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."