Then instantly, as Maloney staggered, Oakes swung himself half around, and the right arm shot upward and across to the mark, with fearful speed and certainty.
The on-rushing maniac was half stopped and twisted in his course. His head swung sideways and outward with the last impact upon the jaw; his legs failed to lift, and with a wabbling, shuddering tremor the body sank to the water's edge. The next instant Hallen came tumbling on to the murderer. I heard the click of handcuffs; I saw the white shirt and black trousers of Elliott squirm up the bank, and next moment the vigorous swimmer, the aristocratic, great-hearted clubman, caught Oakes in his arms as the detective lurched forward and fell, momentarily overcome by his last supreme effort.
A great, rousing cheer reverberated from bank to bank. We took it up, and sent it back in lessened volume, but undiminished spirit.
They now came back from the other side of the pond by the way of the north end, the men assisting Oakes carefully up the incline to us, and bringing also Maloney.
His eyes were bloodshot—his features squirming in horrible movements; and through it all he talked and talked; his brain was working with great rapidity; he was shouting, declaiming, laughing, and all the while his sentences were without significance, without lucidity.
Oakes pointed to the maniac. "I regret extremely," he said, "that I was forced to wound him slightly. I could not let him escape with that weapon in his hand."
An approving murmur rose from the men, but Oakes checked them, frowning his displeasure. Then he turned to Martin:
"Look at his left arm, boys."
Hallen and Martin ripped off the sleeve, and Dowd, after peering at the arm, excitedly exclaimed: "The blue cross! Quintus Oakes, you are right."