"Exactly!" came the staccato answer; "but how about the strength of the wrist that can handle such a heavy rake with such certainty?"
"Oh, yes, he's strong," I cried. "He's got plenty of muscle, apparently."
"He has a strong wrist and a strong arm, and not such an awfully large chest," answered Oakes calmly, as though speaking of the weather or of something of no importance. Fool that I was, it was only then that his meaning suddenly went home to my slow-acting brain. I saw a light in Oakes's eyes that I had never seen before—cool, steely, calculating.
"No," I whispered; "impossible!—but you are searching for just such a person."
"Yes, of course," was the laconic answer; "but let's talk with the gentleman of the rake."
Oakes led the way to within a few feet of the gate, then rising in his stirrups shouted to Maloney.
The latter turned, and with a look of recognition came quickly toward us. "Good morning, sir;—good morning, Mr. Clark. I was going to headquarters for you soon, sir; they told me you had gone there with Chief Hallen——"
"Yes! Why did you wish to go there, Maloney?"
"Because, sir, there is something wrong—something about the mystery here. You know, sir, you left word to report if anything unusual happened."
Maloney spoke quietly, and without embarrassment. We had noticed before that he was fairly well educated—another victim of unfortunate circumstances.