Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story

  _CHAPTER XIX_

  _A Faulty Story_

  After breakfast, while Oakes gave the doctor a brief resume of ournight's adventure, the two rival newspapers came out with "extras" onthe recent doings. Skinner's comments were sarcastic and bitter, and,while not actually inciting to lawlessness, played upon the rousedfeelings of the towns-people by scathing allusions to Hallen'sinefficiency, and by reiterating the story of the false Quintus Oakes.

  Our friend Dowd, on the other hand, came forward with a moderate,well-worded article that swayed the minds of the more thoughtful. Thereading of his words won us more friends. Who does not like to hear twosides of an argument, or to read cool words of wisdom from one whosecareer entitles him to respect?

  We had learned at breakfast that Hallen had taken hold with a grip ofiron during the night. Many arrests had followed his activity, and thequietude of the forenoon was largely due to his efforts of the nightbefore.

  As we stood outside the hotel remarking upon the changed appearance ofthe streets, our attention was attracted to a small crowd approachingthe Square from the direction of the Corners. There were men runningahead and shouting; then a close, compact body swaying around a centralattraction. We thought we detected a man being helped along as though hewere severely injured, and we clearly distinguished the words "Shot at!""The murderer!" and many expressions of anger and terror.

  Oakes looked into the mass of men and scanned the pale face of theinjured one. "It's Maloney," he said, seizing the doctor and myself bythe arm. He pushed his way forward as the crowd recognized and openedfor Mr. Clark.

  "Well, Maloney, what is it?" asked Oakes.

  "I was shot at, sir," he exclaimed, "shot at, in the very spot where Mr.Mark was killed; and then, sir, someone hit me a blow on the head, and Ifell."

  I saw Oakes run his hand over Maloney's scalp.

  "I was dazed, sir, when these men found me," finished the gardener.

  "Yes," said two laborers, "we found him on the ground just waking up,and acting queer-like. And here's the revolver; it was lying behind therock, sir."

  "How did it happen?" asked Oakes.

  "I heard a shot near me," Maloney answered, "a heavy revolver shot. Iturned, and was then hit with something like a sand-bag, I guess, foreverything got dim."

  Hallen walked him into the headquarters building, to avoid the rapidlyincreasing crowd.

  "Shut the doors," he ordered. The command was quickly obeyed, and we whohad worked together were all within the building now, away from thecrowd.

  "Who was it?" asked Hallen of Maloney.

  The man hesitated a while, but upon being pressed for an answer finallyreplied: "I have not dared to mention my suspicions, sir, but the fellowlooked like Mike O'Brien. At any rate, he was wounded; he was walkingwith a limp, sir, and I saw blood on his trousers leg. He must havebeen in a scrap or an accident."

  "When I was coming to," he continued, "I saw him hiding a revolverbehind a rock. I pointed out the place to the men when they came a fewmoments after, and they found it."

  "Why did you not cry out for help?" asked Oakes suddenly, evenviciously, I thought.

  Maloney answered quickly: "Because he thought I was dead, and I let himthink so. If I had made any noise, sir, he would have finished me. I didnot move until I knew help was near."

  "Good!" said Oakes; "you had presence of mind. Let us see the revolver;the men left it here, did they not?"

  Hallen stepped forward with the weapon.

  Oakes examined it; but his look informed us that it was not the _old_one taken from the wall in the Mansion.

  Further questioning failed to reveal anything of importance, but itseemed clear from what Maloney said that the assaulter escaped onhorseback after he was seen by his intended victim, for Maloneyinsisted that he had heard a galloping horse afterwards.

  "He was wounded, you said?" queried the detective.

  "Yes, sir, quite badly, I thought."

  Moore examined Maloney's injury and took careful note of his condition;then the gardener was told to go, and he was soon joined outside by thetwo laborers--his new found friends. Together they went for the hotelbar across the street. As they disappeared, Oakes exchanged glances withthe doctor, and I knew that something was wrong. There came a longsilence, which Hallen finally broke.

  "This is a queer story, Oakes; I don't understand it. Is it the murdererat work again--and O'Brien accused? You say the Mansion mysteries arethe work of the same hand that shot Mr. Mark, and possibly Mr. Smith.But those mysteries are old, and O'Brien is a recent arrival here andknows very little of the Mansion. I cannot see his guilt. How do youexplain it, Oakes?"

  The keen man addressed faced the Chief, and we all knew the words thatwere coming were valuable.

  "Chief, I have just told you of Mr. Stone's adventures with me thismorning--of my proof that Maloney lied to us. Well, he has lied again."

  "Yes," chimed in Dr. Moore, "the man's a fake. He was not seriouslyinjured, if at all."

  "I saw through Maloney's story instantly," continued Oakes. "He said hewas assaulted by O'Brien, who was, according to his own story, a badlywounded man. He said O'Brien hid the revolver afterwards, while he,Maloney, was shamming death, and that O'Brien sought to escape. It isnonsense."

  "Why? I fail to see!" I asked excitedly.

  Oakes turned to me: "Why, Stone, don't you see the flaws? Would aseriously injured man attempt deliberate murder? What show would he haveto escape? Then, again, if able to get away himself, would he hide therevolver near the scene of the crime, behind a rock? No, he would takeit with him as a defensive weapon, or else hide it where it never couldbe found; in the Hudson, for instance, or the brook--both near at hand."

  "True enough," cried Hallen, his face showing his admiration; "butwhat's your idea, then, Oakes?"

  "Just this, gentlemen. Maloney _himself_ shot O'Brien, and seeing thelatter escape knew that his game was up, for he had been identified byO'Brien. So he hid the revolver that he himself used, and then pretendedto have been sand-bagged and shot at. He relied on the weight of hisword against O'Brien's, not knowing anything of the evidence collectedagainst him or that we were anything but agents and workmen about theMansion?"

  The Chief looked long and half sceptically at Oakes, then asked: "DoesMaloney meet your requirements? Does he fill the bill?"

  "Well, he has a strong wrist and long arms," answered Oakes--"thatplaces him among the _possibles_; he also has a comparatively narrowchest, such as the man had who wore the robe--you remember we reasonedthat out. Those three things cover much ground. Then, again, he is anold resident, knows all about the Mansion, was here when Smith wasmurdered."

  Elliott now spoke up: "Oakes, you said the murderer was a good shot. IsMaloney a good shot with a revolver?"

  "Yes, he was; he used to belong to the National Guard years ago. He wasa splendid shot then, according to evidence procured by my men."

  "But the revolver to-day was not the old one?" queried the Chief.

  "No," answered Oakes; "but he can easily have two."

  "I had better arrest him now as a suspicious person," exclaimed Hallenexcitedly.

  "Not yet. Let us be _sure_ first--remember Skinner has a motive forcrossing us; he has tried to defeat the aims of justice right through.He was dealing money this morning to someone; suppose it was toMaloney--what is his reason?"

  Hallen thumped the table furiously as though a new thought had come tohim. "Skinner answers the physical requirements also, Mr. Oakes--he wasalso a guardsman--a good shot."

  "Yes," answered Oakes, "but scarcely strong enough to overpower me atthe Mansion."

  "Unless he was acting while in mania, as we presume this criminal acts,"said Moore.

  I sat spellbound as these men discussed the intricacies of the affair,realizing the truth of their reasonings and marvelling at the clues,conceptions and brilliant memories revealed, especially by the masterlyOakes.

  "Too bad you cannot find Skinner, and see what he is up to," I
remarked.

  "We must let Hallen keep watch on him until we are ready for our finalmove. It would be easy to arrest him on suspicion, but that might defeatour object, and, again, I do not believe in making arrests until my caseis clear," said Oakes.

  "Do you not think Skinner might be the murderer?" I asked.

  "Not as I see things now. It seems more probable that he is interestedin someone whom he wants to get out of harm's way. His motive throughoutthis affair has been to hide the guilty, I think."

  "And what do you make of that man O'Brien?" queried Dowd; "he seems tobe a mysterious fellow."

  Oakes and Hallen exchanged knowing glances. "He's another possibility;he's a little Tartar," said the detective.

  "But won't Maloney get away now?" asked Elliott.

  "Nit," was the answer from Hallen. "Those two 'laborers' with him are my'specials.'"

  I was getting entirely tied up now, but, desiring to appear erudite andworthy of such company, I blurted forth: "Who is Mike O'Brien, anyway?"

  Oakes looked at us all coolly and exasperatingly. "He seems to be alittle extra thrown in. I'll tell you all about it when you tell me ifthe 'S' on the handkerchief has anything to do with Mr. Skinner."

  An exclamation of surprise went up. We had all forgotten _that_. Butbefore we could resume, a message arrived for Oakes. It was brought byone of the men whom we knew so well by sight around the Mansion. He toldof the finding of a burned tree, hidden in the forest, near the scene ofthe murder of Mr. Mark. Those who were searching had discovered that thetree was recently struck by lightning and that within its burnedinterior was ash.

  The man had brought some with him, and also a small, crumpled piece ofnewspaper. Oakes looked carefully at them as we glanced over hisshoulder.

  "At last!" cried he. "Here is wood ash--wet, as was that on the robe;and here is paper like that of the 'Daily News,' which we found in therobe; is it not?"

  "Yes," cried Moore. "It is indeed--can it be?"

  "Yes," came the answer from Oakes; "my orders to search for the originof the ash have been crowned with success. The robe was in that tree."

  "But," I cried, "of what value is that?"

  "Just this--the robe was not worn at the time of the murder. Remember,Joe did not see it--it had been hidden, probably. The murderer used itto go and to come in, but for some unknown reason discarded it at theshooting."

  "Excuse me," said the messenger, "excuse me, Mr. Oakes--but that's aboutright. The tree was beyond the stone where he crossed and lost thehandkerchief. He was running for the robe, sir; the murderer was afterhis disguise."

  Oakes looked at his subordinate calmly and smiled ever so slightly. Theman bowed and retreated, abashed at his own impetuosity.

  Hallen turned to our friend Oakes and said: "I never in my life sawanything like this--like you."

  Oakes, always ready to side-step praise in any form, answered, with oneof his chilling glances: "Oh, bother! You're young yet, Hallen; you needage."

  Hallen half resentfully yanked his cap on his head and strode to thedoor.

  "Well," he remarked, "here's where I take a look at Maloney's arms--I amdead tired of theorizing."

  "Stop!" commanded Oakes; "you'll spoil it all."

  "I won't spoil the cross on the arm--the cross of indigo--if it's there;and if it ain't there, it ain't. Hang it all, anyway." And forthwithHallen strode out the door, down the steps toward the hotel bar-room,with Oakes and the rest of us following in a vain endeavor to head himoff.

  When we reached the bar-room, Hallen was already in the side room. Werushed toward the little room door, expecting to see Maloney in thegrasp of Hallen; but instead, we beheld the Chief gazing in stupefactionat his two men dead drunk, heads between their hands on the little roundtable.

  "------------,----!" cried the Chief in a voice that shook theglasses on the shelves in the bar-room and brought the white-coatedattendant with one bound to the door. "Hell--en--Maloney's escaped."

  "Escaped!" cried the bar-keeper. "Escaped!--nit. Why, he paid for thedrinks and walked out half an hour ago--said he had a job at theMansion. These fellows--gosh!" cried the man as he shook them--"drunk!What's up--what does it mean, Chief?"

  Then Quintus Oakes spoke in tones of dulcet and ineffable sweetness,cooingly, charmingly. "It means that Chief Hallen pays for a round ofthe best you've got. In order to see a cross on a man's arm it becomesnecessary first to catch the man--something like the bird's tail and thesalt proposition."

  "Mix 'em up quick!" shouted Hallen, advancing to the bar. "Hell--en--bedamned! Get the two samples of Mona's police out into the air!Hell--en----!"