Part 13

But Maloney knew there was some mistake; it was his weapon, not O'Brien's, that they were talking about. Suddenly, like a flash, came full remembrance--momentarily, only--and he unguardedly blurted out: "There is only one in the county like it"; then cunningly ceased speaking as though he feared his tongue, but could not exactly reason why.

There was a scarcely audible sigh of anxiety around the room--Oakes had _proved_ Maloney's knowledge of the old revolver. Dr. Moore was gazing intently at the gardener's neck. The carotid arteries were pumping full and strong, down deep beneath the tissues, moving the ridges of his neck in rhythmic but very rapid undulations--the man was showing great excitement.

"Maloney," said Oakes again, quickly returning to the attack, "before we were fired upon we fancied we heard a cry over the plain, a curious one like someone yelling an oath or an imperious command. Did you hear it?"

"Yes," interpolated Moore. "We thought the words were 'Fire!' or 'Kill! kill!'"

We all realized what the clever men were doing--telling imaginary things, trying to draw from Maloney an acknowledgment of a delusion. They were sounding his mind, playing for its weak spot.

The suspect looked surprised, bewildered, then suddenly fell into the trap. His weakened mind had been reached at its point of least resistance.

As in nearly all insane individuals, it took but a proper mention of the predominant delusion to reveal that which might otherwise have gone undetected for a long period.

"Yes," whispered Maloney. "I heard the command. It was 'Kill!' 'Murder!' I have heard it before. I am glad you heard it then--that proves that I am right. I knew I was right. I can prove it. Surely it is not uncommon. Gentlemen, I have heard it before. I know--I believe--it was meant for--ha! ha!--O'Brien--ha! ha!--no! no!--for _me_!"

Moore stepped toward the man, whose speech now came thick and fast and unintelligible. Hallen closed nearer. Maloney was shaking. His face was turning dark, his jugulars were bulging like whip-cords down his neck, his eyes sparkling with the unmistakable light of insanity. He stooped. "There it is again! 'Kill! kill!'" he cried in thick, mumbling tones, and bending low. Then he straightened up suddenly and flung himself around, felling Hallen and Martin as though they were wooden men.

He seized a chair and hurled it across the table at Elliott, who dodged successfully, allowing it to crash through the opposite window. Quick to see this means of escape, Maloney followed through the smashed panes--a raving, delirious maniac.

* * * * *

The test, carried out with such consummate skill, had not only proved Maloney's knowledge of the revolver and that he was subject to delusions, but it had also precipitated an unexpected attack of insane excitement--an acute mania.

And now Maloney was gone--escaped.

As Hallen and Martin staggered to their feet, the Chief bellowed forth an order in a voice of deepest chagrin and alarm: "Catch him!" he cried. "If he escapes, the people will rise in fury."

We all heard a sickening, wild yell of defiance from Maloney as he reached the ground--a deep, guttural, maniac cry that struck terror to my weakened nerves and which froze our men for an instant in their tracks, like marble statues.

Someone broke the awful spell--it was Oakes, crying out: "He is going for the pond and the bridge." And next instant he and Hallen were out of the front door, the men following in a rushing, compact body.

_CHAPTER XXIV_

_Across the Bridge_

As I staggered behind the pursuers I saw the tall, erect figure of Quintus glide rapidly across the road and disappear down the decline. In the briefest space we were at the crest by the road, looking down upon the pond. I saw Moore and O'Brien by my side--the latter swearing like a trooper.

"Who is that Mr. Clark, anyway? How did he know who I was? Since Hallen's men found me at the farm-house this man Clark--this agent--has had a lot to say."

"He is a man by the name of Oakes," I said.

O'Brien, or rather Larkin, looked at me a moment.

"Quintus Oakes?"

"The same."

"The deuce you say! No disgrace to me then. I understand things now. But I should have suspected."

The murderer reached the bridge and, hesitating, stooped suddenly at its near side. He had evidently picked up something from under one of the logs that formed the span. He straightened up and, turning, suddenly fired at Oakes, who was rapidly approaching. The deep tones of a heavy revolver were unmistakable. Maloney had secured his murderous weapon when he stooped; he had had it in hiding under the log. He was armed now with a weapon of terrible possibilities. In another instant he was across and mounting the green sunlit slope beyond. A hundred feet behind was Quintus, untouched by the bullet that had been sent his way. A few steps, and he reached the other side, but as he struck the ground, the bridge--frail thing that it was--loosened from its centre support and went crashing into the pond, leaving Hallen, who was close behind Oakes, on this side of the bridge with the rest of us. Oakes was alone, pursuing the murderer up the slope of the hill on the other side of the water, facing us. We saw him turn, as the bridge fell, and look at us; then he made a sweeping gesture toward the north and south, and turned again after the murderer, who was just half-way up the slope now; his body dotting the surface of the ground with a shadow at his side--a shadow of himself--company in the race for freedom.

We all simultaneously interpreted the gestures made by Oakes, and Hallen dashed to the north end of the pond to skirt it, while Martin and Moore dashed for the southern end, leaving Elliott, Larkin and myself standing where we commanded full view of what was coming. We were conscious of several other figures dashing by us, and we knew that his men were straining every nerve and muscle to reach Oakes in his dangerous position.

It was a long run to skirt either end of the pond, and to swing around the opposite shore, and thence up the sloping sides to Quintus's aid. We three remaining behind were anxious beyond expression. I leaned heavily on Elliott, and really prevented him from joining in the chase, where he would have been useless; the others were so much fleeter of foot.

"God--that man Oakes is alone with the murderer!" cried Larkin. "He is too good a man to lose his life in the fight that is coming. Look!"

We saw Maloney halt and face about. Then came a slight flash, followed by the heavy report of the revolver in his hand.

Quintus was running slowly up toward him and was perhaps one hundred feet away. At the report he staggered, and dropped upon the green, slippery sward.

"He is wounded," cried Elliott.

I felt sick at heart and weak, and sat down, Larkin by my side; we two were powerless, being only convalescent.

"An elegant shot! That Maloney is a crack one," cried the detective.

"Yes," said Elliott; "it was determined before that Mark's murderer was a good shot."

Then came another report, and we saw that again the murderer had fired. Oakes remained quiet. His body showed sprawled on the hill-side.

"Damnation!" cried Elliott. "Is Oakes dead? He does not answer with his revolver."

"No," cried Larkin. "I saw him move, and see--he is braced to prevent himself slipping down the hill. He knows he is a poor target, and is not anxious to move lest he slide into the pond. That grass is frosty and very slippery."

Then came the delayed crack of Quintus's weapon, and Maloney sprang into the air as he ran. He now went slowly and painfully, lurching forward along the crest of the hill.

"Slightly wounded, thank Fate--but Oakes could have killed him had he wished," cried Larkin.

We saw Quintus rise and follow Maloney, then drop to his chest again, as the latter wheeled and fired three shots rapidly at him in delirious excitement.

Oakes remained quiet and huddled, and despite the fact that Maloney was now an excellent target, he did not fire.

"Oakes is hit badly," exclaimed Elliott. Then the speaker did an unexpected thing. Seizing his revolver, he discharged the weapon again and again in the direction of Maloney. "A long shot," he muttered, "but I'll keep him guessing."

We could see the bullets hit somewhere near the fugitive, for he seemed disconcerted and turned toward the northern end of the pond, to run in that direction; he was now outlined on the crest of the hill. We heard another shot ring out--a shot sharp, staccato it was; and we then emitted a yell, for we knew by it that Oakes was alive. Maloney fired again, and again Elliott, by our side, tried two more long shots with his revolver.

We heard Oakes's voice, clear and firm it came, wafted across the pond.

"Don't shoot again. He has no more ammunition. I will get him."

And Elliott, in suppressed excitement, exclaimed: "He was drawing Maloney's fire all the time. He was not wounded."

"Yes, he knew Maloney had the old six-shooter, and he knows it is empty now."

"That Oakes keeps everything in mind," said Larkin. "He is a good one."

Then we saw the figures of the runners skirting the northern end of the pond. Hallen was leading. He fired at Maloney, evidently not having understood Oakes's word, and again came that clear voice across the pond.

"Don't fire, Hallen; remember, he is a lunatic and he can't get away now."

We saw Oakes rush to close in on Maloney, but the latter met his attack, and the detective was borne to the ground heavily.

"Shoot, Oakes, shoot!" I yelled, as did Hallen; but Quintus responded not.

We saw that the fight was furious, but were unable at first to distinguish the figures as they remained on the ground. They were locked in one another's embrace in a deadly, awe-inspiring struggle. Then across one man's neck we saw a forearm--the cuff was shining in the sunlight--and Elliott cried out: "That is Oakes."

The two rose to their feet, powerful black objects, and by the outline we recognized the tall figure of our friend as they swayed and surged, gradually slipping and sliding down the incline, toward the deep waters of the pond below.

"Oakes has got him," cried Larkin, "choking him. Look at them!"

We saw the murderer's body arch sideways and backward, with Oakes's hands around his neck.

As Maloney's body came down, down to the ground again, Larkin and Elliott by my side shouted in admiration at the power and skill displayed.

Suddenly like a flash the maniac turned, twisted, and next moment encircled Oakes's body with both his arms, and rolled toward the water with him.

"He is going to drown Oakes--see!"

The words came in a hurried gasp from Elliott, who was throwing off his coat and his shoes in a movement quick as the thought that had come to him.

"He's too good a man," he cried, and with a sudden rush Elliott was at the water's edge and into the pond--swimming with strong overhanded strokes, head low and sideways, toward the opposite shore.

Larkin and I could scarcely believe our eyes. The man was apparently gifted with great powers, for he cut through the water steadily, surely, with a rapidity that was amazing. Over opposite, the fight was furious, always nearing the edge of the pond.

Help for Oakes was no nearer than Hallen, who, we could see, was dashing around the northern end of the pond in a desperate race to save him. On the other end, moving like the wind, but farther away from the fighting men, I distinguished young Martin leading several others in the race for life. And down beneath us, quarter way across the pond was the solitary swimmer, lifting his shoulders well out of the water each time his stroke reached its limit--each moment advancing steadily, surely. I saw at a glance that Oakes was doomed--Elliott could not reach him, neither could Hallen. Larkin by my side supported me, for my head was reeling with weakness. Suddenly he shouted across the pond--"Fight him!--fight him! Oakes, strangle him."

I could see now that, somehow, Oakes's arm was around the maniac's neck, and that they were on their feet again. Neither had a weapon--they had long since been lost in the hand-to-hand fight.

"Oakes can't do it. Why, in the devil's name, did he try to capture him alive? Why did he not shoot to kill instead of to wound simply?" cried my companion.

Now Maloney was surging, dragging Oakes close to the water's edge--closer, ever closer.

Suddenly Oakes weakened and half stepped, half retreated, to the water's edge; then as suddenly the two figures swayed up the hill a few feet again, and with a quick, cat-like movement Oakes was free. It was his one supreme effort, a masterly, wonderfully executed, vigorous shove and side-step. It was evident Maloney was dazed. Oakes's strangle-hold had told at last.

We heard a mighty shout from Hallen, and another from the swimmer now rapidly approaching the bank.

Maloney faced Oakes a moment; his chest heaved once or twice as his breath returned; he crouched, then sidled into position for a spring and launched himself toward Oakes, who, pale as death, stood swaying, his arms by his side, apparently all but done for.

Then we all witnessed that which thrilled us to the heart--the sudden, wonderful mastery of science, aided by strength, over sheer brute force. Maloney came toward Oakes in a fearful rush that was to take both together out into the pond to death.

Instantly Oakes's swaying body tightened and steadied. I knew then, as did Larkin, that Oakes had been deceiving Maloney--that the detective was still master of himself. As the heavy body closed upon him, Oakes stepped suddenly forward. His left arm shot upward with a vicious, swinging motion, and as his fist reached the jaw, his body lurched forward and sideways, in a terrible muscular effort, carrying fearful impetus to the blow.

Then instantly, as Maloney staggered, Oakes swung himself half around, and the right arm shot upward and across to the mark, with fearful speed and certainty.

The on-rushing maniac was half stopped and twisted in his course. His head swung sideways and outward with the last impact upon the jaw; his legs failed to lift, and with a wabbling, shuddering tremor the body sank to the water's edge. The next instant Hallen came tumbling on to the murderer. I heard the click of handcuffs; I saw the white shirt and black trousers of Elliott squirm up the bank, and next moment the vigorous swimmer, the aristocratic, great-hearted club-man, caught Oakes in his arms as the detective lurched forward and fell, momentarily overcome by his last supreme effort.

A great, rousing cheer reverberated from bank to bank. We took it up, and sent it back in lessened volume, but undiminished spirit.

They now came back from the other side of the pond by the way of the north end, the men assisting Oakes carefully up the incline to us, and bringing also Maloney.

His eyes were bloodshot--his features squirming in horrible movements; and through it all he talked and talked; his brain was working with great rapidity; he was shouting, declaiming, laughing, and all the while his sentences were without significance, without lucidity.

Oakes pointed to the maniac. "I regret extremely," he said, "that I was forced to wound him slightly. I could not let him escape with that weapon in his hand."

An approving murmur rose from the men, but Oakes checked them, frowning his displeasure. Then he turned to Martin:

"Look at his left arm, boys."

Hallen and Martin ripped off the sleeve, and Dowd, after peering at the arm, excitedly exclaimed: "The blue cross! Quintus Oakes, you are right."

Yes, surely, there on the left arm, just below the shoulder, was a cross done by some skilled tattooer's hand in days long past--a cross of indigo.

* * * * *

Then in the road a team appeared from the Mansion, and Dowd jumped in and waved his hand as he started.

"Where are you going?" cried Hallen.

"To Mona to get out an extra--to tell how Clark, Mr. Clark of the Mansion, has captured the murderer, aided by Hallen of Mona."

As the team started, Dowd yelled back again: "And I am going to tell Mona that Clark is QUINTUS OAKES."

Hallen waved his arms, while we all again cheered the name of our friend, as we bore him in triumph back to the Mansion.

_CHAPTER XXV_

_The Man of the Hour_

Soon we heard the tones of a bell from far away--one, two, three--then a pause, then a few quick strokes, followed by a low, single deep note. Hallen answered our looks of astonishment.

"That's the old bell of headquarters. The Mayor promised to ring it, day or night, when the mystery was solved, and Dowd has carried the news."

Then again came the deep tones in quicker rhythm, and we knew it was all the old bell could do in the way of joy.

We scarce had time to congratulate Oakes on the splendid termination of his work before Hallen was away with his men, taking Maloney to town by a roundabout way.

Then came the crowd to besiege the Mansion and to call for Oakes, and for Hallen; in fact, for us all. The growling and discontent had vanished; the past uneasiness was gone. Oakes and Hallen were now the heroes of Mona. Oakes spoke a few words of thanks to the crowd and tried to dispose of it by saying that Hallen had returned to town with the prisoner; but it lingered long before the Mansion, discussing the successful termination of Mona's woes.

Now that a master had unravelled the mystery, details were not difficult to supply. Many recalled, suddenly, that they had always thought Maloney "queer," though they had never considered as significant the points that might have been vital. Such is always the case with untrained observers.

We made our farewells that night, for we were to return to New York next day; but Quintus kept the hour of our going private, for, as he said to us, he had had too much of the kindness of Mona already, and there were whispers of an ovation or something of that sort reserved for our departure.

"You know, Stone," Oakes said to me, "we really don't deserve all this good feeling; these people will never stop. I am going to slip out quietly tomorrow, and you and Dr. Moore can come later."

"Nonsense," said I, "stay and let them show their appreciation of what you have done. Why, old man, you have changed the course of events in Mona--you cannot help being in their minds."

"You don't understand," said he. "I dislike heroics. Mona overestimates matters. I am going away unexpectedly."

Here he set his jaws hard and looked determined, self-reliant, half-disgusted. I knew that he was in earnest and that his nature was calling once more for action and not for praise.

At eleven o'clock next morning Oakes walked over to the police headquarters, while Dr. Moore and I remained in the hotel, casually watching him. He was going to make a short call on Chief Hallen, as he had frequently done before, and it was to be his farewell. He had planned to have a horse at the proper moment, and to mount quickly and leave for the station alone, thus avoiding notice and any demonstration.

Since we remained at the hotel, he hoped that the people would be misled into thinking that he would return to us, and that we would all go together.

But for once Quintus Oakes was wrong. Mona was on the lookout for him, and he had no sooner gone into headquarters than some one started the rumor that the man was going away quietly. In a minute the place was the centre of a seething, happy, expectant crowd. When Oakes finally appeared at the steps, instead of seeing his horse rounding the corner as he had planned, he beheld the crowd in waiting.

He made a step back to enter the headquarters door, but Chief Hallen laughingly held him, and Quintus Oakes was cornered.

Moore and I were now with the crowd, and joined in the laugh at his expense. A deep flush appeared on his face, but we all noticed a merry twinkle in his deep blue eyes, nevertheless.

Somebody cried for a speech. Oakes hesitated and again tried to retreat, but at that moment all eyes were turned suddenly to a wagon coming down the side street and accompanied by a small crowd.

It turned into the Square and a hush fell over all, for there in the vehicle was Maloney--the murderer, and an old gray-haired man--Skinner. The murderer of Mr. Mark was handcuffed, and sat heavily guarded; but the old man was not a prisoner--his head was bowed in silent grief, as he sat by Maloney's side. It was evident to all that the prisoner was being removed from headquarters to the court-house for trial, and that the father was bearing his burden before the world.

Quintus Oakes gave a glance of pity at the prisoner, and an extremely sorrowful expression crossed his strong, handsome face as he recognized the old man by Maloney's side.

The populace, recovering from its surprise at sight of the wagon, changed its mood, and surrounded it with angry demonstrations, hissing and threatening. The face of the prisoner was calm, proud, defiant--the face of a man in triumphal entry. He was unconscious of his awful position, his awful crimes. He saw only the notoriety.

Dr. Moore turned to me. "See Maloney--see his face; he thinks himself a hero--he is too insane to appreciate the truth." But Skinner looked out upon the crowd and paled; then glancing up, he caught the eyes of Quintus Oakes, and with a harrowing, beseeching expression, bent his gray head into his hands.

The populace in fury tried to stop the wagon; but now, at this instant, Oakes rose to the occasion, and the _man_ showed the mettle and the humanity that was in him.

Rising to his full height, he spoke:

"Stop! This is no time to hiss. Remember, the murderer is irresponsible; the other is his father--an _old, old man_!"

As Quintus's voice rang out in its clear, strong notes, with a marvelously tender accent, and as the full meaning of his words became apparent, a sudden silence seized the crowd--a silence intense, uneasy, sympathetic. Quintus Oakes was single-handed, alone, but the master mind, the controlling man among us all.

The silence deepened as men glanced about with ill-concealed emotion--deep, suppressed.

The wagon moved on, and the stillness was broken only by the crunching of the wheels and the occasional sighing, heavy breathing of the populace. Over all was the suspense, the quick, awe-inspiring change from vicious hatred to pity and grief, blended instantly in the hearts of all by that strong, vigorous, quick-minded man of action and of justice--OAKES.

Taking advantage of the lull, Quintus stepped into the crowd, and before any could foresee his purpose, he threw his coat over the pommel of a saddled horse just being led around the corner--his horse--and springing lightly, gracefully to the saddle took the reins.

The crowd, divining his intent, closed about him, but with horsemanship beautiful to behold he forced the animal to canter to one side, and then to rear, making an opening in the crowd. The next moment he darted forward--away--as the people, realizing the tenderness of his speech and that he was leaving them, perhaps for always, bellowed a reverberating, tumultuous _farewell_.

Chief Hallen shouted a hurried command, and the next moment we were all electrified to hear the deep tones of the bell of headquarters ringing out its ponderous "God-speed."

Oakes turned in his saddle at the first stroke and, with blazing eyes and suppressed pride, waved a last vigorous acknowledgment.

FINIS.

Transcriber's note: A few printer's errors in the punctuation have been corrected as has the spelling of 'possibilties' which is now 'possibilities'. The oe ligature has been expanded.