Part 34 (2/2)

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.

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