"Why did you not cry out for help?" asked Oakes suddenly, even viciously, I thought.
Maloney answered quickly: "Because he thought I was dead, and I let him think so. If I had made any noise, sir, he would have finished me. I did not move until I knew help was near."
"Good!" said Oakes; "you had presence of mind. Let us see the revolver; the men left it here, did they not?"
Hallen stepped forward with the weapon.
Oakes examined it; but his look informed us that it was not the old one taken from the wall in the Mansion.
Further questioning failed to reveal anything of importance, but it seemed clear from what Maloney said that the assaulter escaped on horseback after he was seen by his intended victim, for Maloney insisted that he had heard a galloping horse afterwards.
"He was wounded, you said?" queried the detective.
"Yes, sir, quite badly, I thought."
Moore examined Maloney's injury and took careful note of his condition; then the gardener was told to go, and he was soon joined outside by the two laborers—his new found friends. Together they went for the hotel bar across the street. As they disappeared, Oakes exchanged glances with the doctor, and I knew that something was wrong. There came a long silence, which Hallen finally broke.
"This is a queer story, Oakes; I don't understand it. Is it the murderer at work again—and O'Brien accused? You say the Mansion mysteries are the work of the same hand that shot Mr. Mark, and possibly Mr. Smith. But those mysteries are old, and O'Brien is a recent arrival here and knows very little of the Mansion. I cannot see his guilt. How do you explain it, Oakes?"