_CHAPTER VIII_
_The Mansion_
Mona was situated on a plateau terminating rather abruptly at the riveron the west, and elevated well above its waters. In the neighborhood ofthe station it was high, and a long climb. A mile farther down stream,where the Mansion sat on the edge of the cliff, the elevation was not sogreat--perhaps a hundred feet or more above the railroad tracks by theriver. The Mansion end of the plateau was lower, therefore, than thetown. Beyond, up the river, the land lay at the same elevation as Mona.The beautiful place itself was some distance back from the crest of theplateau and was approached from the river by the highway we had known sowell that day. This was intersected at right angles on the plain aboveby River Road, which ran parallel to the waters below.
The junction of these two roads was known as "The Corners." Uponfollowing River Road for nearly a mile toward the south one wouldarrive at the Mansion gate.
The other road--the Highway, as it was called--led directly to Mona, inthe centre of the plateau which gradually terminated to the north, southand east in the rolling hills of that region.
Never was town site better selected; never was place more hopeful untilrecently, when the blackness and gloom of the unoccupied Mansion, withits tale of dread, seemed to have extended to men's minds and laid itsgrasp of uncanniness and uneasiness on business and pleasure. And now,to make the slough of despond deeper, had come the sharp, quick act of amurderer--above all, an unknown assassin--and a crime similar to onescarce forgotten.
The Mansion gate opened directly from River Road, and a walk of abouttwo hundred yards brought the visitor to the front door. The back of theMansion faced the river directly to the west, the balcony of the backparlor and dining-room half-circled the south and west sides of thehouse, and had evidently been much used. The woodwork was old and theflooring quite worn. The front of the place was pillared in oldColonial style, and was of stone, hewn in the rough and built in apermanent fashion.
Across River Road, right in front of the gate, came an uneven roll ofthe country, or break in the plateau. The ground billowed deeply for atleast a quarter of a mile, parallel to the road. The slope from the roadwas gradual to a little pond of considerable depth at the bottom of thedepression. On the farther side the ground rose more abruptly, but notso high as on the Mansion side. The pond itself was about one hundredfeet in width; and one standing by the Mansion exit could see both thepond and the ascent beyond, and, over the crest of the billowy ground,the distant woods and the country to the east.
Down from the road a little path dipped, and at its foot a frail bridgecrossed the pond; for here the two shores were quite close. Either shoreprojected into a point, and about fifty feet of bridge had been builtwith logs, resting half-way on a rude pillar of stones in the water.This bridge continued the path up the far slope and over the crestbeyond. It was a short cut to the country and the southern suburb ofMona.
Within the grounds of the Mansion, extending northward to the Highwayand the scene of the murder, and southward into the uninhabited country,was a forest of oak and of elm, interspersed with an occasional fir. Onecould easily wander between the trunks of these trees, but havingentered a few rods, all traces would be lost of the outside world. Itafforded an excellent shelter for anyone desiring to escape detection.
We noticed all these points as we drove to the Mansion next morning. Wefound the care-takers awaiting us, and more than glad to again see Mr.Clark, as they knew Oakes.
The events of the day before had crowded fast upon us, and had left uswell known in the town. The name of Clark was on every tongue. Oakesremarked that morning, before we started for the Mansion, that he hopedthe people would not identify him. "If they do, we cannot help it,however," he said; "we cannot control events like these." Then hesuddenly asked me: "How about that negro? He was handsome, you say?"
"Yes, rather black, with remarkably clear-cut features."
"Indeed! Then he may be traced through his good looks."
"Do you think he is the murderer?"
"That's difficult," said Oakes; "but I should think not. Had the deedbeen done by a negro boy, the victim would have remembered it; they areuncommon here. He would have said, 'A negro, good-looking,' or somethingof that sort. His color would have impressed the dying man."
"Well, why was the negro so scared?" I asked.
"Probably recognized the description as that of someone he knew."
"Perhaps not," said Moore. "He may have been just emotional; the race isvery superstitious."
"If I make no mistake," continued Oakes, "Mona is going to see queerdoings. The people's minds are at a great tension. In any event, thisaffair is not ours. That is--not as we see it now."
Our welcome from the servants seemed genuine in its sincerity, and Cookand his wife ushered us up to our rooms. The hall from the front doorwas a long one, and the stairs leading to the upper floor was broad andwell carpeted. Our rooms, two in number, were over the parlor and thedining-room, the latter the scene of the occurrences so frequentlydescribed. Oakes was given the back room looking on the river, and overthe balcony; Moore and I occupied the front room, over the parlor. Onthe other side of the hall were two large rooms--guest chambers, we weretold. They formed the roof of the dance or reception hall below--to theright of the door as we entered--and always kept locked, as Annie toldus. In fact, the dance hall and the two large chambers overhead formedthe north side of the house and had not been used for many years.According to tradition, the hall had been a gay centre in the years goneby, when the Mansion was the leading house in the village. It had nowlost its prestige to new and magnificent residences of the rich New Yorkmen of affairs, who had recently come into the town to make it theirhome and to transform all its social conditions and to add life and newenergy to the country around.
During the forenoon we examined the downstairs rooms prettythoroughly. We did it in an unostentatious manner. The rooms had severalwindows, and the front one facing the road in the distance had a largefireplace. Oakes examined this carefully and shook his head in anegative manner.
The back room facing the river on the west, the lawn and the estate onthe south, was the dining-room. Its four large windows, two on eachside, extended down, in the old style, to within a foot of theencircling porch. Again there was a large fireplace, and I looked overit closely; but it was solidly built and seemed to have been undisturbedfor years. The entire room was paneled in oak, and this appeared to benew.
"It was right here that I had my experience," said the detective, as hestood by the windows to the west.
I was near the centre of the room, leaning upon the table, and Moore wasfarther along on the other side of the fireplace, near the eastern wall.We were quite interested in the place, and I am sure I felt anything butsecure.
Dr. Moore laughed in his careless way. "Look out, old fellow," said he,"it will catch you again."
Oakes and I stepped out on the balcony, through the low-silled window,and looked across the river. I heard a rustle, I thought--a half-muffledtread; a swish, a peculiar noise--and Oakes jumped to the centre of thebalcony.
"Look out! That's the noise," cried the detective.
We both glanced toward Moore, and saw a terrible sight. The strong manwas unsteady on his feet, his knees were bent, and his head thrownforward. Great drops of perspiration were rolling off his pale face. Helooked like a man about to fall. "Help, for God's sake, help!" he cried,and clutched at his neck.
That instant the physician came across the room, hurled by terrificforce. I caught him as he fell, and saved him from an injury against thetable. He was overcome completely; he held his neck in a pained positionand groaned.
Oakes, weapon in hand, advanced to the hall. We all heard a distantmuffled noise, preceded by a slam. At that instant our attention wascalled to the balcony. A figure jumped on the porch from the west sideand dashed past the windows, leaving the balcony near its southern end,and disappearing in the trees beyond.
"A man!" said Oakes, "
and he was hiding behind the porch."
"Yes, but _he_ did not do it; how could he have run there so quickly?" Ianswered.
"Better take Moore upstairs," saying which, Oakes jumped from the room,and instead of going out of the front door, he sprang to the west end ofthe hall near the dining-room, and opened a door I had not noticed.
"Where are you going?" said I.
"Into the cellar. Don't follow, unless I shoot." He was gone.
I partly carried, partly helped Dr. Moore up to his room and placed himon the bed. He was pale, and I realized he was shocked. I found myflask, and gave him a good drink, and then saw that the back of his neckwas bleeding. I bathed it, and tied it up in a clean towel.
As I worked, he held his revolver in his hand and watched the door,talking quickly and earnestly. He told me about how he had wondered ifOakes were insane, then of the assault on himself; how he had heard thenoise and had certainly been attacked by some living being, and wassatisfied that his suspicions could not be correct. He had beenthoroughly converted. All this took some time, and now we were wonderingwhat had become of our friend. The minutes passed, and I decided todescend and see what the servants were doing, and raise an alarm.
Just as I was setting off we heard two pistol cracks, muffled, but thenoise from cartridges such as we carried, nevertheless. I grasped myweapon and started downstairs. As I reached the top of the landing, Iheard the cellar door close with a bang on the floor below, and heard aslow tread ascending the stairs. I retreated, so as to aid my woundedcompanion.
The tread advanced along the hall. It was that of a man, limping. Thenext instant we recognized Oakes's voice: "Where are you, anyway?"
We spoke, and the next instant he appeared on our threshold, revolver inhand, with his face pale and drawn, and his figure less erect, lessself-reliant than usual.
He was bloody from a wound on his head, and his clothes were torn inshreds. He steadied himself with his left hand against the door frame.
"Great goodness, Oakes, what is wrong?" said Dr. Moore, rising to helphis friend.
"What the devil!" I exclaimed. "Where have you been?"
"In the cellar," said Oakes.
"What have you been doing?" said Moore, in a most excitable way.
Back came the answer in a feeble tone: "Really, I don't know. Having alittle practice, I guess."
"Catch him, Stone," cried Moore.
I jumped forward, and the stalwart figure dropped vertically--collapsingat the knees, then pitched headlong into the room.
I saved the face before it struck the floor.
Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story Page 8
