I saved the face before it struck the floor.
Distrust and Suspicion
The day following the murder of Winthrop Mark was one of uneasiness and dejection for the towns-people of Mona. The court scenes of the day before and the great excitement caused by the discovery of the crime had left their stamp. Disquietude was bred and nurtured by the crime itself, and the absence of clues save those of the arm. It was rumored and reiterated that Chief Hallen had failed to discover the slightest evidence as to the perpetrator, and that the bullet even had remained unfound, as was most natural; but people look at things in a narrow light sometimes, and this was an occasion of deep trouble and much gossip for the town.
The peculiar action of the negro, whom few had seen but all had heard, and who was pronounced a total stranger by those who had seen him, pointed strongly to him as the possible assassin. With his escape had come mutterings against Chief Hallen. Why had the court-house not been watched? Where were the local authorities? Why had he been allowed to get away so easily? All these questions remained unanswered, for few stopped to think that there were no local detectives, and only a few local policemen.
Then in the midst of these disgruntled thoughts and assertions appeared the mental picture of Clark, known in the town before, and now the most conspicuous man in it, towering above all in his active personality, as in his figure and sayings. Talk is cheap in such a place, and talk has made or unmade many a man. The great run of Clark to the victim's side and the dramatic and terrible evidence he gave at the inquest was spoken of—at first with awe, and then with alarm. And to think he had gone to the Mansion to spend a short time again, gone to the place of all others that one should avoid at this time—gone to the house where terror dwelt and at the end of whose grounds the murder had been committed! Hallen, whose word was known to be "law," had vouched for this. The personality of Clark—stood silhouetted on the sky of lowering discontent.
The only clue worth having was that one relating to the arms of the murderer, and, given to the public as it purposely had been by Clark in a moment of suspense, it had found deep rooting place in all minds. Who was the man with the great arms, and with the "blue cross" on one of them—the left?
Here was a small town—perhaps one thousand grown men. Who had the cross—who? Might it be anyone? Yes, almost anyone! Did anyone know of such a scar? No, but who knew of his neighbor's arms? Who could vouch for his friend? Some few had been associated, one with another, as boys. What of that? It was years ago.