Part 5

The day following the murder of Winthrop Mark was one of uneasiness and dejection for the towns-people of Mona. The court scenes of the day before and the great excitement caused by the discovery of the crime had left their stamp. Disquietude was bred and nurtured by the crime itself, and the absence of clues save those of the arm. It was rumored and reiterated that Chief Hallen had failed to discover the slightest evidence as to the perpetrator, and that the bullet even had remained unfound, as was most natural; but people look at things in a narrow light sometimes, and this was an occasion of deep trouble and much gossip for the town.

The peculiar action of the negro, whom few had seen but all had heard, and who was pronounced a total stranger by those who had seen him, pointed strongly to him as the possible assassin. With his escape had come mutterings against Chief Hallen. Why had the court-house not been watched? Where were the local authorities? Why had he been allowed to get away so easily? All these questions remained unanswered, for few stopped to think that there were _no_ local detectives, and only a few local policemen.

Then in the midst of these disgruntled thoughts and assertions appeared the mental picture of Clark, known in the town before, and now the most conspicuous man in it, towering above all in his active personality, as in his figure and sayings. Talk is cheap in such a place, and talk has made or unmade many a man. The great run of Clark to the victim's side and the dramatic and terrible evidence he gave at the inquest was spoken of--at first with awe, and then with alarm. And to think he had gone to the Mansion to spend a short time again, gone to the place of all others that one should avoid at this time--gone to the house where terror dwelt and at the end of whose grounds the murder had been committed! Hallen, whose word was known to be "law," had vouched for this. The personality of Clark--stood silhouetted on the sky of lowering discontent.

The only clue worth having was that one relating to the arms of the murderer, and, given to the public as it purposely had been by Clark in a moment of suspense, it had found deep rooting place in all minds. Who was the man with the great arms, and with the "blue cross" on one of them--the left?

Here was a small town--perhaps one thousand grown men. Who had the cross--who? Might it be _anyone_? Yes, almost _anyone_! Did anyone know of such a scar? No, but who knew of his neighbor's arms? Who could vouch for his friend? Some few had been associated, one with another, as boys. What of that? It was years ago.

Suspicion was growing like a prairie fire, first a light that goes out, then flickers again and smoulders, anon meeting resistance and apparently dying; but all the while treacherously gaining and advancing in the roots and the dry stubble below, then suddenly bursting into flame. With the first flame comes the inrush of air; then come the heat and the smoke and the low wall of fire; then the glare, the roar and the conflagration sweeping all before it.

So came suspicion to Mona. And friendship, respect and brotherly love fled at its breath, as wild animals of the prairie flee before the advancing destruction.

By evening of the second day the far-sighted and most influential citizens detected the condition of affairs. The older residents had noticed the peculiar similarity of this murder to that of Smith. The coincidence of time and place was another factor. Could it be the same assassin? Had he dwelt with them all the while since? The most respected and wealthy of the inhabitants shared the unenviable position of being under suspicion; there was no relief for anyone.

The two local newspapers published "extras," and could scarcely supply the demand. The murders of Smith and Winthrop were reviewed carefully, and their similarity much written about. The hotel and the two leading business streets were filled with suspicious, muttering groups.

Nothing had been found missing from the dead man; his watch and money were untouched. His arrival by such an early train was not unusual. He frequently went to New York for an outing, and returned before breakfast to his magnificent place on the hill to the east of the town, where he lived with two old maiden aunts--his mother's sisters.

Now all this uneasiness and suspicion had been noted--by Hallen, the Chief. He was a man who, after living in the country for many years, had finally pushed himself to the top of a large police force in a city of importance. The physical strain had told on him, however, and now he found himself back in a small town, recovered in health, but shut in as to future prospects. The murder of Mark had come to him as a thunderbolt from a clear sky, but he saw opportunities in it. When Oakes had visited him and made himself known, he had at first been jealous; but the former, with his wonderful insight, had made a friend of him.

"Hallen, if you manage this affair well, you will be famous. They are looking for good men in New York all the while. My work is in the Mansion; if our paths cross, let us work together."

So had suggested Oakes. He had known about Hallen, as he knew the history of all police officers, and had thus given hope to the man who had been used to better things. Instantly Hallen had seen that to antagonize Oakes would be foolish; to aid him, and perhaps obtain his advice and friendship, would ultimately redound to his own future credit and, possibly, advancement. For Oakes's work had brought him in contact with police heads in all the large cities. His boldness and genius for ferreting out mysteries were known to them all, and they had paid him the compliment of studying his methods carefully.

Hallen had agreed to have Oakes's testimony at the inquest taken at just the proper moment for effect, and had agreed to call Dr. Moore as an expert.

Of course, the coroner did what the Chief asked.

As Oakes had said: "If you want expert evidence, get it from Moore; if you don't ask him, you won't get it in Mona."

The idea of Oakes bringing in his testimony as he did was part of the plan to watch the audience. The planning of the Chief and himself had accounted for the somewhat informal presentation of the evidence that I had noticed. In rural courts, affairs are not conducted as they are in the city, and I had observed a quick swing to affairs, hardly accounted for on the ground of practice. I recognized the hand of Quintus Oakes, and knew that the scene had been carefully manoeuvred.

Hallen sat in his office on the evening of the day after the inquest, reviewing the happenings that had crowded so fast in Mona, and thinking, not without misgivings, of the wave of suspicion that was rising to interfere with the affairs of the town.

At this moment the editor of the "Mona Mirror" entered--a whole-souled, fat individual, breezy and decidedly agreeable. He was one of the natives, a man of growing popularity and decided education. Dowd was his name, and he hated _that fellow Skinner_, who edited the rival newspaper, the "Daily News."

Skinner had "bossed" things in a free-handed fashion until Dowd (a clerk in the post-office until middle life) had decided to enter the field of journalism--less than two years before. Dowd was inexperienced, but he was bright, and he wielded a pen that cut like a two-edged sword; and the love that was lost between the two editors was not worth mentioning.

As Dowd entered and found Hallen alone, he took off his hat and overcoat, and laughed sarcastically. He really liked Hallen, and was on intimate terms with him. Hallen looked up. "Well, what's ailing you now?" he said.

"Oh, nothing. Only this town is going loony, sure as fate, Hallen. What are you going to do?"

Hallen chewed the end of a cigar viciously. "I am going to do the best I can to solve the mystery; if I cannot do that, I can at least keep order here. Give me a few 'specials' and the necessity, and I will make these half-crazy people do a turn or two."

The burly chief turned the conversation into other channels, but Dowd was satisfied. He knew the speaker well.

_CHAPTER X_

_The Cellar_

Meantime our first experience at the Mansion, previously recorded, bade fair to be a serious one. When Oakes had collapsed on his return from the cellar Dr. Moore fortunately was sufficiently recovered to reach his side in a few seconds.

"Elevate his feet, Stone. He'll be all right in a few minutes; he has fainted."

I did as directed, and Moore threw the half of a pitcher of water on the unconscious man's neck and face. Gravity sent the blood back to his head, and when the water touched him, he gasped and presently opened his eyes. Then we carried him to the bed.

In an instant he attempted to rise, but the Doctor refused to allow it, giving him instead an enviable drink from his flask. "Keep your guns by you," said Oakes, "and give me mine."

The tension had told on me, and Moore was now by far the best man. He smiled and ordered me to take a drink also, and to sit down. I obeyed, for I felt, after the excitement, as limp as a boy after his first cigar.

Dr. Moore was examining Oakes's head. "Fine scalp wound," said he, and proceeded to sew it up and dress it. His pocket case came in handy. He had been wise to bring it. "Hurt anywhere else, old fellow?" asked he.

"No; sore as the devil all over, that's all," and Oakes arose, took off his coat, and began to bathe his face. "Keep an eye on that door," said he.

I was myself now, and took my chair to the hall door, sitting where I could command the head of the stairs and could also hear anyone who might approach from below.

"What happened?" asked Moore.

"Well, nothing very much," said Oakes; "only I guess I got a mighty good licking."

"You look it," said I. "Did you shoot for help?"

"Yes, I did. I could not _shout_. The shots saved my life."

"How? Did you kill anyone?"

"Don't know, only the other party kindly quit killing me when I began to shoot. I heard something drop, however, and there may be a dead body somewhere."

The shots had aroused the household, and we heard shouting and cries from the Cooks and from Annie. Soon they appeared, hunting for us, all distraught and frightened. They said they were in the kitchen when they heard the shots, and did not know whence they came. This was probable, as the cellar was away from their section. Annie cried when she saw Oakes, and ran out to bring in more help. One of the gardeners returned with her, and as he came into the room I received the impression of a silent, stern-looking man, past forty and rather strong in appearance, although not large. He had seen better days.

"Ah!" said he; "ye have run up aginst it agin, sorr. It's nerve ye have, to go nigh that room after what ye got last time." Oakes looked at me and at Moore, and we saw he wished us to keep silent.

"Yes! I shan't try it again in a hurry. What's your name?" he asked.

The question came quick as a flash. I knew he was trying to disconcert the fellow.

"My name is Mike O'Brien, sorr, gardener; you remimber, 'twas me that helped you last time, sorr."

"You mean you stood by and let the others help me, Mike."

We knew now that this was the indifferent gardener of whom Oakes had spoken.

"Thrue for ye, sorr; 'twas little enough I did, and that's a fact; I'm not used to being scared to death like ye be, sorr." Was that an unintentional shot, or was it a "feeler"?

Oakes had a sharp customer before him, and he knew it.

"Where were you when you heard the shots, Mike?"

"In the woods at the front of the house. I was raking up the leaves, be the same token."

"What did you see?" Oakes spoke in a commanding voice and fingered the breech of his revolver in a suggestive way.

"I seen a shadow come out av the cellar door."

"What door?"

"The _only_ cellar door; near the side av the house, sorr."

"What sort of a shadow?"

"'Twas the shadow av a man, and a big one. The sun cast it on the side av the house, sorr."

Oakes thought a moment, then arose and said: "Step here, Mike, and point out the side of the house you mean."

Mike hesitated. The other servants withdrew at Oakes's suggestion that he wished to talk with the gardener. The latter advanced. We felt that Oakes was trying to spring a trap.

"The side of the house where the cellar door is," reiterated Mike.

"Nonsense, O'Brien. Your story is impossible. The sun was then in the east and the shadow would have been thrown on the east wall. There is no door on that side; it is on the west side of the house."

O'Brien looked at Oakes defiantly.

"Yer intirely wrong, sorr. _There is_ the cellar door to the east." He pointed to a hatch, opening about forty feet from the house, near the well. "The door _ye_ saw on the west is niver opened--'tis nailed up."

The tables were turned. Oakes was disconcerted.

"If what you say is true, you have my apology. I have not investigated closely."

"So I thought, sorr," was the answer. And we all wondered at the amazing coolness and self-possession of the man. It was one against three, and he had held his own.

"Sit down, Mike," said Oakes. "How long have you been here?"

"Only a matter av six weeks. I came from New York and tried for a job. Maloney, the head man, giv me wan."

"Where is Maloney?"

"He was in the tool-house whin I come by, sorr. He didn't hear the commotion, being sort o' deef."

"All right, Mike! Stay where you are a moment." Then Oakes turned to us.

"Just after Moore was attacked I heard a sound like a quick footstep, and having certain suspicions of my own, made a dash for the cellar. I found there was no cellar under the north wing; but toward the west, and directly beneath the dining-room, was a door. As I opened it all was dark; but my eyes soon accustomed themselves to the light, and I made out a good-sized chamber--and what I took for a man near the farther end. I remained silent, pretending I had seen nothing, and, closing the door, made a movement back up the cellar stairs. There I waited for about five minutes. The ruse worked. The door of the chamber opened, and a man, dressed in a dark cloak and a mask, partly emerged, and, I _thought_, started for the other stairs at the west end of the cellar. I jumped and grappled with him, but he struck me with the butt end of a revolver, and I was dazed; in another minute, he was punishing me severely. I fired two shots, then he threw me away from him and disappeared. He was stronger than anyone I ever met," said Oakes, apologetically, "a regular demon, and he got in the first blow. I think I wounded him, however."

"What shall we do?" said Moore.

"Go quickly and investigate," was the answer. "Here, Mike, you lead the way."

Mike did not hesitate. If playing a game, he did it well.

"Want a gun?" said Oakes.

"No, sorr, not if youse all are armed. Guess we can give him all the scrap he wants."

We descended the stairs, Oakes last, as became his condition. He touched Moore and myself, and pointed to Mike. "Watch him; he may be already armed," he whispered.

The cellar was lighted by one window at the western end. A door at the same end, which evidently led to some stairs, was padlocked, and, as Oakes said, had not been recently opened. The dust lay upon it undisturbed and the padlock was very rusty. This corroborated Mike's story. The door above that opened on the ground. It was boarded up, he said.

No means was found of passing beneath the dance hall, as Oakes had said. From the lay of the ground, we concluded that the cellar was very low there and not bottomed--a shut-in affair such as one finds in old buildings of the Colonial epoch. Across the cellar, to the other side--the south--the same thing pertained except at the western extremity under the dining-room; there a door opened into a cellar room or chamber.

"Here! take this," said Oakes, handing Mike a small pocket taper. "Light it."

Mike did as told, and stepped into the room, I after him. Oakes held the cellar door open, and I, happening to look at him, saw that he was watching Mike as a cat watches a mouse. He had dropped a match at the moment, and, with his eye still on the gardener, stooped to pick it up. His hand made a swift, double movement, he had the match and something else besides; but Mike had not observed, and I, of course, said nothing.

The room was low and without windows, but the air was remarkably clean and fresh. "Plenty of ventilation in here," said I.

"Yes, and blood too," said the gardener.

Sure enough, the floor was spattered with it.

"Mine, I guess," said Oakes. "Moore, kindly fetch a lamp from upstairs. Ask Annie for one."

Moore went, and soon brought down a small lantern. We could hear Cook's voice at the head of the stairs; also his wife's and Annie's. It was the long-expected hunt that no one had ever before made, and which might clear up the mystery at any time.

By the better light we saw evidences of the struggle that had taken place--a strip of Oakes's coat, and a piece of glazed red paper an inch or so long, and perhaps half as broad--white on one side, red on the other.

"Piece of a mask," said I; and Oakes placed it in his pocket.

Dr. Moore walked to the east side of the room, where he and I saw a door in the wall, and some plastering on the floor under it. Mike was busy examining a heap of rubbish at the other end. His conduct had been most exemplary. Moore turned the light on the door, and we three observed it for a moment. Mike had not seen it distinctly, if at all.

"Moore, come here," said the detective, retreating; and the Doctor followed with the light.

"Come on, Stone." I left the room with them.

"Curious!" he heard Mike say behind us.

"What is curious?" asked Oakes.

The smart hired man answered. "Mr. Clark, the air is good in here. Where does it come from?"

"I guess we have learned all we need this time, Mike," was the reply, and the gardener came out reluctantly.

Oakes had seen the door in the wall: it was all he wanted to know. He closed the outer entrance of the room, and called to Cook for hammer and nails. The man brought them quickly; then the leader took a board that was standing against the wall, and Mike and Cook nailed it across the door from frame to frame.

"Mr. Clark, ye will _have_ the devil now, sorr," said Mike.

Oakes took a pencil out of his pocket and wrote "Clark" on one end of the board; then with a single movement continued his hand over its edge carefully, and on to the frame, where the line terminated in a second signature--"Clark."

"Anyone removing that board has got to put it back to match that line," said Oakes, "and that with a board is practically impossible where nailing has been done. Now for the exit that opens near the well."

We went back through the cellar hall and found at the east end a door ajar. It did not lock, and was hung on rusty hinges. Beyond was a dark passage.

"Where does this lead, Mike?"

"To the opening by the well, sorr."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know, myself, but Maloney said the outside opening by the well led into the cellar; Cook says so, too. 'Tis a passage they used in wet weather, sorr."

"Mike, you and Cook go round and guard that outer door by the well. Open it. I'm going through."

"Mr. Clark, don't go in there alone!"

"I'll attend to that," said Oakes. "You go with Cook."

The two went to the well and lifted the hatch door. As they did so, Oakes held a lighted match inside one end of the tunnel. It blew strongly toward us; the air was rushing in, and we knew the passage led to the opening. We heard their voices calling to us. Dr. Moore spoke.

"Oakes, you shall _not_ go in there; you have done enough to-day; you are a wounded man." I caught up the lantern and my revolver, and Moore followed.

"Hold on!" said Oakes. "You are in the most dangerous part; don't be rash. Here, Stone, you go first--and Moore, you follow about ten feet behind, without a light, in order that you may be undetected. Take matches. I'll stay here with the taper, and watch. When you get to the other end, don't go up the steps leading to the ground until both Mike and Cook show themselves. We know nothing about them, you know. Be cautious. The man we want went out this way, whoever he is."

I threw the light ahead and advanced some ten feet. I heard Moore following. "Careful!" said he in a whisper.

Again I threw the light ahead, and beheld only the walls of the square tunnel. I could hear the breathing of Moore behind me. I knocked on the wall here and there with my revolver; it rang true and solid. We gradually advanced until we beheld the daylight and saw the men waiting at the head of the stone steps.

I ascended. Moore took the lantern and called back to Oakes, addressing him as Clark. In a moment he came.

"Stay where you are, Stone," said he to me. "Come here, Mike."

Mike descended willingly enough. I watched Cook and looked all around.

"Open that door." Oakes pointed to a little wooden opening in the side of the stairs. Mike obeyed, but instantly closed it again with a bang.

"A man!" said he.

Oakes and Moore levelled their revolvers.

"Come out," said the detective, "or take the consequences. I shall shoot."

Mike opened the door again, hiding his figure behind it for protection as it swung out. I expected to see some one shot, but Moore threw the light in, and instantly Oakes dived forward into the alcove of stone. We could hear him chuckle. Cook, at my side, was standing on one leg in his excitement. Then Dr. Moore burst into laughter.

"What is it? What's the matter?" I cried. I could not see very well, and ran half-way down. Oakes was standing beside Moore, trying to look grave. In his hand was a red paper mask and a long black robe!

O'Brien looked on, his eyes twinkling, but his face serious. "I'm thinking it's lucky, Mr. Clark, sorr, that ye saved yer ammunition," said he.

"Yes," retorted Oakes, "and it's still more fortunate you're a good actor."

O'Brien's somewhat insolent manner changed instantly to one of civility, and Oakes turned to us.

"No wonder some said there was a woman in this affair."

Then he ordered the hatch door nailed down, and handed the things to me. "Please take these upstairs, Stone; we must investigate this more fully," and we withdrew to discuss our findings.

"What do you think of O'Brien, Oakes?" I asked. "He seems to be a cool sort of a customer."

"Yes, he is no ignoramus. He's a shrewd fellow, and a deep one; but I have learned a few things."

_CHAPTER XI_

_The Night Walk_

Events were following each other rapidly at the Mansion. After leaving the cellar, Oakes led us back through the grounds, around the south side of the house. There was no entrance to the cellar there, apparently.

When we reached our rooms and I had deposited the mask and gown on my table, Oakes turned to the care-taker, Cook, who accompanied us: "You have been several years here, have you not?"

"Yes, Mr. Clark."

"When did the first trouble begin?"

"About three years ago, sir, following some repairs that were made after Mr. Odell Mark bought the place from his brother."

"What do you know of those repairs?"

"Well, sir, as perhaps you have noticed, the door from the dining-room to the parlor opens on a short hall about three feet deep. Now, sir, Mr. Odell Mark had the wall thickened between the rooms; he thought it was weak, and this hall represents the thickness of the wall."

Oakes stood at the window, his hands in his pockets, looking out.

"Did you see that wall being built yourself, Cook?"

"I didn't notice particularly, sir."

"Well, Stone, we'll try the simplest theory first. Will you kindly go with Cook up to the roof and look around carefully. I have an idea that the wall is double, and that you will find an opening up there somewhere."

We went, and, as Oakes had surmised, soon found a small opening like a chimney, grated in solidly and protected by a covering, and so reported.