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

Maloney faced Oakes a moment; his chest heaved once or twice as his breath returned; he crouched, then sidled into position for a spring and launched himself toward Oakes, who, pale as death, stood swaying, his arms 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 both together out into the pond to death.

Instantly Oakes's swaying body tightened and steadied. I knew then, as did Larkin, that Oakes had been deceiving Maloney--that the detective was still master of himself. As the heavy body closed upon him, Oakes stepped suddenly forward. His left arm shot upward with a vicious, swinging motion, and as his fist reached the jaw, his body lurched forward and sideways, in a terrible muscular effort, carrying fearful impetus 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 speed and certainty.

The on-rushing maniac was half stopped and twisted in his course. His head swung sideways and outward with the last impact upon the jaw; his legs failed to lift, and with a wabbling, shuddering tremor the body sank to the water's edge. The next instant Hallen came tumbling on to the murderer. I heard the click of handcuffs; I saw the white shirt and black trousers of Elliott squirm up the bank, and next moment the vigorous swimmer, the aristocratic, great-hearted club-man, caught Oakes in his arms as the detective lurched forward and fell, momentarily overcome 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 the north end, the men a.s.sisting Oakes carefully up the incline to us, and bringing also Maloney.

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

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

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

"Look at his left arm, boys."

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

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

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

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

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

_CHAPTER XXV_

_The Man of the Hour_

Soon we heard the tones of a bell from far away--one, two, three--then a pause, then a few quick strokes, followed by a low, single deep note.

Hallen answered our looks of astonishment.

"That's the old bell of headquarters. The Mayor promised to ring it, day or night, when the mystery was solved, and Dowd has carried the news."

Then again came the deep tones in quicker rhythm, and we knew it was all the old bell could do in the way of joy.

We scarce had time to congratulate Oakes on the splendid termination of his work before Hallen was away with his men, taking Maloney to town by a roundabout way.

Then came the crowd to besiege the Mansion and to call for Oakes, and for Hallen; in fact, for us all. The growling and discontent had vanished; the past uneasiness was gone. Oakes and Hallen were now the heroes of Mona. Oakes spoke a few words of thanks to the crowd and tried to dispose of it by saying that Hallen had returned to town with the prisoner; but it lingered long before the Mansion, discussing the successful termination of Mona's woes.

Now that a master had unravelled the mystery, details were not difficult to supply. Many recalled, suddenly, that they had always thought Maloney "queer," though they had never considered as significant the points that might have been vital. Such is always the case with untrained observers.

We made our farewells that night, for we were to return to New York next day; but Quintus kept the hour of our going private, for, as he said to us, he had had too much of the kindness of Mona already, and there were whispers of an ovation or something of that sort reserved for our departure.

"You know, Stone," Oakes said to me, "we really don't deserve all this good feeling; these people will never stop. I am going to slip out quietly tomorrow, and you and Dr. Moore can come later."

"Nonsense," said I, "stay and let them show their appreciation of what you have done. Why, old man, you have changed the course of events in Mona--you cannot help being in their minds."

"You don't understand," said he. "I dislike heroics. Mona overestimates matters. I am going away unexpectedly."

Here he set his jaws hard and looked determined, self-reliant, half-disgusted. I knew that he was in earnest and that his nature was calling once more for action and not for praise.

At eleven o'clock next morning Oakes walked over to the police headquarters, while Dr. Moore and I remained in the hotel, casually watching him. He was going to make a short call on Chief Hallen, as he had frequently done before, and it was to be his farewell. He had planned to have a horse at the proper moment, and to mount quickly and leave for the station alone, thus avoiding notice and any demonstration.

Since we remained at the hotel, he hoped that the people would be misled into thinking that he would return to us, and that we would all go together.

But for once Quintus Oakes was wrong. Mona was on the lookout for him, and he had no sooner gone into headquarters than some one started the rumor that the man was going away quietly. In a minute the place was the centre of a seething, happy, expectant crowd. When Oakes finally appeared at the steps, instead of seeing his horse rounding the corner as he had planned, he beheld the crowd in waiting.

He made a step back to enter the headquarters door, but Chief Hallen laughingly held him, and Quintus Oakes was cornered.

Moore and I were now with the crowd, and joined in the laugh at his expense. A deep flush appeared on his face, but we all noticed a merry twinkle in his deep blue eyes, nevertheless.

Somebody cried for a speech. Oakes hesitated and again tried to retreat, but at that moment all eyes were turned suddenly to a wagon coming down the side street and accompanied by a small crowd.

It turned into the Square and a hush fell over all, for there in the vehicle was Maloney--the murderer, and an old gray-haired man--Skinner.

The murderer of Mr. Mark was handcuffed, and sat heavily guarded; but the old man was not a prisoner--his head was bowed in silent grief, as he sat by Maloney's side. It was evident to all that the prisoner was being removed from headquarters to the court-house for trial, and that the father was bearing his burden before the world.

Quintus Oakes gave a glance of pity at the prisoner, and an extremely sorrowful expression crossed his strong, handsome face as he recognized the old man by Maloney's side.

The populace, recovering from its surprise at sight of the wagon, changed its mood, and surrounded it with angry demonstrations, hissing and threatening. The face of the prisoner was calm, proud, defiant--the face of a man in triumphal entry. He was unconscious of his awful position, his awful crimes. He saw only the notoriety.

Dr. Moore turned to me. "See Maloney--see his face; he thinks himself a hero--he is too insane to appreciate the truth." But Skinner looked out upon the crowd and paled; then glancing up, he caught the eyes of Quintus Oakes, and with a harrowing, beseeching expression, bent his gray head into his hands.

The populace in fury tried to stop the wagon; but now, at this instant, Oakes rose to the occasion, and the _man_ showed the mettle and the humanity that was in him.

Rising to his full height, he spoke:

"Stop! This is no time to hiss. Remember, the murderer is irresponsible; the other is his father--an _old, old man_!"

As Quintus's voice rang out in its clear, strong notes, with a marvelously tender accent, and as the full meaning of his words became apparent, a sudden silence seized the crowd--a silence intense, uneasy, sympathetic. Quintus Oakes was single-handed, alone, but the master mind, the controlling man among us all.