cloak and a mask, partly emerged, and, I
_thought_, started for the other stairs at the west end of the cellar. I
jumped and grappled with him, but he struck me with the butt end of a
revolver, and I was dazed; in another minute, he was punishing me
severely. I fired two shots, then he threw me away from him and
disappeared. He was stronger than anyone I ever met," said Oakes,
apologetically, "a regular demon, and he got in the first blow. I think
I wounded him, however."
"What shall we do?" said Moore.
"Go quickly and investigate," was the answer. "Here, Mike, you lead the
way."
Mike did not hesitate. If playing a game, he did it well.
"Want a gun?" said Oakes.
"No, sorr, not if youse all are armed. Guess we can give him all the
scrap he wants."
We descended the stairs, Oakes last, as became his condition. He touched
Moore and myself, and pointed to Mike. "Watch him; he may be already
armed," he whispered.
The cellar was lighted by one window at the western end. A door at the
same end, which evidently led to some stairs, was padlocked, and, as
Oakes said, had not been recently opened. The dust lay upon it
undisturbed and the padlock was very rusty. This corroborated Mike's
story. The door above that opened on the ground. It was boarded up, he
said.
No means was found of passing beneath the dance hall, as Oakes had said.
From the lay of the ground, we concluded that the cellar was very low
there and not bottomed--a shut-in affair such as one finds in old
buildings of the Colonial epoch. Across the cellar, to the other
side--the south--the same thing pertained except at the western
extremity under the dining-room; there a door opened into a cellar room
or chamber.
"Here! take this," said Oakes, handing Mike a small pocket taper. "Light
it."
Mike did as told, and stepped into the room, I after him. Oakes held the
cellar door open, and I, happening to look at him, saw that he was
watching Mike as a cat watches a mouse. He had dropped a match at the
moment, and, with his eye still on the gardener, stooped to pick it up.
His hand made a swift, double movement, he had the match and something
else besides; but Mike had not observed, and I, of course, said nothing.
The room was low and without windows, but the air was remarkably clean
and fresh. "Plenty of ventilation in here," said I.
"Yes, and blood too," said the gardener.
Sure enough, the floor was spattered with it.
"Mine, I guess," said Oakes. "Moore, kindly fetch a lamp from upstairs.
Ask Annie for one."
Moore went, and soon brought down a small lantern. We could hear Cook's
voice at the head of the stairs; also his wife's and Annie's. It was the
long-expected hunt that no one had ever before made, and which might
clear up the mystery at any time.
By the better light we saw evidences of the struggle that had taken
place--a strip of Oakes's coat, and a piece of glazed red paper an inch
or so long, and perhaps half as broad--white on one side, red on the
other.
"Piece of a mask," said I; and Oakes placed it in his pocket.
Dr. Moore walked to the east side of the room, where he and I saw a door
in the wall, and some plastering on the floor under it. Mike was busy
examining a heap of rubbish at the other end. His conduct had been most
exemplary. Moore turned the light on the door, and we three observed it
for a moment. Mike had not seen it distinctly, if at all.
"Moore, come here," said the detective, retreating; and the Doctor
followed with the light.
"Come on, Stone." I left the room with them.
"Curious!" he heard Mike say behind us.
"What is curious?" asked Oakes.
The smart hired man answered. "Mr. Clark, the air is good in here. Where
does it come from?"
"I guess we have learned all we need this time, Mike," was the reply,
and the gardener came out reluctantly.
Oakes had seen the door in the wall: it was all he wanted to know. He
closed the outer entrance of the room, and called to Cook for hammer and
nails. The man brought them quickly; then the leader took a board that
was standing against the wall, and Mike and Cook nailed it across the
door from frame to frame.
"Mr. Clark, ye will _have_ the devil now, sorr," said Mike.
Oakes took a pencil out of his pocket and wrote "Clark" on one end of
the board; then with a single movement continued his hand over its edge
carefully, and on to the frame, where the line terminated in a second
signature--"Clark."
"Anyone removing that board has got to put it back to match that line,"
said Oakes, "and that with a board is practically impossible where
nailing has been done. Now for the exit that opens near the well."
We went back through the cellar hall and found at the east end a door
ajar. It did not lock, and was hung on rusty hinges. Beyond was a dark
passage.
"Where does this lead, Mike?"
"To the opening by the well, sorr."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know, myself, but Maloney said the outside opening by the well
led into the cellar; Cook says so, too. 'Tis a passage they used in wet
weather, sorr."
"Mike, you and Cook go round and guard that outer door by the well. Open
it. I'm going through."
"Mr. Clark, don't go in there alone!"
"I'll attend to that," said Oakes. "You go with Cook."
The two went to the well and lifted the hatch door. As they did so,
Oakes held a lighted match inside one end of the tunnel. It blew
strongly toward us; the air was rushing in, and we knew the passage led
to the opening. We heard their voices calling to us. Dr. Moore spoke.
"Oakes, you shall _not_ go in there; you have done enough to-day; you
are a wounded man." I caught up the lantern and my revolver, and Moore
followed.
"Hold on!" said Oakes. "You are in the most dangerous part; don't be
rash. Here, Stone, you go first--and Moore, you follow about ten feet
behind, without a light, in order that you may be undetected. Take
matches. I'll stay here with the taper, and watch. When you get to the
other end, don't go up the steps leading to the ground until both Mike
and Cook show themselves. We know nothing about them, you know. Be
cautious. The man we want went out this way, whoever he is."
I threw the light ahead and advanced some ten feet. I heard Moore
following. "Careful!" said he in a whisper.
Again I threw the light ahead, and beheld only the walls of the square
tunnel. I could hear the breathing of Moore behind me. I knocked on the
wall here and there with my revolver; it rang true and solid. We
gradually advanced until we beheld the daylight and saw the men waiting
at the head of the stone steps.
I ascended. Moore took the lantern and called back to Oakes, addressing
him as Clark. In a moment he came.
"Stay where you are, Stone," said he to me. "Come here, Mike."
Mike descended willingly enough. I watched Cook and looked all around.
"Open that door." Oakes pointed to a little wooden opening in the side
of the stairs. Mike obeyed, but instantly closed it again with a bang.
"A man!" said he.
Oakes and Moore levelled their revolvers.
"Come out," said the detective, "or take the consequences. I shall
shoot."
Mike opened the door again, hiding his figure behind it for protection
as it swung out. I expected to see some one shot, but Moore threw the
light in, and instantly Oakes dived forward into the alcove of stone. We
could hear him chuckle. Cook, at my side, was standing on one leg in his
excitement. Then Dr. Moore burst into laughter.
"What is it? What's the matter?" I cried. I could not see very well, and
ran half-way down. Oakes was standing beside Moore, trying to look
grave. In his hand was a red paper mask and a long black robe!
O'Brien looked on, his eyes twinkling, but his face serious. "I'm
thinking it's lucky, Mr. Clark, sorr, that ye saved yer ammunition,"
said he.
"Yes," retorted Oakes, "and it's still more fortunate you're a good
actor."
O'Brien's somewhat insolent manner changed instantly to one of civility,
and Oakes turned to us.
"No wonder some said there was a woman in this affair."
Then he ordered the hatch door nailed down, and handed the things to me.
"Please take these upstairs, Stone; we must investigate this more
fully," and we withdrew to discuss our findings.
"What do you think of O'Brien, Oakes?" I asked. "He seems to be a cool
sort of a customer."
"Yes, he is no ignoramus. He's a shrewd fellow, and a deep one; but I
have learned a few things."
_CHAPTER XI_
_The Night Walk_
Events were following each other rapidly at the Mansion. After leaving
the cellar, Oakes led us back through the grounds, around the south side
of the house. There was no entrance to the cellar there, apparently.
When we reached our rooms and I had deposited the mask and gown on my
table, Oakes turned to the care-taker, Cook, who accompanied us: "You
have been several years here, have you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Clark."
"When did the first trouble begin?"
"About three years ago, sir, following some repairs that were made after
Mr. Odell Mark bought the place from his brother."
"What do you know of those repairs?"
"Well, sir, as perhaps you have noticed, the door from the dining-room
to the parlor opens on a short hall about three feet deep. Now, sir, Mr.
Odell Mark had the wall thickened between the rooms; he thought it was
weak, and this hall represents the thickness of the wall."
Oakes stood at the window, his hands in his pockets, looking out.
"Did you see that wall being built yourself, Cook?"
"I didn't notice particularly, sir."
"Well, Stone, we'll try the simplest theory first. Will you kindly go
with Cook up to the roof and look around carefully. I have an idea that
the wall is double, and that you will find an opening up there
somewhere."
We went, and, as Oakes had surmised, soon found a small opening like a
chimney, grated in solidly and protected by a covering, and so reported.
"Good!" said Oakes. "The wall is double--in part at least--and the
opening was carried into the cellar room and a door placed there."
"What for?" said I.
"Perhaps to ventilate it. We may find some other reason."
"We seem to be solving the mystery," was Moore's comment.
Oakes looked at him quizzically. "Are you satisfied, Doctor, that there
is a physical agent at work here?"
Moore grew red. "Certainly," he said. And Quintus smiled.
"I thought probably you would be convinced in time. A thorough licking
is an excellent argument. It is my belief that the escapes were made
through that double wall, and that we shall find movable panels in the
dining-room."
"But the motive! We are strangers; we gave no provocation," I cried.
"We have yet to learn the motive; also _why_ a man should wear a robe.
The mask is sensible enough, but why he impeded himself with a robe is
beyond us as yet. It would hide his body, to be sure, as the mask would
hide his face, but it would certainly greatly affect his chances of
escape, if pursued. Cook, why was no investigation ever made before?"
"I don't know, sir. Mr. Odell was very timid."
"Did you ever go through the tunnel to the well?"
"Yes, sir. I used to go before the mystery began, but never afterward."
"How about the place in the stairs where the robe was found?"
"That was always there, sir, and used for the gardener's tools."
"Then the gardener knew of it?"
"Maloney, the older one, did, I am sure; he has been here a long time."
"Was he here before the mysteries?"
"Yes, sir, he has been five years on the place."
"Cook, what do you think of the murder of Winthrop Mark?"
It was one of those sudden questions that sometimes bring results.
"I don't know, sir--it is terrible, sir, of course."
"Where was Maloney yesterday, Cook?"
The man looked long at us. "He was here when I got up at six o'clock,
raking the leaves on the front walk."
"Indeed!" said Oakes. We could not tell whether the answer surprised
him, or not.
"I suppose Mike worked all day?"
"Yes, sir, he was about on the place the entire time."
Oakes made no remark whatever at this, but dismissed Cook.
"We cannot go too far in presence of the servants," said he, "for I am
only Clark the agent here, you remember. The time is coming when we may
have to declare ourselves and we may need police help to make arrests,
but," he smiled, "we have Hallen as a friend, I guess."
Oakes was calmly sanguine, I could see, but of course he did not know
that collateral events were brewing of grave importance to us all.
"Now for the robe and mask," said he.
I handed over the mask, an old affair and considerably worn from usage.
A piece of it was missing, which Oakes replaced with the fragment of
paper picked up in the cellar; it fitted exactly, settling the fact that
the mask had been worn by the man who fought him in that place.
The detective looked it all over and said: "This is such as was sold in
New York years ago. It is ordinary, and offers no clue as to the owner
or the place of purchase. I know the kind."
The robe was fairly long, and made of old velvet lined with satin, quite
shiny inside and out. The name of its maker had been carefully cut away.
It was spotted with blood--Oakes's, no doubt--for it was fresh.
"It served a good purpose this time, anyway," said I; "saved the man's
clothes from being marked."
"Medium chest measure," said Oakes. "Try it on, Stone."
I did so, and it just met around me.
"Good! The fellow who wore it is not a giant in chest measure, at all
events, though larger than you, probably, since he wore it next to his
undershirt."
"How in the world do you know that, Oakes?" said the doctor.
"Look at the discoloration of the lining on the shoulders, and also
across the chest and back. The soil is old, but there is a moisture
about the front yet, the moisture of fresh perspiration--it has been
used quite recently. _That_ would not have come through a coat or a
vest. I should not be surprised if he had worn it over his naked chest."
"Where do you suppose the outfit came from?" I asked.
"Probably a relic of some masquerade ball of many years ago. This house
used to be a popular place for entertainments."
"What did you pick up in the cellar when you stooped for the match?"
"Oh, you noticed that? See for yourselves," and he showed us an
old-fashioned heavy-calibre cartridge.
"And how about the closet in the steps, from which you took the robe?" I
pursued.