"We have yet to learn the motive; also _why_ a man should wear a robe.

The mask is sensible enough, but why he impeded himself with a robe is beyond us as yet. It would hide his body, to be sure, as the mask would hide his face, but it would certainly greatly affect his chances of escape, if pursued. Cook, why was no investigation ever made before?"

"I don't know, sir. Mr. Odell was very timid."

"Did you ever go through the tunnel to the well?"

"Yes, sir. I used to go before the mystery began, but never afterward."

"How about the place in the stairs where the robe was found?"

"That was always there, sir, and used for the gardener's tools."

"Then the gardener knew of it?"

"Maloney, the older one, did, I am sure; he has been here a long time."

"Was he here before the mysteries?"

"Yes, sir, he has been five years on the place."

"Cook, what do you think of the murder of Winthrop Mark?"

It was one of those sudden questions that sometimes bring results.

"I don't know, sir--it is terrible, sir, of course."

"Where was Maloney yesterday, Cook?"

The man looked long at us. "He was here when I got up at six o'clock, raking the leaves on the front walk."

"Indeed!" said Oakes. We could not tell whether the answer surprised him, or not.

"I suppose Mike worked all day?"

"Yes, sir, he was about on the place the entire time."

Oakes made no remark whatever at this, but dismissed Cook.

"We cannot go too far in presence of the servants," said he, "for I am only Clark the agent here, you remember. The time is coming when we may have to declare ourselves and we may need police help to make arrests, but," he smiled, "we have Hallen as a friend, I guess."

Oakes was calmly sanguine, I could see, but of course he did not know that collateral events were brewing of grave importance to us all.

"Now for the robe and mask," said he.

I handed over the mask, an old affair and considerably worn from usage.

A piece of it was missing, which Oakes replaced with the fragment of paper picked up in the cellar; it fitted exactly, settling the fact that the mask had been worn by the man who fought him in that place.

The detective looked it all over and said: "This is such as was sold in New York years ago. It is ordinary, and offers no clue as to the owner or the place of purchase. I know the kind."

The robe was fairly long, and made of old velvet lined with satin, quite shiny inside and out. The name of its maker had been carefully cut away.

It was spotted with blood--Oakes's, no doubt--for it was fresh.

"It served a good purpose this time, anyway," said I; "saved the man's clothes from being marked."

"Medium chest measure," said Oakes. "Try it on, Stone."

I did so, and it just met around me.

"Good! The fellow who wore it is not a giant in chest measure, at all events, though larger than you, probably, since he wore it next to his undershirt."

"How in the world do you know that, Oakes?" said the doctor.

"Look at the discoloration of the lining on the shoulders, and also across the chest and back. The soil is old, but there is a moisture about the front yet, the moisture of fresh perspiration--it has been used quite recently. _That_ would not have come through a coat or a vest. I should not be surprised if he had worn it over his naked chest."

"Where do you suppose the outfit came from?" I asked.

"Probably a relic of some masquerade ball of many years ago. This house used to be a popular place for entertainments."

"What did you pick up in the cellar when you stooped for the match?"

"Oh, you noticed that? See for yourselves," and he showed us an old-fashioned heavy-calibre cartridge.

"And how about the closet in the steps, from which you took the robe?" I pursued.

"I happened to see the door, although both of you missed it. The person who hid the disguise there is quite familiar with that exit, evidently.

That narrows the search considerably," said Oakes. "But the robe is a mystery; it is a senseless thing to use under such circ.u.mstances."

"Yes--senseless; that is the word," spoke up Moore.

Oakes's eyes searched the physician's, but the latter made no further remark. I thought Oakes was sizing him up as pretty far from "senseless"

himself.

We now examined the robe more carefully, and saw that it was soiled with what appeared to me to be soot. Oakes shook his head. "No, it seems to be wood ash of some kind; see how light some of it is," he said.

He ran his hand along the inside of the robe, and found a small, well-worn slit--an opening to a deep pocket. Instantly he turned it inside out, and a small roll of paper dropped from it. He carefully unfolded it and spread it on the table.

"It is a piece of an old newspaper," said he, "and has been read much.

It has been thumbed till it is ready to fall apart. Read it, Stone. Your eyes are best."

I studied a while, and then began:

"DAILY NEWS, _October 30, 189-_.--The body was found face downward, on the main Highway, just below the crest of the Mona Hill. It was first seen by John Morney, who was going to the reservoir in advance of his gang of laborers. They were in sight when he discovered it; the time was therefore shortly before seven. The men were going to work at 6.30 from Mona. They recognized it instantly as the body of Orlando Smith, our beloved and esteemed citizen. Death had occurred only a short time before, and the murder must have been done about daybreak.

It was evident that Mr. Smith was returning from his factory, where he had spent the night, the shift having been doubled recently, owing to the pressure of business. Later examinations showed that the bullet entered the chest and was from a large revolver, a 44 or 45 calibre. The ball was not found.

"We are unable to give any more particulars now, before the time of going to press."

"That is all," I said.