Wheeling our horses, we darted to the Corners and on toward Mona.
Quintus Oakes was very quiet; he seemed annoyed—or nonplussed—and the pace that he set was terrific. As we neared the town we slowed up, and I asked excitedly of the taciturn man by my side: "Tell me, what's up?"
He turned slightly in his saddle. "Maloney was there; he acknowledged it. So far he told the truth; but he lied about returning on horseback. There were no hoof-marks going toward the stable—none entered the Mansion gate. And he lied also about his brother in Lorona, for there is no such relative of his there; Maloney has no brothers or sisters hereabouts."
I now remembered Oakes's careful scrutiny of the ground while we were talking with Maloney, and I also realized how close was the net he had spread about everyone at the Mansion.
"If Maloney was at the hut, how did he get back ahead of us?" I asked.
"Ran, of course—took the inside way through the woods; he knows the paths well. He may not only have been near the hut, Stone, he may have been in it. If so, he tried to kill Skinner, for the old man had money."
Then Oakes continued: "Perhaps it was Maloney who was about to get away, if he could. But he can't," the detective added with a sardonic laugh, as he closed his jaws firmly.
"But," I exclaimed, "suppose it was Maloney, what of O'Brien? He was there; we have his shirt—in part at least."
"Oh, bother O'Brien! he makes me tired," cried Oakes enigmatically; "he will get himself into trouble some day."
"Yes, yes," I contended; "but he too has strong arms and a strong wrist and could have used the revolver."