Part 29 (1/2)

Oakes was leading Skinner to a seat, and as he walked, he spoke freely.

He had discovered that which Dr. Moore had also seen, but which I had failed to detect.

”Mr. Skinner, allow me,” said he, gracefully. ”It's not well lighted here; I imagine that little white scar on your right eye--on your cornea, just in front of the pupil--interferes somewhat with your vision.”

”Yes, Mr. Clark, it does interfere just a trifle.”

”Just enough to spoil duck-shooting, eh! I understand you used to be quite fond of that sort of thing, Mr. Skinner.”

Moore and Hallen exchanged glances; and the knowledge was general to us--the old man was _not_ the murderer, for the a.s.sa.s.sin could shoot well, and the old scar on the eye prevented that in Skinner's case.

”But to what do I owe the honor of a request to call at the Mansion, escorted by such a nice young man, to see Mr. Clark, the agent?” queried Skinner.

The old fellow was shrewd--he looked at Hallen and smiled half-heartedly. Then he looked at me, and remarked that we had met before somewhere, and extending his hand to Moore, he said he guessed he was glad to know us all better. Then turning quietly to Chief Hallen, he laughed, and gave us a shock from which we were unable to rally for a few moments.

”Well, Chief, they're keeping you busy. They tell me you don't like it because I exposed that fellow who palmed himself off as Mr. Quintus Oakes--that man Rogers, you know.”

”No, I did not like it particularly--it interfered with my plans; I am trying to catch the murderer of Mr. Mark, you know.”

”Suppose you are! you haven't got him yet. You can search me, Chief. I think Mr. Quintus Oakes here is ent.i.tled to all the credit so far--eh--don't you?”

The old fellow turned to Oakes as he spoke the words that showed he was not to be fooled into believing Oakes was Clark.

We moved nearer. Skinner knew all, apparently.

Then Oakes arose to meet the occasion, and stood before the old man: ”Mr. Skinner, I thank you for warning me not to come to Mona--it was your letter I received. But why did you warn me? Was it to protect your secret?”

Oakes had acted all along as though he had learned some things he had not spoken of to us--he and Hallen had seemed to comprehend more than we others knew; but I was scarce prepared for such a sudden revelation.

”Stop!” cried the old man, ”stop! you have no right--I did warn you to keep away from Mona--I knew of the Mansion mysteries--I knew you by sight in New York--I recognized you here on your first visit--I did not want to see a good man get in trouble.”

”Thank you,” said Oakes, ”thank you. Your kindness was appreciated, but you have another motive--you are s.h.i.+elding someone.”

”None--no one,” came the answer.

”Nonsense!” and Oakes's eyes blazed as he spoke; ”you tried to send him away this morning. You gave him money at the hut. You were nearly killed by the man you are protecting. Can you explain it?”

The old man was shaking violently. He arose, tottered and sat down. Then burying his head in his hands, he remained silent for a s.p.a.ce of seconds. Then shaking his head, he moaned: ”No, I can't explain. I had given him all. Mr. Oakes, he was not robbing me--he seemed angry--he--I could not understand.”

”I can,” said Oakes. ”The man you have befriended these many years, the man Maloney who used to work with you in your shop, to whom you gave, among many other things, a red bandana handkerchief with your initial 'S' upon it--one of those handkerchiefs you use about the printing office--that man, we think, is a maniac. We surmise that he has the killing mania. Did you not suspect it?”

The old man's manner changed to one of terrified inquiry. ”Why, I never suspected--I--I thought he was peculiar--I mistrusted he was at the bottom of the Mansion mysteries--I wanted to send him away to give him a show.”

Oakes hesitated, then answered evasively, but forcefully: ”Maloney is probably irresponsible. He is the man of the Mansion--the woman, so called, of the Smith murder--the murderer of Mr. Mark--we believe, but we are without _proof_ as yet.”

The old man's face filled with the blood dammed back from the throbbing heart, then paled as the heart-strokes weakened, and the cold sweat of collapse appeared in beady drops upon his brow.

Moore was at his side with a drink, and we all placed him on the sofa and watched the color return to the yellow-white face, and the respirations deepen again.

Oakes bent solicitously above him. ”There is something back of all this, Skinner. Maloney is more than a friend.” Then, as the old man rose, the detective, in tones gentle but strong, called Skinner's attention to the fact that his conduct in using the influence of his journal against Hallen and the discovery of the criminal needed an explanation.

Skinner arose, steadied himself, and turning to Hallen said, in a voice scarcely audible: ”Chief, I have always been a good citizen till now. I wanted Maloney to get away. He would not go. I thought he might be at the bottom of the Mansion mysteries, but I had no idea he could be a murderer. I did not wish his ident.i.ty revealed; I tried to discourage Mr. Oakes. I tried to save my reputation, Chief--to save a name good as the world goes; but this is my punishment. Study my face, Chief--study my eyes, my chin. Then imagine a handsome Spanish face--dark-haired, dark-skinned. Do you see why Maloney has blue eyes and a square chin--with hair black as the Indian's and skin swarthy as night?