"Do you think he is the murderer?"

"That's difficult," said Oakes; "but I should think not. Had the deed been done by a negro boy, the victim would have remembered it; they are uncommon here. He would have said, 'A negro, good-looking,' or something of that sort. His color would have impressed the dying man."

"Well, why was the negro so scared?" I asked.

"Probably recognized the description as that of someone he knew."

"Perhaps not," said Moore. "He may have been just emotional; the race is very superst.i.tious."

"If I make no mistake," continued Oakes, "Mona is going to see queer doings. The people's minds are at a great tension. In any event, this affair is not ours. That is--not as we see it now."

Our welcome from the servants seemed genuine in its sincerity, and Cook and his wife ushered us up to our rooms. The hall from the front door was a long one, and the stairs leading to the upper floor was broad and well carpeted. Our rooms, two in number, were over the parlor and the dining-room, the latter the scene of the occurrences so frequently described. Oakes was given the back room looking on the river, and over the balcony; Moore and I occupied the front room, over the parlor. On the other side of the hall were two large rooms--guest chambers, we were told. They formed the roof of the dance or reception hall below--to the right of the door as we entered--and always kept locked, as Annie told us. In fact, the dance hall and the two large chambers overhead formed the north side of the house and had not been used for many years.

According to tradition, the hall had been a gay centre in the years gone by, when the Mansion was the leading house in the village. It had now lost its prestige to new and magnificent residences of the rich New York men of affairs, who had recently come into the town to make it their home and to transform all its social conditions and to add life and new energy to the country around.

During the forenoon we examined the downstairs rooms pretty thoroughly. We did it in an unostentatious manner. The rooms had several windows, and the front one facing the road in the distance had a large fireplace. Oakes examined this carefully and shook his head in a negative manner.

The back room facing the river on the west, the lawn and the estate on the south, was the dining-room. Its four large windows, two on each side, extended down, in the old style, to within a foot of the encircling porch. Again there was a large fireplace, and I looked over it closely; but it was solidly built and seemed to have been undisturbed for years. The entire room was paneled in oak, and this appeared to be new.

"It was right here that I had my experience," said the detective, as he stood by the windows to the west.

I was near the centre of the room, leaning upon the table, and Moore was farther along on the other side of the fireplace, near the eastern wall.

We were quite interested in the place, and I am sure I felt anything but secure.

Dr. Moore laughed in his careless way. "Look out, old fellow," said he, "it will catch you again."

Oakes and I stepped out on the balcony, through the low-silled window, and looked across the river. I heard a rustle, I thought--a half-m.u.f.fled tread; a swish, a peculiar noise--and Oakes jumped to the centre of the balcony.

"Look out! That's the noise," cried the detective.

We both glanced toward Moore, and saw a terrible sight. The strong man was unsteady on his feet, his knees were bent, and his head thrown forward. Great drops of perspiration were rolling off his pale face. He looked like a man about to fall. "Help, for G.o.d's sake, help!" he cried, and clutched at his neck.

That instant the physician came across the room, hurled by terrific force. I caught him as he fell, and saved him from an injury against the table. He was overcome completely; he held his neck in a pained position and groaned.

Oakes, weapon in hand, advanced to the hall. We all heard a distant m.u.f.fled noise, preceded by a slam. At that instant our attention was called to the balcony. A figure jumped on the porch from the west side and dashed past the windows, leaving the balcony near its southern end, and disappearing in the trees beyond.

"A man!" said Oakes, "and he was hiding behind the porch."

"Yes, but _he_ did not do it; how could he have run there so quickly?" I answered.

"Better take Moore upstairs," saying which, Oakes jumped from the room, and instead of going out of the front door, he sprang to the west end of the hall near the dining-room, and opened a door I had not noticed.

"Where are you going?" said I.

"Into the cellar. Don't follow, unless I shoot." He was gone.

I partly carried, partly helped Dr. Moore up to his room and placed him on the bed. He was pale, and I realized he was shocked. I found my flask, and gave him a good drink, and then saw that the back of his neck was bleeding. I bathed it, and tied it up in a clean towel.

As I worked, he held his revolver in his hand and watched the door, talking quickly and earnestly. He told me about how he had wondered if Oakes were insane, then of the a.s.sault on himself; how he had heard the noise and had certainly been attacked by some living being, and was satisfied that his suspicions could not be correct. He had been thoroughly converted. All this took some time, and now we were wondering what had become of our friend. The minutes pa.s.sed, and I decided to descend and see what the servants were doing, and raise an alarm.

Just as I was setting off we heard two pistol cracks, m.u.f.fled, but the noise from cartridges such as we carried, nevertheless. I grasped my weapon and started downstairs. As I reached the top of the landing, I heard the cellar door close with a bang on the floor below, and heard a slow tread ascending the stairs. I retreated, so as to aid my wounded companion.

The tread advanced along the hall. It was that of a man, limping. The next instant we recognized Oakes's voice: "Where are you, anyway?"

We spoke, and the next instant he appeared on our threshold, revolver in hand, with his face pale and drawn, and his figure less erect, less self-reliant than usual.

He was b.l.o.o.d.y from a wound on his head, and his clothes were torn in shreds. He steadied himself with his left hand against the door frame.

"Great goodness, Oakes, what is wrong?" said Dr. Moore, rising to help his friend.

"What the devil!" I exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"In the cellar," said Oakes.

"What have you been doing?" said Moore, in a most excitable way.

Back came the answer in a feeble tone: "Really, I don't know. Having a little practice, I guess."

"Catch him, Stone," cried Moore.

I jumped forward, and the stalwart figure dropped vertically--collapsing at the knees, then pitched headlong into the room.

I saved the face before it struck the floor.

_CHAPTER IX_

_Distrust and Suspicion_

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 p.r.o.nounced a total stranger by those who had seen him, pointed strongly to him as the possible a.s.sa.s.sin. 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 a.s.sertions 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 a.s.sociated, 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 a.s.sa.s.sin? 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.