possible, and bring him here. I believe that if Mr. Elliott goes back
with Martin and they explain things to the boy, he will come without
much trouble. It must be impressed upon him that he is regarded in the
light of a _hero_: appeal to the innate weakness of the race--desire for
flattery."
"I believe we can bring him here easily," said Elliott, "for he has
confidence in me."
"If he refuses to come," said Hallen, "we can get him here in plenty of
ways."
"Yes," said Oakes, "Martin knows how; leave it to him. Only, we must
have him soon, and he must come here by way of another station,
incognito, lest the people become too excited."
This being agreed upon, the conversation became more general, and in
answer to questions we found that Oakes had not as yet formulated any
solution to the mystery of the identity of the murderer. As he said, the
affair of downstairs might be connected with the murder, indirectly or
directly, but as yet we had not had sufficient opportunities for
studying the surroundings of the house or the life of its attachés to
venture an opinion. He laid particular stress upon the fact that
opinions should never be formed on poor evidence, since a biased mind
was incapable of appreciating new discoveries or new clues. To theorize
too much was very easy, but sometimes fatal to detection of crime. He
preferred to work along several lines of investigation before
concentration on any one idea.
"The affair of last night, in my estimation," said he, "is one of very
grave import. Unquestionably, from what you saw, Stone, and from the
evidence of us all, there were two men near the place you were going to
pass. That the first one warned you and was, in a sense, a friend, is
mysterious enough--it needs solution; but that the man who warned you
should have run away and been pursued by the other is peculiar, to say
the least. The signals of your companions were heard by the man at the
bridge undoubtedly, and he ran to escape detection himself. The
other--the one on this side, who was a probable assassin--would under
ordinary circumstances have run away when he saw you were warned. He
did run, but it was after the man who warned you."
"To my mind, the explanation is this," continued the detective. "The man
at the bridge is friendly, but cannot expose his identity or risk
capture. The would-be assassin was convinced that the man who warned you
knew of his purpose. He therefore pursued him--to finish him in
self-protection."
"I don't see why," said Moore; "he could have escaped instead."
"Exactly," said Oakes. "He could have done so, but he did not wish it.
He has not completed what he wants to do around here. He wished to come
back, and to do so with safety he must rid himself of the one who knew
of his doings."
"Looks as though he was planning more trouble. He may have been the man
of the robe, or the man with the arms," I ventured.
"Or both," said Oakes.
"At all events," said Hallen, "I wish that we could divert the minds of
the people in town; the tension is great--too great for safety."
"Perhaps, Chief," said Oakes, "that you and I can arrange a little
matter that will distract their attention and which will tend to make
them believe that progress is being made."
He laughed as he spoke, and we knew that he was thinking over some
little scheme to help Hallen back into popular favor.
_CHAPTER XIV_
_Clues_
The carpenters and masons came and went in a very business-like way all
that morning, while we were closeted upstairs with our companion and
Chief Hallen.
After he left us, Moore and I walked down to the gate and around the
grounds, leaving Oakes to attend to details with Martin. Carpenters were
very busy around the dining-room, carrying in boards and implements, and
examining the woodwork and the balcony.
A few of the masons were about the grounds, engaged on small details,
and all seemed to be on good terms with Cook and his wife, and Annie.
Mike was busy at one end of the garden, and Maloney was not far off.
"This, Stone, is to be a day of events here. But things are being done
very quietly, are they not? You would suspect nothing out of the
way--far less a hunt for a murderer or the investigation of a mystery,
would you?"
"No; were I not informed, I should think that Oakes had merely a gang of
laborers at work."
"He has that; but he has also a body of the best detectives, for the
purpose, to be had. Maloney and Mike are puzzling him considerably,
Stone; they are very close to one another always, and seem quite
intimate."
"Yes," I replied. "I have noticed it. They both show a great deal of
interest in these alterations. Have you noticed how Maloney is watching
O'Brien? He keeps him continually in sight."
We had approached the front door of the Mansion as we spoke. Oakes was
standing just outside, his eyes likewise upon the two gardeners. Our
last remarks were made in his presence, and he entered the conversation
with a quiet observation to the effect that Maloney seemed to fear that
Mike might not attend to his business, but that Mike _would_,
nevertheless.
I was obliged to acknowledge that I did not quite understand.
"Oh, Mike is a good laborer," he explained; "he needs no such watching,"
and there seemed to be a peculiar significance in his words. They were
stated in a slow, indifferent manner that caused me to look at the
speaker, but his face wore the inscrutable expression which I had
frequently seen before, and I learned nothing. I knew him well enough by
this time, however, to realize that something was taking shape in his
thoughts.
"Now, let us go inside," said he. "After lunch we will attack the final
solution of the manner in which these mysterious assaults were
performed. Like all such things, it will be simple enough, I know, and
the point remaining to determine will be not _how_ it was done, but _by
whom_.
"I feel confident that that door in the cellar room leads upward to an
interspace which communicates with the dining-room through panels in the
walls. The peculiar noise--the swish--that I heard, resembled the sudden
sliding of a board, and it was the conviction that the person who
assaulted Moore disappeared into the wall which made me run downstairs.
I felt sure there would be some explanation of it below."
That afternoon a systematic search of the entire house was made. The
cellar room in which the assault upon Oakes had occurred was thoroughly
lighted and examined. The heap of rubbish which Mike had been
investigating at our previous visit proved to be composed of plaster and
bricks.
The wall in which the door was cut was found to be about three feet
thick, and one of the foundations of the house. It was solid, save for a
chimney-like opening which had been trapped with the door. Above, at the
level of the dining-room floor, the great wall ceased. From one edge was
continued upwards the original partition between that room and the
next--the parlor; but it was thin, and had evidently been recently
strengthened by another wall, slightly thicker, and built from the
opposite edge of the foundation, leaving a space between the two. Into
this space entered, at a certain point, the opening from the cellar room
below.
It was a peculiar arrangement. As Oakes remarked, the new wall had been
made with no regard to the economizing of space; for, had it been built
immediately back of the old, considerable room would have been saved
for the parlor. One of the "carpenters" thought that the original idea
had been to utilize the space for closets. The only other possible use
for it, so far as we could discover, was the one which Oakes had
surmised--ventilation for the cellar. Still, to our ordinary minds, a
chimney would have answered that purpose quite as well.
A little further investigation, however, showed the top of the
foundation wall to be covered with cement well smoothed, and the walls
themselves were plastered. It was generally conceded, therefore, that
the first idea had been to use it as closet room, which could easily
have been done by cutting doors through the walls. As Oakes said, the
notion had evidently met with opposition and been abandoned, so
communication had been made with the cellar instead, and the roof opened
to afford ventilation.
The opening into the cellar was large. A man could easily enter it, and,
standing, reach the top of the foundation wall; then, by a little
exertion, he could raise himself into the intermural space. Oakes, Moore
and I proved this by actual experiment and found that the passage was
quite wide enough to accommodate a man of average proportions.
I have said that the dining-room was finished in oak panels. These had
been reached from our side of the wall by removing the bricks and
mortar--the same stuff evidently which helped to form the rubbish heap
in the room below. One of the larger panels had been made to slide
vertically. It had been neatly done and had escaped detection from the
dining-room because of the overlapping of the other panels. Some débris
still remained between the walls.
"The fellow we are after knew of the space between the walls and worked
at the panel after the repairs were completed," was Oakes's remark.
"How do you know that?" asked Moore.
Oakes looked at him and smiled, then said: "Moore, where is your
reasoning ability? Do you think, if the panel had been tampered with at
the time the repairs were made, that the débris would have been left
behind? No! It would have been removed with the rest of the dirt."
We had gone to our rooms upstairs while the men were hunting through
the tunnel to the well. They found nothing; everything was as we had
left it after our adventures there.
It seemed to us that, all things considered, the work on the panel must
have been done by someone within the household, or, at least, that some
of its members must have been involved in the matter.
"It may have been accomplished at night, however, and by an outsider,"
said Oakes. "The servants' quarters are separate from the house. Anyone
might easily have entered the cellar by the tunnel route. Still, there
may have been collusion also."
"It seems a nonsensical idea to leave the débris in the cellar," I said.
"No, I think not," was the answer. "The care-takers are afraid even to
enter that place. The miscreant knew that detection would be probable at
the hands of strangers only."
That evening Elliott and Martin left for New York. They were to bring
the negro boy, Joe, to Mona. Late at night, before we retired, Oakes
asked us to go with him into the parlor.
"What for?" said I.
"To forge another link in the chain--the strongest yet," he said.
"What?"
"Do you remember the cartridge I found in the cellar?"
"Yes, yes; but you did not pay much attention to it, I thought."
He looked gravely at me. "Stone, that cartridge probably corresponds in
calibre to the one which was used in the murder of Mark."
"Ah!" said Moore. "I had a notion of that myself. Why did you not tell
us your opinion before?"
"Because, when I found it, we were working on the Mansion affair only. I
divined the value of the find; but why should I have mentioned it? I was
not hunting the Mark murderer then."
"Quintus, you consummate fox--you worked Hallen well!"
"Not at all; business is business. What is the use of gossiping? There
are no ladies to be entertained in _my_ profession, Doctor."
He led the way to the parlor--we meekly following--to where a cluster
of arms hung upon the wall: one of those ornaments of crossed swords,
guns and a shield, so common in old houses.
He remarked that he had noticed these arms on his previous visit. He
looked at a revolver hanging across the shield, with a pouch beneath it,
and then suddenly, in surprise, said: "Last time I was here, a few weeks
ago, there was a large old-fashioned revolver here of 44 or 45 calibre.
I remember it well, being interested in firearms.
"This one now here is of a similar pattern and appearance, but of
smaller calibre, and newer. Look! The cartridges in this pouch are of
about 45 size; they belong to the old weapon and cannot be used with
this one."
"Again, some of them are missing; there were at least a dozen before,
now there are only three or four. The old revolver and some cartridges
have been taken away, and a newer weapon substituted."
"Indeed! But why?" said Moore sceptically.
"Partly because"--and Oakes was decisive, curt, master of the
situation--"because this one cannot be loaded. See!" He then tried to
turn the chamber and showed us that the mechanism was faulty.
"The old revolver," said he in a low tone, "and some cartridges were
taken away, and in order that its absence should be less noticeable,
this one was left here--it being useless.
"Now, boys, the cartridge I found downstairs on the cellar floor is a
45-calibre and belongs to those of the pouch and the original revolver,
as you see."
He took it from his pocket and showed us that it did _not_ fit the
weapon in his hand but matched the cartridges in the pouch. It belonged
to the _old_ weapon.
"We are closing in," said I.
"Yes--the man of the robe has the old revolver and cartridges; he took
them within the last few days, finding his own weapon out of order. It
is he who is responsible for the mystery in this house--and in all
probability it is he who shot Winthrop Mark. You remember, the evidence
at the inquest showed that a heavy revolver had been used--a 44 or 45
calibre--exactly such an one as the old weapon which I saw here."
"Excellent, Oakes," remarked Moore. "There's only one objection."
"Yes, I know," said Oakes. "You were going to ask why the fellow did not
take all these cartridges and put his own in the pouch to match the
weapon he left here."
"Exactly," said Moore.
"Well," said the detective, "he either had no cartridges of his own
handy, or else, like all criminals, however smart, he tripped--the brain
of no man is capable of adjusting his actions precisely in every
detail."
"Guess you're right. No man can be perfect in his reasoning, and, no
matter how clever the criminal, he is almost certain to make an error
sooner or later," said Moore.
"Yes, but it takes peculiar power to discover it," I chirped. The events
of the day had tired me, and my mind was growing confused. I desired to
go to bed.
Oakes smiled slightly. "No, Stone; it takes study, worry and patient
reasoning to discover the faulty link in a clever criminal's
logic--that is why there is a profession like mine."
I was half asleep, but I heard him continue: "We may consider we have
excellent cause to look for a man who has in his possession an ancient
revolver and some very old dirty cartridges covered with verdigris, like
these here."
"Murder will out," I interpolated.
"Yes, eventually, sometimes. However, it is easy to say, 'he who had
that revolver did the murder,' but as it may have been destroyed since
then, or thrown into the river, it is another thing to find the _man_."
We were crestfallen. Oakes himself looked wearied.
"I wish the whole Mansion was in the river, and there were a decent café
round here," protested Moore.
"You're a vigorous pair of assistants, I must say," said Quintus. "I
have some samples in my room. Come!" and we all adjourned.
_CHAPTER XV_
_The Ruse_
After all, however, the doctor and I decided to spend the night at the
hotel and acquire any information that we could as to occurrences in
town.
We chose to walk along the River Road to the Corners, keeping ourselves
on the alert for any treachery. The night was cool and bracing and the
sky cloudless. As we journeyed, the moon rose, throwing its rays athwart
the tangled outline of the wood. The great high trees were just
beginning to drop their leaves. Occasionally a woody giant, separated
from the rest, would fix our attention, standing silhouetted against the
background of forest--majestic, alone, like a sentinel guarding the
thousands in column behind. An occasional flutter of a night bird or the
falling and rustling of the dead leaves was all that we heard as we
walked rapidly the mile to the Corners.
As we were about to round into the Highway and leave the forest of the
estate behind us, Moore grasped my arm, and led me to the deep shadow of
a tree by the roadside.
"Hark! That sounds peculiar," he said. We listened, and heard a thumping
sound, repeated at intervals.
"An uneasy horse standing somewhere in the woods hereabouts," said I.
"Yes. What is he doing there at this time of night--and in _these
particular_ woods?"
We consulted together and waited. Then, having satisfied ourselves that
the noise came from the woods of the estate near the crest of the hill,
we decided to investigate as quickly as possible, and entered the forest
stealthily and with but little noise. Unused to the life of the woods,
we doubtless made more rustling than was necessary, but we were favored
by the fact that the trees were not very close together, and in
consequence the carpet of dead leaves was not thick.
Halting behind the trunks of trees occasionally, we listened for the
sound which came from further within the wood. Soon we came to an
opening--a glade--perhaps two hundred feet from the road. The moonlight
fell upon the far side, but on the side next us all was shadow--dark and
sombre. We stood well within it among the trees. I fancied I heard a
horse whinny. The animal was certainly restive. I saw the doctor take
out his revolver and lie carefully down behind a tree; I remained
standing. We both waited; we were within a few feet of one another, but
did not speak.
Suddenly, on the far side we saw a figure walking towards the shade and
heard him say a few words to the horse. Quickly he led the animal away
into what appeared to be a path. Moore whispered to me: "Watch the road;
he is going there."
We retraced our steps and soon saw the horse appear on the edge of the
wood. He was a large, powerful animal, and seemed to act as though he
understood what was expected of him. The man was still leading the
horse, but was now also speaking in a low voice to someone else, who
disappeared toward the town and came out on the Highway further down,
walking rapidly toward the village, as any belated citizen might.
"See!" said Moore. "He brought the horse and is going back. Watch the
rider."
The latter had been standing in the shade looking after the man who had
gone, when suddenly, seeming satisfied that he was not watched, he
vaulted into the saddle. He came out into the moonlight in a second or
two and rode rapidly up River Road, past the Corners and northward away
from the town. We had managed to get near the road, and as he dashed
into the open we saw that he held the reins with the left hand, his
right resting on the horse's neck, and in it, as we both recognized, a
revolver.
"A splendid rider," was my remark.
"Yes," said Moore. "Did you recognize him? It was Mike, I thought."
"Yes, Mike it was, and acting in a very suspicious manner. He has done
this before, evidently--knew the road and the horse, and was on the
lookout for trouble, for he was armed."
We decided to follow the first man, it being useless to attempt to
overtake the rider. Taking the darkest side of the road, we walked on
after the figure in the distance.
Soon my companion's spirits began to rise and he laughed at our
_adventure_, as he called it.
"Stone, I cannot help thinking that you and I are destined to become
great sleuths. We have been away from the Mansion only a short
half-hour, and already have detected a man on horseback who is carrying
a revolver--and have identified him as Mike."
"Yes, we're improving--but why did you lie down behind that tree?
Afraid?"
"No!" answered Moore, with a laugh. "I have been studying caution. I
want to see Broadway again." Then he continued: "Stone, this adventure
is becoming more and more complicated, and occasionally I wonder if I
was not foolish in coming here. It is so different from practising
surgery--this being assaulted by invisible foes--seeing victims of
murder and things like that, to say nothing of men chasing one another
by moonlight."
He was half-serious, and I acknowledged that the affair _was_ rather
nerve wearing. Then we looked ahead, and suddenly realized that the
figure we were following had vanished.
Moore gasped in astonishment. "Hang it all! we certainly are a pair of
apes to let that fellow get away. Won't Oakes be disgusted?"
"Yes, and he will have good cause."
The lesson was a needful but costly one. Thenceforth when on business we
ceased to discuss our feelings and endeavored to use our eyes and ears
more, and our tongues less.
We received a cordial welcome from the people at the hotel and gossiped
around the corridor for some time. The crowd outside was sullen, but
within the atmosphere seemed less strained. We learned that Chief Hallen
had made several arrests that afternoon, a measure which had had a
sobering effect. The saloons had been warned not to abuse their
privileges. Many persons spoke of the work done by Hallen as excellent;
indeed, we were both impressed by the fact that the sentiment toward
him, of the better citizens, was friendly. Considerable disgust was
expressed, however--privately, of course--at the lack of evidence, so
far, bearing upon the murder itself. In the course of the evening we
managed to see Reilly the porter, and he pointed out several men to us.
"These fellows are new in town--they must be detectives. If they
discover things, well and good; but if they don't, the people here won't
stand it--they will resent what they call 'outside' work."
"Hallen must have gone in for business," said I.
Reilly grew confidential. "No, it ain't Hallen, they say. There's a lot
of talk about some New York man coming up here to run things."
"Who?"
"Oh, they say that Quintus Oakes--you've heard of him, of course--is
coming soon, and these are some of his men."
"Indeed!" And Moore and I exchanged glances.
"But, say," continued the porter, "that is confidential; only we fellows
round here know it."
We parted from Reilly. Moore said: "If they know about it in here, of
course half of the town has heard already."
"Yes. The tale was doubtless started by Hallen as a great secret; he
knew it would spread."
"Evidently Oakes has not been recognized by the people as yet."
"No," I rejoined, "but the fact that the rumor is out shows to my mind
that Hallen and Oakes have some little scheme on hand. At any rate, we
must know nothing of Oakes; remember that he is _Clark_ to all but a
select few."
We decided to go to one of the newspaper offices, after a brief call on
Chief Hallen, who gave us no news of value, but was nevertheless very
agreeable. He advised us to see Dowd, and gave us a note to him. We
found the newspaper man at his office, just finishing his night's work.
He was very attentive in furnishing us back copies of his rival's paper,
the "Daily News." He said he kept them filed as samples of "daring
journalism." "I have only been a couple of years in this business, but I
have the pedigree of the town in these newspapers. I got them from
people who had saved them--as country people will. Skinner would not
sell me any--the rascal. Whenever he grows fresh and criticises things
improperly, I investigate what he has previously said on the subject and
then publish a deadly parallel column. He has a rather poor memory--and
I worry him once in a while," he remarked with a laugh.
We found the paper which corresponded in date to the piece we had taken
from the robe. There was a full account of the murder of Smith, which we
read, but nothing that seemed to us of any value. On that occasion no
clues whatever had been found. _Only_, again the local physicians had
thought the wound was made by a large ball.
The old chief of that time had been succeeded by Hallen, who had never
been able to gain any definite clue to the murderer. The interest had
then died out, and the mystery became a thing of the past.
Dowd discussed the similarity of the recent murder to that of Smith, and
hinted, moreover, that he knew the identity of our friend Clark. He said
Hallen had made a confidant of him, as he might want to make use of his
newspaper.
"By the way, speaking of the old murder, there is something that has
never been published, but which some of the old codgers about here have
cherished as perhaps relating to it."
"What is it?" asked the doctor.