Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story — 09 Distrust And Suspicion

_Distrust and Suspicion_ The day following the murder of Winthrop Mark was one of uneasiness and dejection for the towns-people of Mona.

The court scenes of the day before and the great excitement caused by the discovery of the crime had left their stamp.

Disquietude was bred and nurtured by the crime itself, and the absence of clues save those of the arm.

It was rumored and reiterated that Chief Hallen had failed to discover the slightest evidence as to the perpetrator, and that the bullet even had remained unfound, as was most natural; but people look at things in a narrow light sometimes, and this was an occasion of deep trouble and much gossip for the town.

The peculiar action of the negro, whom few had seen but all had heard, and who was pronounced a total stranger by those who had seen him, pointed strongly to him as the possible assassin.

With his escape had come mutterings against Chief Hallen.

Why had the court-house not been watched?

Where were the local authorities?

Why had he been allowed to get away so easily?

All these questions remained unanswered, for few stopped to think that there were _no_ local detectives, and only a few local policemen.

Then in the midst of these disgruntled thoughts and assertions appeared the mental picture of Clark, known in the town before, and now the most conspicuous man in it, towering above all in his active personality, as in his figure and sayings.

Talk is cheap in such a place, and talk has made or unmade many a man.

The great run of Clark to the victim's side and the dramatic and terrible evidence he gave at the inquest was spoken of--at first with awe, and then with alarm.

And to think he had gone to the Mansion to spend a short time again, gone to the place of all others that one should avoid at this time--gone to the house where terror dwelt and at the end of whose grounds the murder had been committed!

Hallen, whose word was known to be "law," had vouched for this.

The personality of Clark--stood silhouetted on the sky of lowering discontent.

The only clue worth having was that one relating to the arms of the murderer, and, given to the public as it purposely had been by Clark in a moment of suspense, it had found deep rooting place in all minds.

Who was the man with the great arms, and with the "blue cross" on one of them--the left?

Here was a small town--perhaps one thousand grown men.

Who had the cross--who?

Might it be _anyone_?

Yes, almost _anyone_!

Did anyone know of such a scar?

No, but who knew of his neighbor's arms?

Who could vouch for his friend?

Some few had been associated, one with another, as boys.

What of that?

It was years ago.

Suspicion was growing like a prairie fire, first a light that goes out, then flickers again and smoulders, anon meeting resistance and apparently dying; but all the while treacherously gaining and advancing in the roots and the dry stubble below, then suddenly bursting into flame.

With the first flame comes the inrush of air; then come the heat and the smoke and the low wall of fire; then the glare, the roar and the conflagration sweeping all before it.

So came suspicion to Mona.

And friendship, respect and brotherly love fled at its breath, as wild animals of the prairie flee before the advancing destruction.

By evening of the second day the far-sighted and most influential citizens detected the condition of affairs.

The older residents had noticed the peculiar similarity of this murder to that of Smith.

The coincidence of time and place was another factor.

Could it be the same assassin?

Had he dwelt with them all the while since?

The most respected and wealthy of the inhabitants shared the unenviable position of being under suspicion; there was no relief for anyone.

The two local newspapers published "extras," and could scarcely supply the demand.

The murders of Smith and Winthrop were reviewed carefully, and their similarity much written about.

The hotel and the two leading business streets were filled with suspicious, muttering groups.

Nothing had been found missing from the dead man; his watch and money were untouched.

His arrival by such an early train was not unusual.

He frequently went to New York for an outing, and returned before breakfast to his magnificent place on the hill to the east of the town, where he lived with two old maiden aunts--his mother's sisters.

Now all this uneasiness and suspicion had been noted--by Hallen, the Chief.

He was a man who, after living in the country for many years, had finally pushed himself to the top of a large police force in a city of importance.

The physical strain had told on him, however, and now he found himself back in a small town, recovered in health, but shut in as to future prospects.

The murder of Mark had come to him as a thunderbolt from a clear sky, but he saw opportunities in it.

When Oakes had visited him and made himself known, he had at first been jealous; but the former, with his wonderful insight, had made a friend of him.

"Hallen, if you manage this affair well, you will be famous.

They are looking for good men in New York all the while.

My work is in the Mansion; if our paths cross, let us work together."

So had suggested Oakes.

He had known about Hallen, as he knew the history of all police officers, and had thus given hope to the man who had been used to better things.

Instantly Hallen had seen that to antagonize Oakes would be foolish; to aid him, and perhaps obtain his advice and friendship, would ultimately redound to his own future credit and, possibly, advancement.

For Oakes's work had brought him in contact with police heads in all the large cities.

His boldness and genius for ferreting out mysteries were known to them all, and they had paid him the compliment of studying his methods carefully.

Hallen had agreed to have Oakes's testimony at the inquest taken at just the proper moment for effect, and had agreed to call Dr. Moore as an expert.

Of course, the coroner did what the Chief asked.

As Oakes had said: "If you want expert evidence, get it from Moore; if you don't ask him, you won't get it in Mona."

The idea of Oakes bringing in his testimony as he did was part of the plan to watch the audience.

The planning of the Chief and himself had accounted for the somewhat informal presentation of the evidence that I had noticed.

In rural courts, affairs are not conducted as they are in the city, and I had observed a quick swing to affairs, hardly accounted for on the ground of practice.

I recognized the hand of Quintus Oakes, and knew that the scene had been carefully manoeuvred.

Hallen sat in his office on the evening of the day after the inquest, reviewing the happenings that had crowded so fast in Mona, and thinking, not without misgivings, of the wave of suspicion that was rising to interfere with the affairs of the town.

At this moment the editor of the "Mona Mirror" entered--a whole-souled, fat individual, breezy and decidedly agreeable.

He was one of the natives, a man of growing popularity and decided education.

Dowd was his name, and he hated _that fellow Skinner_, who edited the rival newspaper, the "Daily News."

Skinner had "bossed" things in a free-handed fashion until Dowd (a clerk in the post-office until middle life) had decided to enter the field of journalism--less than two years before.

Dowd was inexperienced, but he was bright, and he wielded a pen that cut like a two-edged sword; and the love that was lost between the two editors was not worth mentioning.

As Dowd entered and found Hallen alone, he took off his hat and overcoat, and laughed sarcastically.

He really liked Hallen, and was on intimate terms with him.

Hallen looked up.

"Well, what's ailing you now?"

he said.

"Oh, nothing.

Only this town is going loony, sure as fate, Hallen.

What are you going to do?"

Hallen chewed the end of a cigar viciously.

"I am going to do the best I can to solve the mystery; if I cannot do that, I can at least keep order here.

Give me a few 'specials' and the necessity, and I will make these half-crazy people do a turn or two."

The burly chief turned the conversation into other channels, but Dowd was satisfied.

He knew the speaker well.

_CHAPTER X_