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Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story

CHAPTER VII The Inquest At the suggestion of Oakes, we mingled with the crowd for a short time and then returned to the town with some of the hotel employees, leaving the others in their excitement to await the action of the authorities. "This man Winthrop Mark seems to have been very well known?" Oakes inquired of the hotel porter by his side. The latter, anxious to identify himself with the town and its people, and also to please the stranger beside him who had made himself so prominent during the last few moments, gave much information. "Yes, Mr. Clark, the murdered man has lived hereabouts for a long time; his brother owns the Mark Mansion over yonder; the town has been very proud of it, you know." "Yes, a beautiful old place." [Pg 70] "It is, sir. But no place to live in; there has been something dangerous about it, sir." "Seems to me I heard something of it when I was last in Mona," said Oakes. "Did you have any experience, sir?" "Experience! What do you mean?" "I do not know, sir, but it always appears. Something that scares people." "Hurts the town, doesn't it?" "Yes, indeed, sir; and this murder will spoil everything here now." "I cannot quite follow you." "Oh, sir, you don't know how good Mr. Mark was: Always improving the roads; always giving the town money; forever clearing up jealousies," said the porter. Oakes looked at him: "Say, my man, how long have you been a porter? You don't speak like a man brought up in such work." "I was not, sir. I used to be a merchant, years ago; burned out; no insurance; broke; went to work as a porter; nothing else to do. The old story, Mr. Clark; I am not the first one!" [Pg 71] We knew Oakes was seeking some information, so we remained quiet. "Sad enough," said he; "perhaps times will improve for you." The porter, Reilly by name, smiled and looked at Oakes with that expression of hopeful despair we have all seen, we who rub the world in our continuous efforts. "Who could have shot Mr. Mark?" asked our companion, "did he have many enemies?" "No, Mr. Clark. I know of none. But——" and the man paused. "Well, what?" said the detective in an off-hand way. "Well, it's peculiar," said Reilly, "very peculiar to me. Two or three years ago, sir, Smith, the leading man of the town, was shot at the very same spot in the road." "What!" I cried; but a look from Oakes silenced me. "Indeed! quite a coincidence," said he. "Who shot him?" "Nobody knows. I was just going to work when it happened." [Pg 72] "Early in the day, then?" "Just about six o'clock, sir—and he was shot right through the chest," volunteered our informant. "Well, I hope they catch this fellow," said Oakes. "You have a good police chief here." "Yes, sir, very. He came up here first for his health; but he was once chief in some large city." "Ah, then he will get the murderer surely. Mona is fortunate in having such a man." Reilly looked pleased at the compliment, and it seemed as though Oakes had won another follower. Before we reached the hotel, we saw that the town was now wide awake. There were groups of men talking excitedly before nearly every business place—the bank, the dry-goods stores, drug-stores and newspaper offices. It was about their opening hour, and rumor had travelled fast. On the main street, Oakes left us with a word of caution. "Be careful what you say. There may be a connection between this affair and the Mansion mystery, but—we know nothing of either. The inquest may tell us something. Meantime, you two find out what you can by mingling with the crowd. [Pg 73]Learn all about Reilly; and anything you can pick up of the Smith murder he mentioned. I am going to see the Chief of Police; and, if possible, telephone to my office in New York." Moore and I walked around in the fast-increasing crowd, and talked with those who were returning from the scene of the murder. The people were settling down into a dull, sullen silence, as people will, after a great tragedy. This was a blow to the inhabitants here. The death of Mr. Mark was the loss of a friend to many, and of a leading citizen to all. Those engaged in business in what had been until recently a most prosperous little town foresaw the probable after-effect on confidence and the town's future. The demon of vengeance was rising in many hearts. The report of the coroner's jury was awaited with anxiety. The murderer would probably have escaped by that time—but better so—if once his identity could be discovered, than have another mysterious horror in the community. The police headquarters, a trim little brick building facing the square and the hotel, was the centre of real activity. [Pg 74] Oakes made his appearance alone at the top of the steps coming out from the corridor that led to the Chief's room. As he stood at the door glancing calmly around at the crowd, I thought what a magnificent man he was. He stood erect and composed, as though inviting scrutiny. His long overcoat was not carefully closed—its collar was turned partly up. He had put it on like the rest of us, after our return from the run, and he had done it quickly. His left hand was hanging down in a natural position; his right was in his overcoat pocket. The Fedora hat was slightly tilted back. He looked a half-careless, indifferent fellow, but the keen eyes missed nothing; they rested on me, on Moore and then on the crowd. He was the embodiment of searching coolness. The crowd recognized him and knew that he had seen the Chief of Police. They reasoned as one man that something important had been done. The tall city fellow had been first at the side of the victim; they had seen that. What did he know? And then they thought of that run and the exhibition of physical perfection that his powers had shown; and like a gentle ripple on the [Pg 75]brook came a murmur of admiration. Oakes stepped down and was the centre of much questioning. All the time the right hand remained in the coat pocket. I knew that it held death at command; that the revolver lay well in his grasp; that Quintus Oakes was now on guard, and the field was one with which he was well acquainted. Soon he entered the hotel, and we followed him to his room. "You must be at the inquest—both of you. Dr. Moore, you are well known as a surgeon and will view the body with the local doctors. They wish you to do so. They say you are known to them by reputation. You will be required as an expert witness. I have made my identity known to the Chief of Police." "Indeed," I said; "then everybody will know it." "No, they won't," said Oakes. "The Chief knows me by name. I know all about him; he is a good, shrewd man. I have explained our mission here, and have disclaimed any desire to have anything to do with this mystery, unless—unless it touches the other. The Chief, Hallen, wants my evidence, and he knows enough to see that we can all stand in together." [Pg 76] "He may help in the Mansion affair later," said Moore. "Yes," said Oakes. "I thought I might need him. Anyway, this murder is for the police at present. I succeeded in getting long-distance telephone, and found that Martin did not come here at all. He returned to the office after seeing Dr. Moore off on the train." "Good!" we exclaimed. "And what did you learn from the dying man? He spoke to you, we thought." "I learned something that has great possibilities," said Oakes. "Wait for the inquest. What have you learned?" I answered for us both: "Reilly is well known here and reliable. We could learn nothing of the Smith murder save that it had occurred about as this one, and was never solved. The old Chief of Police resigned on account of public opinion of his incompetency; the new Chief, Hallen, came in here a year or so ago." "Well," said Oakes, "so far—so good; but it looks to me as though there is some connection between these murders. I do not envy the local [Pg 77] officials a bit; the people won't stand much more mystery up here. Suspicion of one's neighbors is a terrible thing in a small community. By the way, when I give my evidence, watch me but little—watch the audience more. The criminal might be there!" "Yes," said Moore, turning to me; "they often seek the court under such circumstances, don't they?" "I believe it has been recorded," I rejoined. Then seeing Oakes move away, I asked where he was going. "I am going to look around for a while." "Better be cautious; you may be the next to get a bullet, for the criminal probably knows that you saw Mark alive. He may be anybody in town," I said. "Anybody! Nonsense. You may clear the women and children at least. That wound was made by a heavy-calibre weapon; it takes strength to handle such." Then he walked away. [Pg 78] The coroner empanelled the jury that afternoon. It was composed of milkmen, porters and farmers, and some men of more substantial condition; for instance, the leading banker and the secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association. They were all alert to the importance of their position, and anxious to appear well in this drama that was opening in Mona. The jury viewed the body in the anteroom, and the wound was examined carefully. They marched into the court-room next to the apartments of the Chief of Police, and were seated before the bench. The large room was filled to its utmost with the representative men of the place. To my eyes, the scene was novel indeed. My practice had been in the courts of the metropolis, and the methods here interested me. They were simple, straight-forward people. The intensity of their faces, the hush of the crowd, was awesome. I obtained a seat facing most of the people, and Dr. Moore was by my side. The room looked on a lawn which extended to the next street, and opposite to me were three windows, the centre one of which was open. At the open [Pg 79]window was a young negro, handsome and well built. He leaned on the sill with folded arms, and, judging by the height of the window from the ground, I knew he was standing on a box or a barrel. A couple of other faces were visible outside the closed windows. The crowd within was uneasy, but quiet—a volcano in its period of inactivity. Then the milkman who discovered the body related his story. He had come up the hill from the station and saw the body near the top of the hill. He saw the wound from his seat on the wagon, for, realizing what had happened, he did not alight. Fear had seized him. He knew he was perhaps watched by the assassin, so he had lashed his horses and rushed for the town and aid. The little boy who had ridden by his side was brave and cool in the court-room; the Chief of Police had his arm on his shoulder in a fatherly way. He corroborated the milkman's story, and said he was scared even more than his uncle, the driver. One or two others certified to the finding of the body and spoke of the stranger, Mr. Clark, who had reached the place first, and of the wild run from the town. [Pg 80] Then came the coroner's physician, who certified to the nature of the bullet, a large one undoubtedly. Then he said in a courteous, professional way: "Gentlemen, we have by accident among us Dr. Moore from New York, who witnessed the finding of the body, and who has viewed the injury. Dr. Moore is a well-known surgeon, and perhaps he will favor us with an opinion—only an opinion—of the nature of the weapon used." The coroner bowed and motioned to Dr. Moore, by my side. The physician hesitated a moment, then advanced before the crowd of strangers. He was a surgical lecturer, but this was an unusual audience. "Dr. Moore, you have seen many wounds from firearms, have you not? Please state where." Dr. Moore answered in his pleasant voice: "I have seen quite a number in hospital service in the last ten years, and very many in Cuba during the Spanish War." A murmur arose—the crowd hung on every word. "State what your opinion is, please," said the coroner. "To begin with," said Moore, "the bullet entered [Pg 81]the breast; the point of entrance is large, about the size of a 44-bullet. I know it entered there, because a part of the coat was carried into the wound. It came out at the back under the right shoulder-blade and pierced that bone, tearing it partly away from its muscles. In piercing the bone it also fractured it, and made a large hole of exit, as was to be expected." "Explain, please." "Under some circumstances a bullet losing its speed pushes the tissues before it and makes a larger hole of exit than entrance, especially if it shatters the bone." "What do you think of the nature of the weapon used?" "In my opinion it was certainly no modern pistol or rifle; they are of smaller calibre and the powder used gives greater velocity, and less tearing is evidenced." "How is that?" "Well, a small bullet going at great speed makes a clean hole usually, at ordinary range. This was a large bullet, going only at moderate speed." "Could a rifle have done it?" [Pg 82] "Yes, if fired at a long distance, so that the speed was slackening." "What seems the probable weapon to you?" "A revolver, because a rifle of large calibre, to have produced such a wound, must have been discharged at considerable distance, for the bullet was losing its velocity when it found the victim. Now, to have seen the victim from afar was impossible, the banks on each side of the road and the incline of the hill would prevent it. That, to my mind, excludes a rifle. "The assassin could not have seen Mr. Mark much more than one hundred and fifty feet away, owing to the configuration of the ground. Had he been much nearer than that distance, the bullet would have travelled with greater speed than it did, and would probably have pierced the shoulder-bone without so much crushing and pushing effect. "Thus we see that a rifle in this case could not have been used far enough away to cause such a wound. A heavy revolver discharged at good distance for such a weapon would have met the requirements, however; and I believe such a one was used. [Pg 83]The assassin could not have been farther off than the configuration of the ground permitted—about one hundred and fifty feet—and judging from the wound, he was not very much nearer." The crowd shifted and a deep sigh of emotion arose. "Now, Dr. Moore, you arrived in town this morning! Please tell us what you know about the events that transpired," asked the coroner. "Well, I arrived at six o'clock A.M. and walked up the hill. As I reached the top, I noticed a man coming up behind. A milkman came along and offered me a ride to the hotel—there he is," and he pointed to the fellow. "As we rode along, we both heard a shot, and I remarked upon it. The man in the wagon with me said it probably was a poacher. I have no doubt, sir, it was the murderer at work." This was getting near the horror, and the court-room seemed to echo the deep breathing of the listeners. Then the milkman, who had picked the doctor up, gave his testimony. He had entered the highway at the Corners and had seen a man coming up the hill. [Pg 84]He drove in toward Mona, and picked up Dr. Moore, as related. He corroborated Moore in his statements, and ended by saying that he went about his business after leaving Moore at the hotel, and knew nothing of the finding of the body by the other milkman and the boy, until about eight o'clock. "I remember the shot; it was short and dull. We said it didn't seem like much of a gun." "When did you hear the shot?" "About 6.30, sir," was the answer. "And, gentlemen of the jury," said the coroner, "Mr. Mark lived until seven, when he was found." "If that shot was the one, he lived a long time. I believe he might have done so, however. The hemorrhage was not very severe. He may have lain unconscious for a while. As you know, the autopsy showed that the bullet entered in front and, striking a rib, followed that around and came out behind. It followed a superficial deflected course, as bullets frequently do. Men sometimes live a long time with such wounds." More evidence, of an unimportant nature, was [Pg 85]given. The station-master remembered the man getting off the train and following Moore. He knew him well; he was Mr. Mark, and had lagged behind and spoken to him. The body was undiscovered before, because most milk-wagons entered the town at the Corners, and no one had alighted from the seven o'clock train to climb the hill. Charles Clark was now called, and the spectators made room for Oakes, as he walked down and faced the audience. Watching the crowd, I saw its excited expectancy. Here and there was a man, pale as death, nearly overcome by the strain of the evidence. Everyone in that room knew that the important part was at hand. Many expected the name of the assassin. A man behind me sighed and said: "Gosh! why don't you hurry?" I knew that he was nearly ready to collapse. Oakes, or, as Mona knew him, Clark, crossed his hands behind him and inclined his body a little. He glanced coldly around, then at the clock, and instinctively the audience followed the movement. I noticed that the time was four, and that the ticking was very [Pg 86]heavy and noisy. Then I remembered Oakes's orders, and watched the crowd. The coroner went through the usual formalities, and Oakes began his testimony. He spoke in that fluent style of his: "I reached the man ahead of the others; he was breathing. Realizing that his name was important, I asked him for it. He was conscious; he opened his eyes and looked at me. 'Mark is my name; all Mona is my friend,' he answered. At mention of those words I heard a sob and then another outbreak; the audience was going to pieces." Oakes resumed: "I then asked him, 'Who did this deed?' He seemed to be losing consciousness. I repeated the question. This time he answered, in an almost inaudible voice: 'The man—the man—with the great arms.'" As Oakes uttered this sentence, he did it in a strong whisper—heard clearly all over the court-room. He paused. Moore and I noticed that one-half the men in sight mechanically put their hands to their arms—curious is the effect of such scenes. Others, seeing the actions of their comrades, [Pg 87]glanced at them harshly and suspiciously, but instantly began to smile. Just then the fat grocer thought it was funny, and laughed outright in a paroxysm of hysteria. The crowd began to titter, and then a roar, short, sharp, of pent-up emotion—a laugh of suppressed excitement—pealed forth like a thunder-clap; then all again was intensity. Oakes now continued: "He did not say more, so I again asked quickly, 'Who did it? Speak, man! Speak!' Then he answered distinctly—it was a last effort." The audience leaned forward in awed expectancy. The faces of some were hard and set, and the eyes of all were riveted on Oakes. Moore whispered to me: "Watch the negro." I looked and saw him leaning forward over the window-sill, his face ashen gray; one arm held on to the sill, the other hung limply into the room. "Mr. Clark, what did Mr. Mark say to you then, just before he died?" asked the coroner. "He said: 'It was the fellow—the man with the blue cross on his left arm.'" As Oakes spoke, his [Pg 88]voice became metallic and incisive, while his quick eyes suddenly swept the audience. There was a shuffling of feet, a turning of bodies, and a man of weak nerves cried out: "The blue cross on the left arm!" The negro made a lunge forward, swung both arms into the room, and cried out: "Oh, Gawd! Oh, Gawd!" then dropped on the other side of the wall. The Chief of Police stood up and pointed to the window. "Catch that coon," he cried. The tumult which followed was a relief, but the crowd lost sight of the negro. No one had ever seen him before, and he escaped—at least for the time being. The jury brought in a verdict "that Mr. Mark came to his death at the hands of a party or parties unknown." As Dr. Moore and I discussed matters later, we could but agree that the identity of Quintus Oakes had apparently been well hidden in that of Charles Clark, the agent, and that our first day in Mona had been a memorable one. <hr class="chap" />[Pg 89] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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