"I believe he may be the murderer of Mr. Mark."
"What proofs have you?" asked Oakes, as we all leaned forward intently.
"No proof as yet."
"Exactly! But, Mr. Larkin, you deserve much credit," said Oakes, as he led O'Brien to a chair by Hallen's side. "Sit here," he continued. "I am going to have Maloney brought in now. He has always been a good gardener—a decent sort of fellow. I must hear his story before I give him up to the Chief. It has been suggested that Maloney may be mentally unbalanced; you will excuse me, Mr. Larkin, if I use you as a foil to draw him out while Dr. Moore assists me."
Then, by way of explanation, Oakes, whose identity was still unknown to Larkin, went on:
"You see, Chief Hallen wishes to be sure of some little points, and so do I. Perhaps Maloney will not resent my questioning; he should have no feelings against the agent of this property, whereas he might object to Hallen as an interlocutor."
Oakes was now a trifle pale, I thought. There were furrows on his forehead; his manner was suave and deliberately slow. But little did I dream the true depth of the man, the masterly manner in which he was about to test the mental balance of Maloney.
To one who was ignorant of the terrible events this story tells of, and the dire necessity of discovering once for all who was responsible for them, the efforts of these keen, scientific men to entrap a weakened brain would have seemed unfair and cruel.
But for those who knew the story and knew of the murderous deeds done in Mona by some unfortunate with a cunning, diabolic, although probably unbalanced mind, there remained only one alternative—to uncover and catch the criminal at all hazards.
Martin left the room, and returned escorting the suspect, who was dressed in his working clothes, his coat covering a gray jersey. His face was stolid, but not unprepossessing; his bearing, quiet and reserved. His blue eyes shifted quickly. Then, as Oakes stood facing him, he respectfully saluted "Mr. Clark."