niggers down South wear on their heads."
We all laughed.
"Oh, a bandana handkerchief, Joe."
And Joe laughed also, in relief.
"And now," continued Oakes, "what did it do? Did it float away?"
The boy thought a moment, then his quick brain came to his aid.
"No, no, Master Oakes; it splashed, sure enough it did. It went down--so
help me Gawd!"
"Good!" said Oakes. "It contained something heavy, then. Now, Joe," he
continued, slowly and clearly, "tell me, when you heard the evidence
that the murderer was the man with a mark on his arm, why did you say,
'Oh, Gawd!' and run away?"
We all felt uneasy--the question was so unexpected, to some of us at
least.
The negro hesitated, stammered, and lurched forward in his chair. Great
beads of perspiration stood out on his brow and on the back of his
hands. Oakes was behind him, and in a caressing way slid his left arm
across the boy's chest. We divined instantly that that arm was ready to
shoot up around the boy's neck for a strangle hold.
Joe tried to speak, but could not. I saw Hallen prepare for a spring,
and Martin edge toward the door. Dr. Moore's breathing came deep and
fast, and I began to feel like shouting aloud. What did it mean?
"Come! Speak, boy, speak!" said Oakes.
No answer.
Then Oakes stooped forward and said loudly enough for us all to hear,
but right in the negro's ear: "Boy, you ran because _you_ have a scar on
your left arm!"
We were on our feet in an instant.
"The murderer," we cried.
The negro made a frantic effort to rise, but the arm closed on his neck
and Oakes's right hand came down on his right wrist.
Joe's left hand went to the arm at his neck, but he was powerless.
In a voice as firm as a rock, clear and emotionless, Oakes cried out:
"Don't move, boy! Don't try to run."
And then he said to us: "This boy is _not_ the murderer; he is only a
scared, unfortunate negro, and I will prove it."
The meaning of the words came to the boy gradually, and he became limp
in the chair. Oakes relaxed his hold.
"Now, boy, if you try to run, we will bore you," and Chief Hallen drew
his revolver and put it before him on the table.
"Now, Joe, show us your arm!" commanded Oakes.
The negro arose staggering, and took off his outer garment and his
shirt. There, on his left arm, was a large irregular birthmark, blue and
vicious-looking.
Oakes looked at it. "Gentlemen, this boy is a victim of circumstances.
This is no cross, but the coincidence of a mark on the left arm has
scared him nearly to death. That, in my opinion, is why he was afraid,
and why he acted so peculiarly."
This was said deliberately, and with emphasis.
The negro fell on his knees. "Oh, Gawd! Oh, Mr. Oakes! Dat is it. Dat is
it. I never done any murder. No! no! _no!_" and he burst into racking
sobs. The strain was terrible. Dowd opened a window.
Hallen spoke. "How are you to prove his innocence, Mr. Oakes, as you
said?"
There was a slight element of doubt in the question.
"Get up, boy," said Oakes; "get up." And turning to us, the cool man
looked long at us all, then said: "The evidence showed conclusively that
the weapon used was a heavy one, of 45-calibre probably--a revolver in
all likelihood, and fired from a distance of about one hundred and fifty
feet. That means a good shot. Now, this boy is right-handed, as you have
noticed, but he could not use his right hand to shoot with, for the
first two fingers have been amputated near the ends. Plenty of loss to
preclude good pistol shooting!
"To have used such a weapon with the left hand, and with such accuracy,
is out of the question save for a fancy shot. If this boy could shoot
like that, he would not be boot-blacking for a living.
"Again, he has not noticeably strong arms, nor a wrist powerful enough
to handle a heavy weapon properly. The boy is innocent--in my opinion."
"Oakes, you are a demon," said Hallen.
"Oh, no, I hope not; only I hate to see mistakes made too often. Poor
devil!"
And Oakes patted the boy on the back.
With a pathetic, dog-like expression, sobbing with joy, the befriended
negro seized the man's right hand and, kneeling, showered kisses upon
it.
_CHAPTER XVII_
_Checkmated_
The negro was led away. He was in better spirits now, and smiling as
only a negro can. That extraordinary genius--the mystic Oakes--had, by a
process of reasoning that Joe himself was able to follow, not only
cleared him of suspicion, but made a _hero_ of him. The innate vanity of
the race was reacting on the boy, and coming to the rescue of his
nervous system, recently so severely strained.
When he had gone, Oakes turned to us and, interrupting our exclamations,
remarked:
"Now that we are all here together, it would be wise perhaps briefly to
review what clues we have obtained and their probable significance."
We all assented to this suggestion, and by tacit consent Quintus Oakes
began:
"First, we have found that the _cartridge picked up_ in the cellar, and
evidently dropped by the man in the robe, _is of the same pattern as
the old ones in the pouch upstairs_.
"They all belong to the old revolver which was taken away from its
place--and for which another was substituted since my first visit here.
With regard to its calibre (the important point), _that old revolver
meets the requirements of our deductions about the weapon used to murder
Mr. Mark_. Therefore we have a chain of evidence connecting my assailant
in the cellar--the man in the robe--with the assassin.
"We know also that the revolver was fired not far from the
hundred-and-fifty-foot distance; _the man was an excellent shot_, for
you must consider the old style of weapon.
"He must have been _large_, or at least _strong in the wrist_, for a
good shot with such a weapon cannot be made by a weak person."
I interrupted: "The murder of Smith was considered to be due to a pistol
ball of large calibre. Could the same weapon have been used?"
"It could," said Oakes. "That one has been in the family for years. The
style of the cartridges is somewhat similar to our modern ones, but
they are very old, as we know by their appearance.
"Further," he continued, "in my opinion the 'woman story' connected with
the Smith murder is based on a _man_ in a black _robe_. It may have been
the same man who is at the bottom of these later mysteries--though we
are to remember that when Mr. Mark was killed Joe saw no _robe_.
"In the annals of crime we find very few women doing murder in that way;
it is a man's method.
"We must look then for a _strong-wristed_ man--a man who has also strong
arms, and a _cross_ on the _left_ one; finally, a man with a knowledge
of revolvers, and who has in his possession--or has had--a large,
old-fashioned weapon and cartridges, and also a robe.
"And one thing more strikes me," added Oakes in a slow, deliberate
voice, "he is a man _with a mania_--_an insane man_--always, or at
intervals."
"Yes," said the doctor. "I had concluded so too, Oakes. The wearing of a
robe--especially in a confined place like the wall space--the cutting
out of a panel and the peculiar method of attack seem nonsensical and
without proper reason. And the absence of provocation for those
assaults, and for the murder of good men like Smith and Mark, point
strongly to an unbalanced mind."
"Probably correct," Oakes replied. "And I should say that the _insanity
is present at intervals only_."
"Mr. Oakes," said Chief Hallen then, "don't you think it advisable to
investigate that story of the bandana handkerchief as soon as possible?
Affairs in town may become pressing at any time, and we may be needed
there."
"Yes, Chief, certainly. We should lose no time about it," said Oakes.
Then he spoke to Martin; and the latter retired and presently returned
with Joe.
The detective asked the boy if he would go and point out the stone from
which the murderer was leaping when the handkerchief fell into the
water. "You know it is nearly full moon and several of my men will go
with you, and so will Mr. Martin."
The negro assented reluctantly, though bravely, for he was not devoid of
superstition. Oakes called in four of his men and said:
"Go with Mr. Martin and Joe. Take lanterns, and find the handkerchief
which is at the bottom of the stream if the boy is telling the truth,
and the murderer has not recovered it. He did not notice it drop, did
he, Joe?"
"No, Master Oakes; he just flew along and never looked round. He did not
know where it dropped." The negro was using good English, and standing
erect with a very important expression. He was innocent, and the central
figure now. He realized that dignity was becoming. An educated boy of
his race can show great self-control under such circumstances.
Vanity--thou Goddess of Transformation!
While the searching party was gone, we spent the time discussing Mike's
peculiarities--most of all his horseback ride in the moonlight, a
curious departure for a hired man.
"This whole thing is unusual in the extreme, Stone. Since the night that
you were escorted to the pond by Chief Hallen's men and there warned of
impending danger, and your unknown friend was chased by the man lying in
wait for you, I have had a net around Mike and Maloney and Cook, but
with negative results," said Oakes.
"You see, Maloney and Cook go about their business in a quiet fashion,
while Mike cannot be approached very well; the men report him as very
shrewd and suspicious."
"Did you find out where Mike went on his horseback trip?"
"No, that is another curious thing. The Lorona man who brought him the
horse says he has done it for a few days and received good pay. The
horse was always returned promptly, once or twice by a boy; the other
times by Mike himself."
"To have done that, Mike must have walked back from Lorona," said
Hallen.
"No, he may have ridden part way. We found a man this evening who saw
him take a team on the Lorona Highway and ride into Mona after dark."
"Where is Mike now?" I inquired.
"Since the episode of that horseback ride, witnessed by Dr. Moore and
yourself, he has disappeared."
"Disappeared!"
"Yes, eluded all our men and never returned the horse."
"Skipped! Got away!" we cried in amazement.
"Yes, but he won't stay away long; he will come back."
We did not quite understand Oakes's speech, but there evidently was
something behind it.
At this point, with his characteristic swiftness of movement, he lighted
a cigar and began to smoke, offering the box to us all.
That meant that, as far as he was concerned, talking on business had
ceased for a time. He was now recreating.
* * * * *
Elliott and I walked to a window and looked out upon the front walk and
the road, conversing upon the manner in which Joe had been brought to
Mona.
He had resisted the idea at first, but through the efforts of Martin and
Elliott, and the promise of a reward, he had finally consented to the
journey. They had explained to him that his refusal would defeat the
ends of justice, and that escape was impossible; and when he realized
that he had been unconsciously talking to watchers, and polishing their
shoes in his innocence, he saw the folly of further remonstrance. Thus
was the important evidence of the negro secured.
The strain of events was telling on us all. Quintus Oakes showed his
deep concern by a tendency to leave us and remain alone.
As Elliott and I were talking, he looked at the rolling hills beyond the
pond and exclaimed:
"Look! Can I be mistaken, Mr. Stone? Look in the direction of Mona--away
off on the plateau--is not that a horse?"
I followed his pointing and discovered in the moonlight the figure of a
horse advancing rapidly over the blue-green fields, along the path that
led to the bridge.
Oakes advanced to the window and gazed intently, shading his eyes with
his hands. On the crest of the hill that dipped to the pond the horse
soon stood out clearly against the dark blue of the sky. We could see a
figure which had lain low on his neck rise and sit straight in the
saddle, then flash a light.
From near the road, on our side of the pond, came an answering light; a
man stood there and exchanged signals with the horseman.
The rider was moving his arms rapidly, and with them the light. The
other was answering in a similar manner.
Oakes remained quiet, and we all gathered at the window about him.
"What is it?" I asked.
He turned and said to me: "Here, write as I read."
I took an envelope and pencil from my pocket and wrote as Oakes
deciphered the signals.
"A message from Mona," he cried. "Quick!"
Then he read the letters as they appeared:
"Discovered. Skinner has extra out. Pronounces me false; says Hallen has
tricked the town. Beware of Skinner. Tell Hallen to look out. Am off for
New York."
Then came a long wave over the head, and the horseman dashed back toward
Lorona.
We detected another horseman at a little distance, who joined him; they
rapidly disappeared together.
"Excellent!" exclaimed Oakes. "He has done his duty well."
We saw the man on this side run post haste for the Mansion. As he rushed
up the steps, Oakes met him. "All right, boy! I saw the signals myself."
Then to us he said: "Quintus Oakes the false is discovered. That was he;
he came to warn us."
"Then Skinner has caught on, confound him," said Dowd, and we all
silently assented.
Oakes paced the room slowly. "Boys, we have been unexpectedly checked.
The enemy has a strong hand: there is trouble ahead."
"Yes, there is that," retorted the vigorous Hallen. "I must get away to
headquarters, gentlemen!"
"Correct!" answered Oakes; "and we will go with you, Chief. If trouble
is coming, we will be useless here."
With one accord we prepared to depart for Mona immediately. The carriage
was brought to the door and saddle-horses also.
Then we waited anxiously for the return of Martin's party. We were not
long delayed. A commotion in the hall was heard, and in stepped Joe and
Martin, followed by the men. Oakes's assistant advanced and laid a red
handkerchief, dotted with white spots, upon the table. It was wet and
heavy, and knotted by its four corners so as to form a pouch.
"We found it, sir, in about two feet of water, partly covered with sand.
Its weight was gradually sinking it into the bottom."
Joe laughed hysterically and lapsed into negro dialect: "See, Mars
Oakes! see, boss! I dun tole you the truth."
Oakes seized the handkerchief, and we all looked inside. It contained a
few large cartridges.
"They match the one I found in the cellar, and those of the old
revolver," said Oakes. "The man of the Mansion mysteries and assaults
_is_ the murderer of Mr. Mark."
We were intensely excited as we stood there viewing the evidence that
was so conclusive. Not one of us made a remark, but the deep breathing
of some and the pale faces of others showed the interest that was felt
by one and all.
Oakes discovered on one end of the handkerchief the initial "S," and we
all studied its appearance closely. Then Oakes asked Hallen if such
handkerchiefs were unusual in Mona.
"No, not at all; there are hundreds of them sold here, especially to the
laborers on the water-works--the Italians and Poles," answered the
Chief.
"It is a very peculiar 'S,'" said Oakes, as he folded the handkerchief
and put it in his pocket, giving the cartridges to Martin. He said
nothing more, but seemed serious and thoughtful, as usual. And then we
set out all together on a wild drive to police headquarters.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the crowds were increasing. The
square, with the hotel on one side and headquarters on the other, was
the centre of a vicious body of men, pushing, struggling and forcing its
way along, and pausing now and again to surge around headquarters. We
could all see that Hallen was to have his hands full.
"I should like to see Skinner very much," remarked Oakes in a sarcastic
vein.
"I should like to see his arms," said Moore; "they might be
interesting."
Oakes looked at the speaker with one of his undefinable expressions. We
could not tell whether the shot had been a true one or not.
_CHAPTER XVIII_
_Misadventures_
Toward morning the crowd thinned. The street grew more quiet, although
the very air still throbbed with action, even as the heart-strokes
within us. Quickly as events had come, we were yet only in the midst of
our experiences.
The clock in the Chief's room was striking three, and drowsiness was
stealing over me, as over the outside world, when a knock came at the
front door and Hallen admitted a man, weary-eyed and panting. I
recognized him as one of the men who had been masquerading about the
Mansion as a carpenter. He was dressed in a heavy jersey without a coat,
and was evidently suffering from fatigue.
He walked over to Oakes and spoke to him in a low voice. The detective
asked a question or two, and turning looked at Dr. Moore, asleep in a
chair, fagged out, then at me. I was wide awake, anticipating more
trouble. "Stone," said he, "are you good for a ride with me on
horseback? We have found something important."
"Yes," I answered, "I am ready."
Speaking a word to Hallen and Martin, Oakes drew me aside. "Leave your
overcoat. Come, we are needed."
We passed out into the night and down a side street, led by the man who
had summoned us. In a few minutes we reached a stable and found horses,
and I knew that it had been so arranged. We were mounted and off without
notice from any but an hostler and the proprietor, who had told me that
my horse was strong and capable.
We pounded to the east, along the Highway, toward Lorona, for a mile or
so, then swerved into a narrow road winding across the plateau to the
south and west. I knew we were making for the River Road below the
Mansion. I had heard of this lane, which swept in a long curve around
the southern end of Mona, connecting the Highway with River Road about
two miles south of the Mansion gate.
As we galloped along, Oakes communicated to me the cause of our trip.
"Two of my men have located a hut deep in the forest at the south end of
the Mansion grounds. There is something going on there. They think they
have the murderer. One of the men came for me; the other is watching."
I felt the blood surge to my brain, and the hardships of the night were
forgotten in the intensity of my anticipations. At last, and I was to be
at the finish!
Instinctively I felt for my revolver. It was safe, and the assurance
that it was with me gave relief.
Fortunately, I was a fair horseman and my mount was one of those animals
that respond to the rider's every command. My two companions were also
well mounted, and the long ride was soon over. Arriving at River Road,
we dismounted and left the horses in charge of the man who had
accompanied us. Another man now came from the darkness--another of
Oakes's retinue. He was to lead us to the hut.
Then we three entered the fringe of the woods, and cautiously followed
our guide deep into the denser section. The moon was hidden occasionally
by fleeting clouds, and as we advanced farther and farther, its rays
ceased to reach us. All was gloom, deep and almost impenetrable.
Our guide whispered: "He is in the hut, sir, waiting for someone. Follow
me."
Then he advanced a few paces, and led us through a more open section of
the forest. Soon he stopped.
"Stay here until you see a light flash ahead; that is his signal. He has
been here an hour, but his friend is slow in coming."
"Perhaps he knows it is too dangerous," said Oakes.
Our guide went from us to a short distance, to keep separate watch.
The giant trees around were more scattered than elsewhere in the forest
through which we had passed. Occasionally the sheen of the moonlight was
visible far above us as the branches swayed in the breeze. Here below,
the air was quiet and the gloom deep. Our eyes, accustomed to it now,
could detect the silent army of tree-trunks around us for a considerable
distance.
The air was chilly, but excitement kept us from feeling the need of our
great-coats. Beneath our feet the ground was soft but dry, and the
leaves were scattered about in profusion; for this was the fall of the
year and the woods had begun to strip at the touch of the frost king.
Quintus Oakes stood by my side behind a tree. We were both gazing
intently in the direction that had been indicated to us. Nothing was
visible for a few moments, when suddenly Oakes pressed my shoulder with
his hand and said in a low, quiet voice: "See--off there, that flash!"
I had noticed nothing, but as I drew breath to answer, I beheld the
diverging rays of a light--probably a lantern--play up and down a
tree-trunk at least a hundred feet away. It moved quickly, and then
jumped to another trunk; in its transit it threw a long, narrow yellow
streak on the ground between. Then it would be lost suddenly to our
view. I thought the trees intervened in our line of vision at such
times, but Oakes explained: "He is waiting and signalling with a dark
lantern; see how the light is shut off at will. He is surely within a
hut of some kind; I can see the outlines occasionally."
"What can he be up to?" I whispered. "He is at least a mile from the
Mansion, and nearly as much from the road."
"That light is a guide," said Oakes. "His confederate cannot find the
hut without it; the forest is too dense."
We waited in silence, stealing very carefully nearer to the hut, and our
patience was finally rewarded. We saw the door, which was sidewise to
us, open with a quick movement and a man enter. Then all was dark within
and without, save in one little spot where, through the back wall of the
hut, a few rays found exit in long, narrow streaks of yellow light,
scarcely visible to us.
"He has turned his bull's eye away from the window and the door, and has
not shut it. They are using the light for some purpose," said the
detective, touching my arm and motioning me to follow him.
With utmost caution we advanced until we were near enough to hear
voices. At first they came to us as a low, indistinct muttering, but as
we neared the hut we determined that they were raised in argument. At
our distance, however, we were unable to recognize either.
"Keep away from the front," said Oakes, "lest the door be opened and we
be discovered."
We stationed ourselves in the shadow near the window, which was low in
the side of this curious log-cabin--for such we saw it to be. It was
boarded inside evidently, for the light was kept from without too well.
Through the window we beheld two dim forms bending over a board table.
One was handling something like paper, in the diverging streak of
illumination from the bull's eye opening of the lantern, which was on
the table, facing the back wall of the hut, just as Oakes had said.
The figure could not be distinguished either as to face or form, for the
light was very indistinct save in the immediate path of the rays. As we
moved ever so little from our chosen positions, our vision of the table
and the streak of light upon it was cut off, owing to the small size of
the window. I knew by the movement of Oakes's arm that he had secured
his weapon, and I closed my hand about mine, holding it--muzzle down--by
my side, ready for instant use.
The voices within, became louder, and I distinguished the words: "You
_must_, man, you MUST get away."
It was answered by a half-mumbled protest, and then we saw one figure
arise and stoop over the light on the table.
"Here, take this, and go!"
Oakes touched me. "The murderer preparing to get away," he said.
We could see a pair of hands counting what appeared to be money; then
they extended their contents to the other hands that awaited them. The
figure who had given the money arose, and with his back to us made as if
to leave. Suddenly, without an instant's warning, we saw the form of the
other come partially into view, and an arm steal slowly upward. As the
first figure moved away, it closed about his neck and a death struggle
began, revealed to us by the blurred swaying of the two and a deep,
despairing gasp from the man being strangled.
"Murder!" said Oakes, and we moved toward the door of the hut with one
thought in mind--the helping of a fellow being meeting his death at the
hands of what we believed to be the assassin of Mona.
I was excited; it was unquestionably the most trying moment of my life,
and I met it as we had not foreseen. Advancing two steps hurriedly, my
feet caught in one another somehow, and with a wild war-whoop of
distress I fell forward on my face, carrying Oakes with me in a
crashing, headlong mix-up that must have been heard for a hundred yards
in that still morning air.
It was all over!