who hid the disguise there is quite familiar with that exit, evidently.
That narrows the search considerably," said Oakes. "But the robe is a
mystery; it is a senseless thing to use under such circumstances."
"Yes--senseless; that is the word," spoke up Moore.
Oakes's eyes searched the physician's, but the latter made no further
remark. I thought Oakes was sizing him up as pretty far from "senseless"
himself.
We now examined the robe more carefully, and saw that it was soiled with
what appeared to me to be soot. Oakes shook his head. "No, it seems to
be wood ash of some kind; see how light some of it is," he said.
He ran his hand along the inside of the robe, and found a small,
well-worn slit--an opening to a deep pocket. Instantly he turned it
inside out, and a small roll of paper dropped from it. He carefully
unfolded it and spread it on the table.
"It is a piece of an old newspaper," said he, "and has been read much.
It has been thumbed till it is ready to fall apart. Read it, Stone. Your
eyes are best."
I studied a while, and then began:
"DAILY NEWS, _October 30, 189-_.--The body was found face
downward, on the main Highway, just below the crest of the Mona
Hill. It was first seen by John Morney, who was going to the
reservoir in advance of his gang of laborers. They were in sight
when he discovered it; the time was therefore shortly before
seven. The men were going to work at 6.30 from Mona. They
recognized it instantly as the body of Orlando Smith, our
beloved and esteemed citizen. Death had occurred only a short
time before, and the murder must have been done about daybreak.
It was evident that Mr. Smith was returning from his factory,
where he had spent the night, the shift having been doubled
recently, owing to the pressure of business. Later examinations
showed that the bullet entered the chest and was from a large
revolver, a 44 or 45 calibre. The ball was not found.
"We are unable to give any more particulars now, before the time
of going to press."
"That is all," I said.
We remained standing while we thought over the matter. There was a
satisfied air about the detective that I could not quite fathom, and Dr.
Moore seemed to be quite pleased also.
"Well, what is it?" I asked.
With a voice that betrayed traces of elation, Oakes answered me: "The
man in the cellar wore this robe; if he thumbed this paper, the murder
of Smith interested him. The murder of Mark was similar, and I believe
our Mansion affair is going to involve us in a peck of unexpected
trouble. The clues are showing now, and we must know more about the
Smith murder, as well as the Mark affair."
"Yes," put in Moore, "and all about the suspected motives in the Smith
affair."
Oakes smiled. "Don't be too previous, my boy. If Hallen looks for our
help, well and good. Otherwise, remember, I have given my word not to
interfere with his search at present. Meanwhile, we must get into town
and look around."
"You must remain here," said Moore. "You cannot go out until that wound
begins to heal--in a day or so."
"That is so," said Oakes. "But perhaps Stone can find out what is going
on."
So it was arranged that I should call on Chief Hallen that evening and
spend a few hours in Mona.
At supper, Oakes said that tomorrow he would have men from the city who
would make a complete search of the walls, and perhaps tear down some
partitions. "Masons, and other workmen, you know," said he; and I saw a
twinkle in his eyes and realized that he was going to surround himself
with men, in case of an emergency.
"Are you expecting trouble?" I asked.
"No," said he, grave again in a second, "but I believe in being
forearmed. This matter is capable of developing into a very serious
affair for all hands, especially if we have a band of conspirators
against us."
"_A band!_" said I.
"Yes, certainly. Has it never occurred to you that there may be several
desperate characters in this affair and the murder? This is no boy's
play; we are facing unknown dangers. Now, Stone, go about town
carefully, and send this cipher to New York first thing. When you come
back, tell Chief Hallen that I want you escorted to the Mansion by two
men. Remember! He will understand, for he spoke to me of the
advisability of giving me aid."
It all seemed strange to me, but I was not fearful when I left just at
seven for the town.
I took the short cut over the bridge, and up the hill beyond, and they
watched me as I crossed the rolling plains to Mona.
It was a clear night, and I could see well over the hills, the
three-quarters moon giving me excellent light. I could not help thinking
how careful was this man Oakes, and what a peculiar nature was his;
alert, severe even to austerity at times; then solicitous, friendly and
even fond of a joke. I was more than glad that I came, although I
realized that perhaps it was foolish to interfere in such affairs. Of
course, that murder of Mark had been cast upon our notice by curious
circumstances, and unexpectedly.
As I walked over the rolling ground, I kept my eyes well upon my
surroundings; but not a living thing did I see except myself and the
night birds until I entered the town.
There was an air of subdued excitement about the place. As I walked to
the post-office to send my despatches the loungers seemed numerous, and
some were amiss in their greetings; others, whom I knew, approached in
an affable manner enough, but there seemed no genuine friendliness.
The telegraph manager took the cipher and smiled when he saw it. Then he
said to me in a whisper: "Tell Mr. Clark there is trouble coming."
To my look of surprise he answered: "Oh, that's all right; I had a visit
from your friend before he went to the Mansion."
Again I recognized the work of careful Oakes, and understood why he did
not hesitate to send the cipher--a thing unusual in a small town.
The indications of impending trouble in town were quite impressed upon
me. The little hotel was the centre of a lounging crowd, large, and
composed of representative men as well as the usual hangers-on. There
were evidences of much interest around the police building also--much
more than would occur under normal circumstances in a town of this size,
and even more than was present the night before.
I noticed a couple of brawls, and considerable raising of voices; many
men were walking about as though watching the others. The prairie fire
had been lighted; the sparks were burning near the roots of the grass;
the air was uneasy--ready to rush in as wind, to fan and feed the first
flame.
I visited the Chief, who was with his subordinates. He invited me into
the private room, and then said:
"Mr. Stone, I am doing all I can to detect this murderer and to satisfy
the public demand for his apprehension, but the clues are practically
worthless. The populace is uneasy and suspicious."
Then he detailed to me all that he knew. I then told him how the
people's actions had impressed me.
"I am going to have all I can do to keep order. I am going to ask your
friend Oakes to take a hand."
"He will do it," I said, "for he is greatly interested."
"It is for the welfare of the town which I serve that I ask him to join
me in this matter. Go to him, and tell him I shall see him in the
morning if possible."
I was glad that affairs were taking such a turn, for I knew the facts
in our possession, and that Oakes's counsel would be valuable.
I then requested an escort of two men to accompany me on my return to
the Mansion, as Oakes had suggested.
"Certainly! I had no intention of letting you go back alone," he said;
and then he summoned two of his men clad in citizen's clothes and
introduced them to me. "Now take a walk to the outskirts, and return the
same way by which you came. My men will follow you at a short distance."
Before I left I noticed my companions--fine-looking fellows both of
them--and saw the tell-tale pouching of the hip pockets, and knew that
we were all well armed.
"In order not to attract attention, we will walk some distance behind
you. We will keep you within sight and hearing. If we fire a shot,
return to us."
I started across the rolling country, and saw the two figures behind me.
Why were they so careful? Why did they not accompany me? They separated,
and we advanced, I myself following the narrow path.
The night was still. I halted occasionally and looked back--a dim figure
would halt on my left and on my right. It was lonesome, but I felt I had
company.
I neared the slope to the pond, and looked down; there was nothing
visible, and I began to descend with an easy stride. Although nearing
the Mansion, I felt an unaccountable dread. This was the trying part of
the journey, and my followers were now invisible to me, being on the
plain above the crest of the hill. I gripped my revolver firmly, and
stepped rapidly on to the bridge; but as I did so I heard a pistol shot
from above, and knew instantly that I was in danger--that my companions
had signalled me to return.
I faced about, and commenced my ascent of the hill.
From somewhere near a voice came to me clearly. "Run for your life," it
said.
I could see nothing, but retreated hurriedly, and was soon with the
others at the top of the hill.
"Why did you tell me to run?" I panted.
They looked at me. "We said nothing," was the answer; "we merely
signalled you to come back."
"Well, someone ordered me to run for my life."
"Ah!" said they. "We thought we heard a voice. We saw a figure at the
other side of the pond. We came over the crest cautiously, and he did
not expect us. He was crossing in range of the light from the Mansion
gate when we detected him. So much for following you!"
"Well, but who spoke to me? He could not have done so; his voice would
not have sounded so near."
"No, evidently someone near you was watching him; he was about to waylay
you, and the watcher knew it and warned you."
We heard a commotion and saw a figure dash from the bridge, away toward
the north end of the pond, and disappear.
Then another figure showed at the crest on the River Road and followed
him at breakneck speed.
"See--the man on the bridge was the fellow who warned you. The other is
after him. He won't catch him, however."
"Come!" I cried; and we darted down and over the bridge to the road
above, but nothing was visible. Suddenly a couple of figures emerged
from the darkness by the Mansion gate. We recognized Oakes and Moore,
who had been awaiting us.
We related the circumstances of our return to the Mansion to them.
"Yes," said Oakes, "we were watching the man near the road. He had a
gun, and was evidently waiting for you. We were just going to make a
rush at him when we saw you run back at the signal."
"Who was he?" asked I.
"I will answer the question by asking: Who was the man who warned you?"
"I haven't the least idea," said I.
"You see, you were in great danger, and only that man's foresight saved
your life. But there are _two_ unknowns now--the friend and the enemy."
We watched my escorts descend and cross the bridge, mount the ascent and
disappear over the crest toward Mona. Then the moonlight silhouetted
their figures for an instant, as they turned and waved a farewell.
_CHAPTER XII_
_The Witness_
Mr. George Elliott, aristocratic, well-to-do club-man and all-round
agreeable fellow, lived in bachelor apartments on the upper West side of
New York.
He was engaged now in the brokerage business, but, times having been
dull, he found it rather difficult to occupy himself and was
anticipating taking a vacation--but where, he had not yet decided.
Events were shaping themselves, however, to bring him into the
happenings at Mona as one of our party.
On the corner, near the apartment, was a boot-blacking stand, presided
over by one Joe, an intelligent and wide-awake colored youngster, whose
general good-nature and honesty had made him popular with many. Among
his patrons and general well-wishers was Mr. Elliott, to whom Joe had
taken a particular liking, and whose opinions the young negro had often
sought in an off-hand way; for, despite his general air of reserve and
hauteur, Elliott was kindness itself at heart, and a man who could be
easily approached by those who were suffering from worry and hardship.
At about the time of the beginning of this story, Joe's mother had been
taken sick and had died in Troy, and the boy had gone up there for a few
days.
Then he had gone to Lorona, a little town farther south, and from thence
to Mona on his way home to New York. At Mona he had seen a terrible
thing--a murder.
Bewildered, frightened, overawed by his fateful knowledge, he had
managed, however, to reach New York, where he sought out Mr. Elliott for
counsel; he knew the latter was kind and good and would tell him what to
do. Joe realized that he needed advice--that he was in a terrible fix,
being the only witness, so far as he knew, of a crime of the worst kind.
As Joe told Mr. Elliott the things he had witnessed, that gentleman
realized the tremendous value of the evidence being told him.
By adroit questioning, he determined that the celebrated Quintus Oakes
was in Mona. The boy said he recognized him, for he had frequently
"shined" Mr. Oakes's shoes in times past on Broadway. Elliott realized
that as he was called Clark at the inquest--according to Joe--the people
in Mona did not know him as Oakes; he must be travelling under an
_alias_, on important business probably. Elliott also grasped the fact
that Oakes was there at the time of the murder by coincidence only. He
had read of the affair in the evening paper, but only in a careless
manner. It was all of deep interest now.
What should he do with Joe?
If he allowed the boy to think that he was in a tight place, he might
run away, and that would defeat justice. There was the alternative of
telling the police; _that_ would mix himself up in an unpleasant affair,
and Joe might not be believed--might be falsely accused of the murder.
Again, he knew Mr. Oakes. He had seen him at the Club, and he did not
desire to frustrate whatever investigations the detective might be
making.
The best solution would be to find Quintus Oakes and tell him. He
certainly would be able to give some attention to the murder, even if
not in Mona for that purpose. Meanwhile, he himself would hold the boy
at all hazards.
With skill scarcely to be expected from one of his easy-going type, he
told Joe to remain and sleep in his flat that night and that he would
fix things for him. The terror-stricken negro was only too glad of
sympathy and protection from one of Mr. Elliott's standing, and
complied; for he was at the mercy of his friends. What could he, a
colored boy, do alone?
After tired nature had asserted herself and Joe had fallen asleep in a
room which had been given him, Elliott called up Oakes's office by
telephone. In less than an hour a dapper young man sought admission to
the apartment, and was met by Elliott. He introduced himself as
"Martin--from Oakes's place." In a few words Elliott explained matters,
and Martin said:
"Let Joe go to his boot-blacking stand in the morning. Get your shoes
shined, and place your hand on his shoulder in conversation, so that he
can be identified before you leave. Our men will be in sight. Then meet
me at the elevated station, and we will go to Mona together, if you care
to do so."
"Good!" said Elliott. "I am willing; I will take my vacation that way."
And that was how, several hours later, Joe went to his boot-blacking
stand, feeling secure in being near friends, and oblivious of the fact
that strange eyes were watching all his movements.
A little later Elliott patronized the stand, and in leaving placed his
hand on Joe's shoulder and said: "Nobody will trouble you, old fellow.
Don't say a word; it will all come out right. I will back you to the
limit."
And after that several pairs of eyes watched every movement of the
boot-black. Several affable strangers gave him quarters for ten-cent
shines. Joe was not in the police net, but he was in the vision of those
silent men whom one cannot detect--those experts employed by men like
Oakes. Escape was impossible for the negro.
Joe remained in good spirits, for had not Mr. Elliott befriended him? He
was ignorant of the doings of those brief hours when he slept.
Elliott's going to Mona was perhaps unnecessary, but he felt a natural
curiosity to know Oakes better, as well as to see the outcome of the
case and the effect of the evidence the negro possessed. He was also
actuated by a desire to do all he could to establish the accuracy of the
boy's statement, and to see that he obtained as good treatment as was
consistent with the ends of justice.
He and Martin arrived at Mona the day after the murder--our first one at
the Mansion. The two stayed at the hotel and studied the town, finding
it impossible to go to the Mansion without creating talk.
As Martin said: "We must go slowly and not appear too interested in
Oakes, or rather Clark, as he is known up here--so the office informed
me. So far as we know he has nothing to do with the murder case, and we,
being strangers and consequently subject to comment, must be guarded in
our actions. I have seen and heard enough to realize that there is much
suppressed excitement among the people. We must communicate with Oakes
quietly, and find whether it is wise to see him. He may not desire our
presence at the Mark place."
_CHAPTER XIII_
_The Plan of Campaign_
Next day, as we were at breakfast at the Mansion, the masons and
carpenters came. Curiously enough, one of them brought a note from
Martin, asking if it would be convenient for him to bring a stranger,
with valuable information, to see Mr. Oakes that morning; and the man
found it convenient to drop into town a little later and incidentally to
meet Martin and let him know that Oakes expected him. Then he went to
the hardware store and bought a few trifling things, as any carpenter or
mason might do.
"Looks as though I am going to hold a reception this morning," said
Oakes: "The Chief of Police making an engagement last night for an
interview this morning, and now Martin asking for another."
"What is Martin doing up here?" asked Moore.
"Well, don't get impatient. He has something important, anyway. Just
wait." I think Moore felt aggravated at Oakes's apparent indifference.
Of course it was simulated, but he seemed so calm and oblivious of the
mass of happenings that had put Moore and myself in a state of extreme
excitement.
It was not long before Martin and Mr. Elliott were with us. Oakes
received Elliott in a most agreeable manner, which placed us all at
ease. He said he knew Mr. Elliott by sight, and esteemed it greatly that
he should extend information to him. Also he was sure it must be of
great value, since the gentleman had travelled all the way from New York
to place him in possession of it. And this was said before any
information was given. We saw that our friend was a diplomat.
Quickly Mr. Elliott gave all the particulars of the negro's confession,
and the detective said: "If I am called into the case by Chief Hallen, I
shall want to see the boy; if not, the information should be given to
the Chief, as the matter belongs to his jurisdiction."
Looking out of the window at that moment, I espied Hallen coming up the
walk.
"Good!" said Oakes. "Now, Mr. Elliott, will you kindly retire with Dr.
Moore, while Stone, Martin and I hear what the Chief has to say."
When Hallen came up, he seemed very cordial, but worried, and made no
attempt to disguise the fact that he anticipated trouble with the unruly
element in Mona by Saturday night.
"You see," he said, "we are few here, and I have been kept busy with the
brewing uneasiness in town and cannot handle the murder affair
satisfactorily. I have come to ask you to help me, if you are
sufficiently at leisure. We cannot get any clues at all, save that the
man was killed by a bullet of large calibre in the hands of a good shot,
as the distance from which it was fired would seem to show. The road has
been searched but nothing found, and the crowd that went with you to the
dying man's side trampled away all clues on the ground.
"My men have reported to me the curious affair of last night," continued
the Chief. "I suppose you have a explanation for it; in any event, it
must be followed up. The people must be diverted, and more must be done
at once than I can do. Will you help me?"
"Yes," said Oakes. "Of course!"
"Hello, what ails your head?" said the Chief, after thanking him.
And then Oakes told him as much as was necessary of the events of the
day before.
"I am very glad your _carpenters_ have arrived," said the Chief; "they
may help." He smiled, as did Oakes. They understood one another--they
were in similar lines of business.
"Now that I have a hand in this thing, let's all get acquainted," said
Oakes; and he called in Moore and Elliott, and the discussion became
general.
Elliott was admitted unreservedly to our councils, especially as Oakes
knew that he held the keys to the conviction of the assassin--the
witness.
Oakes, in his fluent style, acquainted the Chief with the fact that the
negro was already under surveillance and that, in his opinion, he should
be brought to Mona for further examination.
"Yes, but we must smuggle him in. It would be unwise to let the populace
know we have him now; they might infer he was the murderer and violence
would certainly be done him. At present, I have all I can do to keep
order in the town," said Hallen.
Then he gave a lucid account of the wave of suspicion and of the
evidences of nervous tension the citizens were showing.
"Why," said he, "almost every man suspects his neighbor. Life-long
friends are suspicious of one another and business is nearly at a
standstill. One man looked at another in an absent-minded sort of a way
to-day, and the other retaliated with a blow and an oath, and asked him
if he would look at his own arms--not his neighbor's."
"Yes," said Oakes, "we have here a great mental emotion--_suspicion_--to
deal with, which may amount to a public calamity unless checked. One
must always take account of the actions and reasonings of communities.
Emotional waves rush through them as through individuals sometimes. Look
at history, and consider the waves of religion, emotional in character,
that have occurred. Look at the unreasonableness developed in our own
country from ignorance and fear, when witches were burned at the stake!"
"Oakes," said Moore with a smile, "you seem to make mental processes and
conditions as much of a study as the physician does."
"Certainly," Oakes replied. "It is most important. Did we not study the
workings of a criminal's mind, for instance, we would often be baffled.
You see, the determination of the probable condition of such a one's
mind is often paramount, especially in such a case as this. In other
words, was the _motive_ one that would naturally sway an ordinary
healthy individual under the conditions appertaining to the crime--the
so-called _sane_ motive? Or was it in any way dependent upon
peculiarities of the criminal's reasoning--a motive built up of
something unreal, a _delusion_ in the mind of one not in his right
senses?"
I myself had frequently had cause to study such mental processes in the
practice of my profession, but I was amazed at the knowledge shown by
Oakes, and stated in such a broad, untechnical manner. The man was no
ordinary one, to be sure, but I had scarcely expected him to show such
education in these matters.
I now recalled what Moore had once told me of Oakes's all-round
attainments.
Dr. Moore broke the silence.
"You are a lalapazooza, Oakes."
Oakes did not notice the remark, but said: "I don't know what other men
do, but I have tried to bear in mind such things."
"Yes," said Hallen, "and consequently there is only _one_ Quintus
Oakes."
"It seems to me," continued Hallen, "that your work here at the Mansion
will soon lead to results, and I trust that you will find time to
consider the murder also."
"Gentlemen," said Oakes very seriously, "from what I saw after the Mark
murder in town and from what you report, I feel that Mona is in a very
serious plight. I shall make time, Hallen, to do what little I can."
And thus Quintus Oakes became the leader in the unravelling of the Mark
murder mystery.
After a few remarks of no particular consequence and a more or less
general conversation, he resumed: