Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story

by Charles Ross Jackson

  _CHAPTER XX_

  _A Man's Confession_

  The assault upon Maloney was now the talk of the town. Hallen, who hadenjoyed a respite from censure, was again furiously blamed for inabilityand incompetence. None but our select few discerned that Maloney waslying, for none knew as much of the intricacies of the case as did we.All were crying out for the instant arrest of the one who had attemptedto kill him, but none but the few who had heard Maloney's statementwithin headquarters knew that it was O'Brien he had accused--and onlythose few knew that his story was probably false.

  Although the order had gone forth quietly, as we knew, to "find MikeO'Brien," still it was not known to any save Hallen's and Oakes's men.

  The masses were in ignorance of the strides we had made twardsthe solution of the horrible happenings at Mona, and, of course, Hallenwas getting more than he deserved in the way of criticism.

  Oakes told us that he momentarily expected some new developments in thecase, as Hallen was endeavoring to find Skinner and bring him to theMansion. His surmises proved true, for it was found an easy matter tolocate the old man; and early in the evening Hallen arrived at theMansion and joined us in the apartments upstairs, and with him wereMartin and Skinner.

  Dowd, the rival of the old man, was with us, having begged earnestly ofOakes to be allowed to follow as close to the action as possible, andhaving stuck by us like a veritable leech since the morning. Dowd was anice fellow, and a newspaper man from start to finish, and he seemed tohave developed a great liking for Oakes.

  We were all upstairs when Martin ushered in the tall, rather slender,but powerful old man, Skinner. None of us, save Hallen, had seen him atclose range before; but I saw a curious expression, half of defiance,half of dismay, in his face, that made me watch him most closely. Dr.Moore was scanning his features carefully in a way that showed he haddetected something, but Quintus Oakes, rising from his seat andadvancing politely to meet the old gentleman, seemed neither to haveseen anything nor to know anything. He was just the polished gentlemanwe all knew so well; but I noticed that, as he shook hands with Mr.Skinner, he cast a quick glance at the man's arm and the wrist, and thenat the old man's eyes.

  Moore whispered: "He has excluded Skinner as the criminal. Look! see himtake it all in."

  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 hadfailed to detect.

  "Mr. Skinner, allow me," said he, gracefully. "It's not well lightedhere; I imagine that little white scar on your right eye--on yourcornea, just in front of the pupil--interferes somewhat with yourvision."

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

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

  Moore and Hallen exchanged glances; and the knowledge was general tous--the old man was _not_ the murderer, for the assassin could shootwell, 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?" queriedSkinner.

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

  "Well, Chief, they're keeping you busy. They tell me you don't like itbecause I exposed that fellow who palmed himself off as Mr. QuintusOakes--that man Rogers, you know."

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

  "Suppose you are! you haven't got him yet. You can search me, Chief. Ithink Mr. Quintus Oakes here is entitled to all the credit sofar--eh--don't you?"

  The old fellow turned to Oakes as he spoke the words that showed he wasnot 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 wasyour letter I received. But why did you warn me? Was it to protect yoursecret?"

  Oakes had acted all along as though he had learned some things he hadnot spoken of to us--he and Hallen had seemed to comprehend more than weothers 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 tokeep away from Mona--I knew of the Mansion mysteries--I knew you bysight in New York--I recognized you here on your first visit--I did notwant to see a good man get in trouble."

  "Thank you," said Oakes, "thank you. Your kindness was appreciated, butyou have another motive--you are shielding someone."

  "None--no one," came the answer.

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

  The old man was shaking violently. He arose, tottered and sat down. Thenburying his head in his hands, he remained silent for a space ofseconds. Then shaking his head, he moaned: "No, I can't explain. I hadgiven him all. Mr. Oakes, he was not robbing me--he seemed angry--he--Icould not understand."

  "I can," said Oakes. "The man you have befriended these many years, theman 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 printingoffice--that man, we think, is a maniac. We surmise that he has thekilling mania. Did you not suspect it?"

  The old man's manner changed to one of terrified inquiry. "Why, I neversuspected--I--I thought he was peculiar--I mistrusted he was at thebottom of the Mansion mysteries--I wanted to send him away to give him ashow."

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

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

  Moore was at his side with a drink, and we all placed him on the sofaand watched the color return to the yellow-white face, and therespirations 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, thedetective, in tones gentle but strong, called Skinner's attention tothe fact that his conduct in using the influence of his journal againstHallen and the discovery of the criminal needed an explanation.

  Skinner arose, steadied himself, and turning to Hallen said, in a voicescarcely audible: "Chief, I have always been a good citizen till now. Iwanted Maloney to get away. He would not go. I thought he might be atthe bottom of the Mansion mysteries, but I had no idea he could be amurderer. I did not wish his identity revealed; I tried to discourageMr. Oakes. I tried to save my reputation, Chief--to save a name good asthe world goes; but this is my punishment. Study my face, Chief--studymy eyes, my chin. Then imagine a handsome Spanish face--dark-haired,dark-skinned. Do you see why Maloney has blue eyes and a squarechin--with hair black as the Indian's and skin swarthy as night?Gentlemen, do you understand? She is dead. Maloney does not know. Icared for the lad. He is my son. He always has been eccentric, butalthough perhaps insane, I had no proof. I tried to hide my secret, butif Justice demands his capture, Chief, I am at your disposal."

  The old man extended his hands, his lips quivering with the words thatspelled ruin, and advanced to the Chief, as though expecting arrest,while we all remained motionless, in pitying silence.

  Hallen glanced at him. Then the burly fellow turned suddenly
to Martin:"Here, you son of a dandy!" said he, as we all smiled and Oakes bit hislip in suppressed emotion, "here! you go on down to the stable and tellmy coachman to drive round to the front door--I am going to have himdrive home with Mr. Skinner." Then they walked to the door, the old manhalf-leaning on the thick-set, muscular shoulders of Hallen. At thethreshold the Chief turned quickly: "If any of you ducks say anything,you're a lot of dudes," and the two disappeared downstairs to thecoach.

  After Hallen had returned to the room, and as the rumble of the wheelsdied away in the distance, Dowd addressed a question to Oakes. He wantedto know how Oakes had secured advance information as to the history ofSkinner and the handkerchief.

  "Well, Dowd, as soon as Skinner began antagonizing our moves, Isuspected that he was the writer of the letter of warning. Then Iordered his history--you know those things are easily obtained. He camehere years ago it seems, comparatively unknown, and worked his way up,employing a young fellow for many years in his office. This young fellowwent West, but returned later. He was Maloney. He had not the mentalattainments for his employer's business, but the older man kept in touchwith the younger, even after he found it necessary to dispense with hisservices. When I saw Skinner, I detected some resemblance betweenthem--this seems to have escaped general notice, but Dr. Moore was notdeceived. A study of the eyes and the ears and the nose confirmed mysuspicions of the paternity of Maloney; but all that, while interesting,was not so valuable as the knowledge that Maloney had severalhandkerchiefs given him by Skinner. You see, Skinner's conduct was sosuspicious throughout that we have investigated him thoroughly. We foundhe wore such handkerchiefs around his neck in the printing office. Wefound Mrs. Cook was aware that Maloney had some of them--he told herthat Mr. Skinner gave them to him. He always was proud of Skinner'sfriendship."

  "Then you knew all about it this morning, Quintus," I cried, exasperatedat the man's taciturnity; "you knew when you said you would tell whoO'Brien was, if I would tell whether the 'S' had anything to do withSkinner."

  "No, but I mistrusted; the proofs were only more recently secured."

  "Then, as you now have the answer regarding the 'S,' it seems only fairthat you tell us who O'Brien is," I cried.

  Oakes became very serious. "I believe O'Brien was the man watching onthe balcony when Dr. Moore was assaulted; also that he was the man atthe bridge who warned you, Stone, of danger, but who has kept hisidentity hidden. We had strong proof that he was at the hut watching, aswere we; he accidentally left a part of his shirt with my man, remember.I also believe that he was wounded and is in hiding--wounded by Maloney,on the Highway, when he was about to close in upon him."

  "What do you mean?" cried Moore. "What curious conduct for a man--tokeep in hiding!"

  "No, not at all," answered Oakes sharply. "Remember how you saw him onhorseback one night, revolver in hand. Well, he was attending tobusiness. _O'Brien is working on the Mansion mysteries._ I believe heonly knows half of the affair; he does not realize Maloney may be themurderer of Mark--his conduct is in accord with that of a bravedetective working single-handed and desiring to keep his identitysecret."

  "A _detective_!"

  "Yes, I fancy so," answered Oakes, with a smile on his face. "Why not?We are not the only bees around the honeysuckle."

  "By George! I never thought of that," exclaimed Moore.

  "Indeed!" retorted Oakes in dulcet tones. "Why should you? You have notplayed this game before--it is new to you."

  "And does Hallen know, does he mistrust that O'Brien is a detective?"

  Oakes laughed. "Boys, you're slow. Of course he does. He has even foundout there is a well-known detective by the name of Larkin who is fond ofthe alias O'Brien. This Larkin has a scar under his hair in front. Wewill perhaps be able to identify O'Brien soon."

  "What made you first mistrust?" I asked.

  "Why, remember how curiously O'Brien acted when we hunted the robe--howindifferent he was--how he used dialect!"

  "Yes, but why--how?"

  "Well," interrupted Oakes, "that dialect was poor--unnatural,consequently perhaps assumed. That was the first clue to explain thecurious actions of Maloney's loving friend, who has stuck to him likemolasses to a fly's leg."

  "Let us go into town and have dinner at the hotel," I cried, disgustedat my lack of perspicacity. My invitation was accepted with the usualalacrity of hungry men, and we soon were striding along--Hallen, Oakesand Moore in front and Dowd, Elliott and myself behind. We walked closetogether, discussing the events and joking at one another in greatgood-natured animal spirits, for things were coming to a head now andBroadway was not so far off after all.

  As the darkness closed in upon us, relieved only by the faint glimmeringof the rising moon, we were in a compact body--an excellent target.Strong in the presence of each other, we had for a moment forgotten thatwe were in the land where a brain disordered was at liberty. We, thecriminal hunters, were but human--and this was our error.