Part 8

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.

"Well, a couple of old men who have since died, both milkmen, used to say that once or twice they had seen a woman near the scene of the murder at that hour in the morning. Also, that she always ran into the woods, and was dressed in black."

"Who were those old men?"

"Well, they were both reliable fellows. Their tales were laughed at, so they refused to discuss the matter any more. They both claimed to have seen her at a distance, however; and since they were on different wagons, their stories seemed to corroborate each other."

We expressed our great interest in the news, and Dowd advised us to see Reilly the porter, who had heard the story of the woman from the men themselves.

We returned to the hotel, feeling much elated at the courtesy of Dowd and at the prospect of learning something not generally known, and bearing upon the murder.

Soon we managed to find Reilly. He came to our rooms on the excuse that we had some orders to give concerning baggage that had not yet arrived from New York.

The porter was decidedly intelligent, having been reduced to his present position through adversity, as we already knew. It took only a little questioning to elicit his story, which he told about as follows:

"You see, gentlemen, about the time of Smith's murder the milkmen were in the habit of watering their horses at an old fountain just by our curb, but since done away with.

"Well, about two weeks before Smith was murdered, one of the milkmen, Moses Inkelman, a driver for a large farm north of here, told me that he had that morning seen a very large woman on the crest of the hill as he was driving to town. She was seemingly anxious to avoid notice and stepped into the woods as he passed by. Moses asked me if I thought she was anyone from Mona. He seemed so curious about the matter that several who had heard his story laughed at him. He was very sensitive and did not mention the episode again until after the murder--long after, I remember--and then only to me, when he said: 'If these people would only stop making fun of a Jew, and believe me, they might learn something.' He disappeared a little while afterward, and we learned from his successor that he had suddenly died of heart disease, on the farm.

"The other milkman never told his story save to a few--one night around the stove in a grocery store. The others were inclined to scoff at him; but I remembered what Moses had told me, and saw this fellow, Sullivan, alone.

"It was about a year after the affair. He said that he had seen a woman's figure lurking around the crest of the hill on two different occasions before the murder."

"Did he say anything about her appearance?" I asked.

"No. He said he never came very near to her, but he saw that she always wore black, and ran very heavily. He thought she was one of the drunken creatures that sometimes infest the water front on Saturday nights.

"You see, gentlemen, there were more factories here then, and the town was tougher than it is now, especially along the railroad and shore where the canal-boats came in. The new piers farther down the river have changed all that. Sullivan told his story to the police, but they saw nothing in it, or pretended they didn't; so Sullivan shut up."

"What became of him?" Moore asked.

"Well, sir, that's the curious part of it, to my mind. He was found dead only a short time ago on River Road, 'way down near Lorona, and there were marks on his throat and blood in his mouth. The examiner said he had had a hemorrhage and had choked to death, scratching himself in his dying struggles. But----"

"Well, continue," commanded Moore.

"Gentlemen, I believe he was murdered."

"Why, what makes you think so?" I asked.

"I saw the body at the undertaker's in Lorona, gentlemen, and the marks on the neck were not only scratches, but black and blue patches. The examiner was a drunkard himself and not a good reasoner. I always had the idea that the milkman was choked to death by the woman because he had seen her.

"And the other fellow, Moses--I think he was done away with likewise," continued Reilly. "I tell you, gentlemen, there is more to all this than is perhaps wise to know, unless one keeps pretty quiet."

We tipped Reilly a good fee and then turned in for the night in a most uncomfortable frame of mind. As Moore said: "things are coming up so rapidly here that we will all be twisted before long."

Our visit to the town had so far proved more valuable than we had hoped for, and we both wished that Oakes could have been with us. Several times in the night I awoke, and each time heard footsteps passing to and fro, and subdued voices in the corridor downstairs, and could but reflect how very different this was from the usual quietude of such a place.

When we arose in the morning, Moore remarked that he never knew of such a noisy hotel in a small town.

"Guess the place is going to give me nervous prostration pretty soon, if things keep up like this," said he.

While we were at breakfast, Chief Hallen walked in and sat down beside us in a rather pompous manner, I thought. He seemed desirous of calling attention to himself. "Well, gentlemen," he said in a quiet enough way, "don't be taken aback at anything you may witness to-day. You may have a surprise. I want you to meet me in the hotel corridor soon and see who comes on the nine o'clock train."

He bade us adieu, and walked out in an unnaturally aggressive manner.

"He's showing off like a schoolboy," said I.

"Or else acting," corrected Moore.

We sat down in the corridor by and by. Hallen was talking with the clerk at the desk. The hangers-on were numerous and wore an air of expectancy; they were waiting for some one.

The rickety old carriage from the station arrived at this moment, and the man on the box opened the door with more than usual courtesy. Out stepped a medium-sized man of good figure and a most remarkable face. It was bronzed like that of a seafaring man; the eyes were black as jet and piercing; the nose hooked and rather long. He wore a thick, short moustache, which matched his hair and eyes in blackness; otherwise, his face was smooth-shaven, and his attire was in the perfection of good taste for a business man. When he spoke, one noticed particularly his strong white, even teeth.

"He looks like a pirate from the Spanish Main, dressed up," said Moore.

"A remarkably attractive fellow, anyway."

"Yes," I said; "he has the air of a celebrated man of some kind."

As he walked to the desk, the by-standers spoke in subdued tones, watching him the while. I heard one lounger say: "Sure, that is the fellow. I've seen him before. Ain't he a wonder in looks?"

Chief Hallen advanced and spoke a few words to the stranger, and then shook hands with him. He registered, and the clerk thumped the bell for Reilly with an air of tremendous importance.

As though by accident, Chief Hallen espied us and, taking the stranger by the arm, walked over to us.

We arose and bowed as the Chief repeated our names, saying, so that those near could hear: "Gentlemen, you are from the city. Let me make you acquainted with one of your fellow citizens--Mr. Quintus Oakes, of New York."

Moore calmly shook hands and mumbled something, and then, in a side whisper to me, said: "It's up to you, Stone; say something."

Although I was nearly as surprised as he, I managed to make a few audible remarks about how glad the town would be to know that Quintus Oakes was here. I saw a merry twinkle in Hallen's eyes, but the stranger made a suitable reply, and left us with that peculiar business-like air of his.

I turned to Moore and half-gasped: "What does this mean, old man?"

"A decoy," said he. "Just keep your nerve. Hallen has been giving us practice in acting."

The by-standers and the groups in the street were discussing the stranger with peculiar, suppressed excitement. Many of the smart ones claimed to have seen him before and to know all about him; already, "Quintus Oakes" rang familiarly from their lips.

We presently returned to the Mansion and related to our leader the facts we had learned from Reilly regarding "the woman's" appearances before the murder, the sudden ending of both the milkmen who had seen her, and Reilly's own suspicions in the matter. Oakes was thoughtful for quite a while.

"You have done more than I thought you could in so brief a time," said he at last. "Have you any theories regarding the identity of the woman?"

We had none to offer, and he began to smile ever so slightly. "Well, it seems to me your woman is a mistake--there was no woman. The assassin was a man in a black robe. He ran heavily, of course. You have drawn the murderer of Smith nearer to that of Mark. As regards the sudden deaths of the milkmen, probably both were killed; the examinations after death, conducted as these were, amount to nothing. The murderer of Smith, the two milkmen and of Mark is probably one and the same. Stone, you nearly fell a victim at the bridge the other night, too."

I did not reply, but a cold perspiration broke out over me. The chain of events seemed clearer now in the light of Oakes's reasoning. Then he turned to Moore.

"Doctor, loan me your cigar-cutter, will you?"

The physician reached for it, but it was gone.

"I think this must be it," said Oakes, holding out the missing article. "Next time you hide on your stomach behind a tree, do it properly."

Moore was dumfounded.

"What!" I cried, "you know that too? We did not tell you."

"No, you did not. You began your narration at the wrong end--or perhaps you _forgot_," and his eyes twinkled.

"But how did you learn of it?" demanded Moore, recovering. And Quintus smiled outright.

"My man was behind another tree only ten feet away from you the whole time. When you left, he picked up this as a memento of your brilliant detective work."

Moore and I smarted a little under the sarcasm, and I asked what the man was doing there.

"Oh, he was watching Mike and, incidentally, keeping you two from mischief. You need a guardian. You never even suspected his presence, and--suppose he had been the assassin!"

"Well," I said, "I suppose that you know all about your namesake in town, and don't need any of our information."

He heard the chagrin in my voice and smiled as he replied:

"Don't mind those little things; they happen to all of us. I am glad 'Quintus Oakes' has arrived. Chief Hallen and I concluded that the sudden arrival of such a man as our decoy would have a salutary effect on the citizens. An appearance of action on Hallen's part would tend to quiet their restlessness; and, now that public attention is focused upon _him_, Mr. Clark and his friends can work more freely."

During the discussion that followed, he told us that Mike's errand on horseback was as yet unknown, but that the man whom we followed and lost on the way was from a stable in Lorona.

"You see," continued he, "Mike has been doing this before. The horse is brought from Lorona in a roundabout way. Doubtless, on his return, he leaves it at some spot where it is met and returned to the stable."

"Mike is a mystery. What is he up to?" said Moore. "Can he be the murderer?"

"Wait and see," replied Oakes enigmatically, as he ended the conversation.

_CHAPTER XVI_

_The Negro's Story_

Saturday came and went without event. So far, at least, Hallen's arrangements for the preservation of order had been effective. Or was it that the eyes and hopes of the people were centred upon the new arrival in town, the great detective--as they were led to believe--who had grown famous through his skill in ferreting out just such mysteries. In any case, the Chief's forebodings of a lawless outbreak were unfulfilled.

The real Oakes spent most of his time in the Mansion while we remained in town; but our little party came and went as it pleased. Our movements had ceased to attract that attention which Oakes found so undesirable. As he said, in the well-known phrase of the sleight-of-hand operators: "the more you look, the less you see." The eyes of Mona were focused on the _false_ Oakes--the wrong hand; we ourselves--the hand doing the trick--were over-looked. And the more absorbed they became in the movements of the decoy, the more oblivious were they of the fact that keen eyes were studying them deeply. The criminal, unless very educated and clever, would be fooled with the multitude and caught off his guard.

A rather curious fact was that, while Dowd's newspaper published an article in its personal column about the great detective's arrival and all that he was expected to accomplish, Skinner's journal remained absolutely silent. Dowd said he could not understand it, unless the ruse had failed to deceive Skinner, in which case we might hear from him soon. We knew that our friend Quintus Oakes held the same idea. As he said, if the cheat were discovered it would lead to trouble, which must be met as it arose.

Moore and I became daily more imbued with the spirit of the adventure; besides which, we were keenly alive to Oakes's feelings and his desire to succeed. The newspapers far and near were following the case carefully, and we knew that his reputation and financial success depended largely on the outcome of this case.

A few evenings later Moore and I were standing in the square, discussing the very apparent change in the temper of the crowd since their attention had been directed by the arrival of the man they believed to be Quintus Oakes.

"Yes," said Moore, in answer to a remark of mine, "it is a clever scheme and makes the people think that Hallen is doing something; but how will they take it if they discover the trick?"

"Well, perhaps by that time the real Oakes, our friend, will be in position to reveal his identity--that would calm any bad feeling--they would realize that work had been done quietly all the while."

Moore shook his head doubtfully. "I don't like Skinner's attitude," he said, "he knows something."

Reilly approached us at this moment to say that Clark wanted us at the Mansion immediately, and that a conveyance was waiting for us at the hotel. We went at once and found it, a four-seated affair, with Hallen and Dowd on the back seat. We two sat in front with the driver--one of Oakes's men; and after we had left the town I turned to the Chief and asked him if he knew what Oakes wanted of us.

"Yes," said he; "the _negro_ is here."

Oakes was awaiting us upstairs, with Martin and Elliott. The first thing we learned was that Oakes had recognized the negro "Joe" as a former boot-black on Broadway. Joe's identification of _him_ during the court scene had placed the negro in a state of less fear than would otherwise have been the case.

"He came readily enough," said Martin; "he was threatened with arrest if he did not; but he is acting peculiarly. Seems more worried than an innocent man should be."

"He naturally dreads the ordeal; innocent men frequently appear guilty to the onlooker. The really guilty ones are prepared and go through more coolly," said Oakes.

"Yes, sir, I know that; but this one is different. I should hardly say he is guilty; still, his actions are peculiar--I cannot explain _how_."

"Think a little, Martin," said Oakes. It was the tone of the superior, firm but kindly.

Martin thought a few seconds, then he said: "Well, sir, he seems anxious to describe what he saw, and seems to think that you are his friend and will believe him; but he appears to be actually fearful of punishment."

"Rather ambiguous," said Oakes. "Perhaps he is hiding some vital point, Martin. Is he not?"

"Yes, sir; and that point is against himself."

"Of course it is, or he would not hide it; against himself, or one dear to him."

Oakes's correction was without malice, polite and patient. He was the clear reasoner, the leader, instructing a trusty subordinate--the kindly Chief and his young, but able lieutenant.

We ranged ourselves round the centre-table--we four who had come in the carriage, besides Elliott and Martin, who had brought Joe from New York. Oakes stood near a chair, away from the table and the group. After a moment the negro entered, ushered to the door by one of the men. We must have looked a formidable conclave to the poor fellow, for he halted just inside the door at sight of us all. He was a negro of that type seen in the North--strong, lithe, with a clear-cut face whose features showed the admixture of white blood. He advanced to the chair besides Oakes, and sat down at a sign from the latter.

He was nervous, but a pitiful effort at bravery showed in his carriage and manner. Bravery was necessary. A lone negro boy facing such a gathering, and--worst of all to him--that mysterious, awe-inspiring person, Quintus Oakes!

With consummate tact Quintus won the boy's confidence. Elliott spoke to him, kindly and reassuringly; and Hallen walked over and shook his hand with a protecting air. Joe brightened visibly. It was plain that the men who hunted crime were going to try kindness and sympathy first. It has always seemed to me a pity that such tactics are not more in vogue, especially toward witnesses. The master detective can throw a sympathy into his every act which will win secrets actually barred from other methods of attack.

Reassured, Joe presently began his story. In a clear, remarkably able way (for he had been to school), and with the peculiar, dramatic power possessed by some negroes, he brought vividly before us the scenes he had witnessed. As he warmed to his subject, Oakes and Hallen watched him carefully, but without emotion, occasionally questioning him adroitly to develop points which seemed to them valuable. Dowd took notes, at Oakes's suggestion, for future use.