Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story

  _CHAPTER XXIV_

  _Across the Bridge_

  As I staggered behind the pursuers I saw the tall, erect figure ofQuintus glide rapidly across the road and disappear down the decline. Inthe briefest space we were at the crest by the road, looking down uponthe pond. I saw Moore and O'Brien by my side--the latter swearing like atrooper.

  "Who is that Mr. Clark, anyway? How did he know who I was? SinceHallen's men found me at the farm-house this man Clark--this agent--hashad 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. ButI should have suspected."

  The murderer reached the bridge and, hesitating, stooped suddenly atits near side. He had evidently picked up something from under one ofthe logs that formed the span. He straightened up and, turning, suddenlyfired at Oakes, who was rapidly approaching. The deep tones of a heavyrevolver were unmistakable. Maloney had secured his murderous weaponwhen he stooped; he had had it in hiding under the log. He was armed nowwith a weapon of terrible possibilities. In another instant he wasacross and mounting the green sunlit slope beyond. A hundred feet behindwas Quintus, untouched by the bullet that had been sent his way. A fewsteps, and he reached the other side, but as he struck the ground, thebridge--frail thing that it was--loosened from its centre support andwent 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 thewater, 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 turnedagain after the murderer, who was just half-way up the slope now; hisbody dotting the surface of the ground with a shadow at his side--ashadow of himself--company in the race for freedom.

  We all simultaneously interpreted the gestures made by Oakes, and Hallendashed to the north end of the pond to skirt it, while Martin and Mooredashed for the southern end, leaving Elliott, Larkin and myself standingwhere we commanded full view of what was coming. We were conscious ofseveral other figures dashing by us, and we knew that his men werestraining every nerve and muscle to reach Oakes in his dangerousposition.

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

  "God--that man Oakes is alone with the murderer!" cried Larkin. "He istoo 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, followedby the heavy report of the revolver in his hand.

  Quintus was running slowly up toward him and was perhaps one hundredfeet 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 twowere 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 wasa 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 hisrevolver."

  "No," cried Larkin. "I saw him move, and see--he is braced to preventhimself slipping down the hill. He knows he is a poor target, and is notanxious to move lest he slide into the pond. That grass is frosty andvery slippery."

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

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

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

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

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

  We could see the bullets hit somewhere near the fugitive, for he seemeddisconcerted and turned toward the northern end of the pond, to run inthat direction; he was now outlined on the crest of the hill. We heardanother shot ring out--a shot sharp, staccato it was; and we thenemitted a yell, for we knew by it that Oakes was alive. Maloney firedagain, and again Elliott, by our side, tried two more long shots withhis 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 drawingMaloney's fire all the time. He was not wounded."

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

  "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 thepond. Hallen was leading. He fired at Maloney, evidently not havingunderstood Oakes's word, and again came that clear voice across thepond.

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

  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 respondednot.

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

  The two rose to their feet, powerful black objects, and by the outlinewe recognized the tall figure of our friend as they swayed and surged,gradually slipping and sliding down the incline, toward the deep watersof 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'shands around his neck.

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

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

  "He is going to drown Oakes--see!"

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

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

  Larkin and I could scarcely believe our eyes. The man was apparentlygifted 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 dashingaround the northern end of the pond in a desperate race to save him. Onthe other end, moving like the wind, but farther away from the fightingmen, I distinguished young Martin leading several others in the race forlife. And down beneath us, quarter way across the pond was the solitaryswimmer, lifting his shoulders well out of the water each time hisstroke reached its limit--each moment advancing steadily, su
rely. I sawat a glance that Oakes was doomed--Elliott could not reach him, neithercould Hallen. Larkin by my side supported me, for my head was reelingwith weakness. Suddenly he shouted across the pond--"Fight him!--fighthim! 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 hadlong 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 himalive? Why did he not shoot to kill instead of to wound simply?" criedmy companion.

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

  Suddenly Oakes weakened and half stepped, half retreated, to the water'sedge; then as suddenly the two figures swayed up the hill a few feetagain, and with a quick, cat-like movement Oakes was free. It was hisone supreme effort, a masterly, wonderfully executed, vigorous shove andside-step. It was evident Maloney was dazed. Oakes's strangle-hold hadtold at last.

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

  Maloney faced Oakes a moment; his chest heaved once or twice as hisbreath returned; he crouched, then sidled into position for a spring andlaunched himself toward Oakes, who, pale as death, stood swaying, hisarms 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 bothtogether out into the pond to death.

  Instantly Oakes's swaying body tightened and steadied. I knew then, asdid Larkin, that Oakes had been deceiving Maloney--that the detectivewas still master of himself. As the heavy body closed upon him, Oakesstepped suddenly forward. His left arm shot upward with a vicious,swinging motion, and as his fist reached the jaw, his body lurchedforward and sideways, in a terrible muscular effort, carrying fearfulimpetus 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 speedand certainty.

  The on-rushing maniac was half stopped and twisted in his course. Hishead swung sideways and outward with the last impact upon the jaw; hislegs failed to lift, and with a wabbling, shuddering tremor the bodysank to the water's edge. The next instant Hallen came tumbling on tothe murderer. I heard the click of handcuffs; I saw the white shirt andblack trousers of Elliott squirm up the bank, and next moment thevigorous swimmer, the aristocratic, great-hearted club-man, caught Oakesin his arms as the detective lurched forward and fell, momentarilyovercome 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 thenorth end, the men assisting Oakes carefully up the incline to us, andbringing also Maloney.

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

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

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

  "Look at his left arm, boys."

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

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

  * * * * *

  Then in the road a team appeared from the Mansion, and Dowd jumped inand 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 theMansion, has captured the murderer, aided by Hallen of Mona."

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

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