Oakes looked surprised, then his eyes beamed in merriment. He smiled ever so slightly.

"That certainly was a beautiful charge you made over me," said he.

He did not promise not to tell, however; but months afterwards, Dr.

Moore learned all about it from me, and I then found that Quintus had remained silent.

_CHAPTER XIX_

_A Faulty Story_

After breakfast, while Oakes gave the doctor a brief resume of our night's adventure, the two rival newspapers came out with "extras" on the recent doings. Skinner's comments were sarcastic and bitter, and, while not actually inciting to lawlessness, played upon the roused feelings of the towns-people by scathing allusions to Hallen's inefficiency, 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. The reading of his words won us more friends. Who does not like to hear two sides of an argument, or to read cool words of wisdom from one whose career ent.i.tles him to respect?

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

As we stood outside the hotel remarking upon the changed appearance of the streets, our attention was attracted to a small crowd approaching the Square from the direction of the Corners. There were men running ahead and shouting; then a close, compact body swaying around a central attraction. We thought we detected a man being helped along as though he were severely injured, and we clearly distinguished the words "Shot at!"

"The murderer!" and many expressions of anger and terror.

Oakes looked into the ma.s.s of men and scanned the pale face of the injured one. "It's Maloney," he said, seizing the doctor and myself by the arm. He pushed his way forward as the crowd recognized and opened for 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 I fell."

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 the rock, sir."

"How did it happen?" asked Oakes.

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

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

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

"Who was it?" asked Hallen of Maloney.

The man hesitated a while, but upon being pressed for an answer finally replied: "I have not dared to mention my suspicions, sir, but the fellow looked like Mike O'Brien. At any rate, he was wounded; he was walking with a limp, sir, and I saw blood on his trousers leg. He must have been in a sc.r.a.p or an accident."

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

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

Maloney answered quickly: "Because he thought I was dead, and I let him think so. If I had made any noise, sir, he would have finished me. I did not 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 it seemed clear from what Maloney said that the a.s.saulter escaped on horseback after he was seen by his intended victim, for Maloney insisted 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 the two laborers--his new found friends. Together they went for the hotel bar across the street. As they disappeared, Oakes exchanged glances with the doctor, and I knew that something was wrong. There came a long silence, which Hallen finally broke.

"This is a queer story, Oakes; I don't understand it. Is it the murderer at work again--and O'Brien accused? You say the Mansion mysteries are the 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 and knows very little of the Mansion. I cannot see his guilt. How do you explain it, Oakes?"

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

"Chief, I have just told you of Mr. Stone's adventures with me this morning--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 seriously injured, if at all."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, he has a strong wrist and long arms," answered Oakes--"that places him among the _possibles_; he also has a comparatively narrow chest, such as the man had who wore the robe--you remember we reasoned that out. Those three things cover much ground. Then, again, he is an old resident, knows all about the Mansion, was here when Smith was murdered."

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

"Yes, he was; he used to belong to the National Guard years ago. He was a 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."