The Great Oakdale Mystery

“He had a brother in prison. Clarence Sage isn’t there now.”

“Oh, his term has expired?”

“No.”

“Was he pardoned?”

“No.”

“Cæsar’s ghost! What happened then? Is he dead?”

“Well,” answered Sleuth, “in my mind, at least, there is a doubt at this point. He is supposed to be dead. With two other prisoners, he broke out of Sing Sing in midwinter and tried to escape by crossing the Hudson on the ice. The other two convicts were both recaptured. The trio had separated immediately after getting out of the prison, and neither of the recaptured rascals knew what had become of Clarence Sage. For more than two months detectives sought everywhere for Sage, whose apparent success in avoiding them was both astonishing and perplexing. Eventually the body of a man was recovered from the river, but in such a condition that identification was difficult. There were reasons, however, to believe that the body was that of Clarence Sage. Andrew Sage viewed the remains and decided that it was his recreant son. The body was buried in Rutledge, and the grave is marked by a stone bearing the name of Clarence Sage.”

“Well, then, why do you doubt that he’s dead?”

Piper tapped his forehead. “I believe I’ve got a little gray matter up here,” he said boastfully. “After reading this letter, it took about thirty seconds for me to form a theory in which I have the utmost confidence. My conviction is that Clarence Sage is still alive. I think he did make good his escape and succeeded handsomely in baffling the officers who tried to follow him. The body that was taken from the river and buried under the name of Clarence Sage was that of some other man, as yet unknown. Perhaps it will continue to be unknown. When this identification and burial had taken place, danger for the escaped man was reduced to a minimum. Mind you, I’m not making the assertion that Andrew Sage knew the body was not that of his son, but what would be more natural than for him to identify it as such in order to give Clarence a better chance for freedom? Perhaps, at the time, he really believed it to be the unfortunate young man. Possibly, through some means, he has since learned that his son is alive.”

“If you hadn’t read so much detective stuff, such an improbable idea could not have found lodgment in your crazy garret,” said Hooker. “I understand you’ve even tried to write stories yourself lately. Say, Sleuth, if this matter wasn’t so serious, it would be laughable.”

“Your words,” returned Piper, “betray the narrow limits of your reasoning faculties. I’m not basing my suspicions on mere guesswork, Hooker.”

“Then, for the love of Mike, what do you base them on?”

“One week ago you met a stranger who behaved in a most peculiar manner. Apparently of some education and refinement, this man seemed to be somewhere near the age of Clarence Sage, if Sage still lives. He made inquiries of you concerning the Sages in Oakdale, and when he learned that Fred Sage was approaching he took to his heels and got away. He didn’t dare remain to face Fred in your presence. Why, Hooker – why? Simply because he knew that in his amazement Fred would call him by name and give the whole thing away. What do you think about that?”

For a moment or two Roy shook his head. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be true, Piper. If that’s all you have to base your belief on – ”

“Did there seem to be anything especially wrong with Fred last night?”

“No, not that I observed.”

“Well, there surely was something the matter with him to-day. Something had happened to upset him completely.”

“What do you think it was?”

“It was something tremendous, or it never would have led him to bungle and blunder the way he did in that game. It was such a tremendous thing that he could not get it out of his mind so that he might concentrate on the game. Whenever he dismissed thoughts of it, he played in something like his usual form for a few minutes, but it kept coming back at him and putting him on the blink. He denied that he was sick. He denied that anything had happened to upset him. All this is precisely what would have happened had he made the amazing discovery to-day that his brother Clarence was alive.”

“Gee whiz!” breathed Hooker. “I’ll own up that you’ve got me staggered. If you’re right, Piper, you certainly have got a head on your shoulders.”

The darkness masked the smile of satisfaction that Sleuth could not repress.

“You can’t dodge the force of my deductions,” he declared. “Let me give you a further illustration of my reasoning ability. As an escaped convict, is it likely that Clarence Sage would lead an honest life? I admit that he might, but the germ of dishonesty must have been virulent in his blood, or he, the apparently promising son of highly respectable parents, would never have committed his first crime. Once a man has taken a crooked step, he’s almost sure to take others. Supposed to be dead, Sage surely traveled under a fictitious name. A certain crook, called James Wilson and known among his pals as Gentleman Jim, bears a strong resemblance to the young bank-looter who was sent to Sing Sing. This crook was arrested in the town of Harpersville a short time ago, but made his escape from the jail, nearly killing the guard as he did so. A big reward has been offered for Wilson’s capture. The last peg in my argument is that this Gentleman Jim is none other than Clarence Sage himself.”

“If that should prove to be right,” said Hooker, “I’ll admit that you’ve got all the detectives of real life or fiction beaten to a froth.”

CHAPTER XIX.

THE NIGHT ALARM

On Sunday night, or, rather, Monday morning, within a few minutes of the hour of three (Captain Aaron Quinn afterward swore it was at six bells precisely) occurred the explosion which, although muffled and faintly heard by two persons only, was of sufficient importance to shake Oakdale village to its very foundations. The only person actually to hear the explosion, besides the old sailor, who could not sleep well on account of his rheumatism, was Jonas Sylvester, the fat and pompous village night-watch. With the establishment of the bank the town authorities had decided that a night guard must be employed to patrol the streets, and Sylvester, whose qualifications may be summed up briefly by the statement that he weighed nearly three hundred pounds and had no regular employment, was chosen for the job.

With his greatcoat brass-buttoned tightly to the chin, Officer Sylvester had paused at the end of Main Street bridge, the southern limit of his beat, and was stamping his feet and thumping his mittened hands together when, as he stated later, he heard something like the closing of a distant heavy door, which seemed accompanied by a slight shock or jarring of the ground. Wondering vaguely what it was, and recalling that he had heard that earthquakes, however slight, almost always manifested themselves by several recurring detonations, Jonas ceased stamping and thumping and stood quite still in the muffling darkness, his lips parted as he listened.

“Hokey!” he muttered presently. “What was it? ’Twasn’t thunder, for it’s out of season, and I’m too fur away to hear a horse kicking up in the livery stable. The bank – ”

Immediately he started puffingly up the street toward the new bank building.

The clock in the steeple of the Methodist church struck three.

In the meantime, Captain Quinn had been further aroused by his monkey. Chattering excitedly, the creature leaped upon the old sailor’s breast and began tweaking at his hair.

“Quit it, ye swab!” rasped the old salt, thrusting the monkey away. “Back to the fo’cas’le, you imp of mischief. Leave me alone, you scrub, or I’ll give you a douse of bilge-water.”

But Jocko refused to be repulsed by his irascible master. His chattering rose to a squeaking shriek as he returned with a bound and gave a distressing tug at the captain’s whiskers.

“Keelhaul me!” roared Quinn, struggling up and casting the animal to the floor. “I’ll throw you into the hold and keep you under the hatches for the rest of the voyage if you try it again, you spawn!”

Even though he now kept beyond his master’s reach, the monkey persisted in such a chattering uproar and dashed about the dark room in such a frantic manner that the wondering man, groaning at the necessity, hoisted himself out of bed, struck a match and looked at the brass-bound ship’s clock which hung near at hand upon the wall.

“There’s something the matter,” decided Quinn, dropping the burning match as the flame threatened to scorch his fingers. Then, forgetting that he was undressed, from force of habit he placed his bare foot upon the match to extinguish it.

The racket made by the monkey was nothing in comparison to the roar that broke from the lips of the now thoroughly awakened man, and had anyone witnessed the tremendous jump which Captain Quinn made he would have fancied the old tar suddenly cured of his rheumatism. The language which burst in a torrent from Quinn’s lips was of a decidedly sulphurous nature.

“You imp of the Old Nick!” he bellowed, making a dive and a grab for the elusive monkey. “I’ll wring your neck if I get my two hooks on it!”

Jocko, however, bounding over the furniture, skimming the length of a shelf, and seeming to swing himself along one of the bare walls of the room, perched on a window ledge beyond immediate reach. If possible, Captain Quinn was further aroused and enraged by barking his shins upon a chair.

“Furies!” he breathed. “Where’s my gun? I’ll blow a porthole in the hide of that infernal pest!”

As if realizing the peril to his very life, Jocko yanked away a mass of old rags which had completely filled the opening left by a broken windowpane, and darted through the aperture.

At about this moment Officer Sylvester, hastily approaching the front of the bank, fancied he saw a dark figure dart around a corner of the building and disappear. Shivering, more from excitement and exertion than from the cold, the night-watch pursued that shadowy figure, weapon in hand. At the back of the building he paused, hearing the voice of the old sailor raging within the nearby shanty.

“I s’pose it’s that old fool that’s made the disturbance,” muttered Jonas doubtfully. “Still, I kinder thought I saw something.”

Producing the electric torch he always carried while on duty, he flashed the light around him, making almost a complete arc of a circle. Suddenly the light stopped, bearing full upon an iron-barred window in the rear of the bank building, and there it hung quivering, revealing to Sylvester’s bulging eyes a most astounding and disturbing fact.

Three of the bars had been cut completely off and bent outward, and beyond them an entire section of the window glass was missing, leaving an opening large enough to admit the body of a man.

Almost paralyzed by this amazing discovery, Officer Sylvester felt his thick knees growing weak beneath him.

“Robbers,” he gasped – “robbers, by the jumping jingoes!”

That very instant there was a flash in the nearby shadows, and, with the report of a pistol, a bullet almost grazed the torch in Sylvester’s hand.

The night-watch did not hesitate upon the order of his going, but went at once. With a yell of terror he took to his heels, and his wild shout of “Robbers! robbers!” resounded through the main part of the village as he dashed toward the public square near the post-office. Reaching the square, he increased his efforts to arouse the townspeople by firing his revolver several times into the air.

“Marlin spikes and belaying pins!” spluttered Captain Quinn, still groping for his shotgun. “There’s blazes to pay! The monk wasn’t such a fool, after all.”

Presently, gun in hand, he flung open his door and stood peering into the night. He could hear the courageous night-watch shouting from the square and firing his revolver. But what interested Aaron Quinn far more was the sight of two figures which seemed to drop from the rear window of the bank and run away into the darkness.

“Shades of Neptune!” said Captain Quinn. “It’s piracy on the high seas!”

Somewhat tardily, he got into action, lifting the gun and firing into the darkness which had swallowed the fleeing figures.

CHAPTER XX.

IN THE BANK

Naturally, all this shooting and shouting in the early hours of the morning was sufficient to arouse the villagers. In house after house lights began to gleam, and ere long half-dressed men were running toward the square, where, still lustily bellowing, Jonas Sylvester was seeking with trembling hands to reload his revolver. Hyde, the livery stable keeper, Stickney, the grocer, Lawyer Francis and others surrounded the officer and demanded to know the meaning of it all. Others kept coming from various directions as Jonas told what he had discovered at the rear of the bank and how nearly he had paid for that discovery with his life.

“Robbers,” cried the livery man – “robbers in the bank? Why didn’t you capture them?”

“Yes,” demanded the grocer in a high, quavering falsetto, “why didn’t ye nab ’em? What are you doing here? What do we hire ye for?”

“I tell ye they shot at me,” replied Jonas. “They banged right at me, and I couldn’t see a soul. They had the advantage. Think of my size. S’pose I was going to stand still and let them pepper me full of bullets?”

“Fellow citizens,” said the lawyer, who of them all seemed to retain the most presence of mind, “if there are robbers in the bank they may escape while we stand here wasting time in talk. Lead the way, Sylvester; we’re with you.”

Thus encouraged, the night-watch took the lead, accompanied by the excited crowd. A few of the more timid ones either held back or hastily returned to their homes to procure weapons. Some expressed doubts, declaring their belief that Oakdale’s nocturnal guardian must be mistaken.

But a single glance through the front window of the bank convinced Lawyer Francis that something was wrong there beyond dispute. With a word he called attention to the fact that the light which burned by night in front of the vault had been extinguished.

“Show us that winder,” commanded Hyde, pushing Sylvester forward.

“Yes, show us the winder,” tremulously urged Stickney, falling back until nearly all of the crowd were ahead of him.

“Git ready for a bloody encounter,” warned the night-watch. “They’re desperate men, and they’ll fight to the last gasp.”

“We’ll find there are no robbers in the bank now,” said the lawyer; “and all this uproar has sent them scampering long before this.”

As they were hurrying round to the rear of the building a voice roared at them through the darkness.

“Avast there, you lubbers!” it shouted. “You’re too late for action. The scoundrels hoisted anchor and made sail long ago. By this time they’re running before the wind under full canvas.”

The old sailor came hobbling swiftly toward them, bearing his gun, his cane forgotten for the time being.

“Did you see them, Quinn?” asked Lawyer Francis.

“I did that,” was the prompt answer. “I put my lamps on them just as they got under full headway, and I’ll swear I hurried them some with a double charge of buckshot.”

“You fired at them?”

“Both barrels at once, and it’s a mercy if I ain’t got a busted shoulder to pay for it. The old gun near kicked my head off, confound it!”

“How many of them were there? How many did you see?”

“It’s dungeon dark a’most, but I’m certain sure I saw two, at least.”

“Mebbe some of you thought I was lying or a fool,” cried Officer Sylvester triumphantly. “Now I guess you’ll change your tune. Here’s the winder. Just look at it.”

The electric torch was again turned on the cut and bended bars, and the group of men pressed forward, staring and exclaiming.

“Which way did the robbers flee, Quinn?” questioned Lawyer Francis, grasping the old sea captain’s arm.

“Back that way toward Middle Street,” was the answer.

“They must not escape,” said the lawyer. “They haven’t obtained much of a start. Let every man arm himself and take up the search. Deputy Sheriff Pickle and Constable Hubbard must be notified at once. They must organize posses and scour the country. Will you see to it that this is done, Sylvester?”

“Yes, your honor,” assured the night-watch.

At this moment a citizen joined the group and announced that Lucius Timmick, the bank cashier, had arrived and was about to unlock the bank door. This information led Lawyer Francis to hasten back to the front of the building, where, pushing his way through the rapidly increasing crowd, he reached Timmick as the latter finally found his key and inserted it in the lock.

Doubtless fearful of entering, the cashier hesitated a bit even after the key had thrown the bolt.

“I’ll accompany you, Mr. Timmick,” said the lawyer. “I think you need have no fear of encountering any of the rascals within. They have all fled.”

“Thank you, Mr. Francis,” said Timmick, his voice husky and not quite under control. “Doubtless you are right, but I think it best that I should have a few reputable citizens with me when I investigate.”

“I’m here, Timmick; I’m with you,” encouraged Stickney, the grocer, boldly jabbing his way through the crowd with his sharp elbows. “You’ll find me ready to back you up if you need assistance.” His courage had revived amazingly with the assurance that the robbers had fled.

Rufus Sprague, the jeweler, and Lemuel Hayden, a leading business man, both of whom were directors of the bank, were on hand, and with those four citizens at his back the cashier opened the door. Others who were inclined to crowd in were commanded to stand back, but one there was who, crouching low, slipped in unobserved and congratulated himself over his cleverness as he heard the door relocked. This was Sleuth Piper.

Timmick’s hand found the button and turned on the electric lights. Then he opened the door in the grating-guarded partition, beyond which was located the bank vault.

An odor like that of a burnt explosive pervaded the atmosphere of the place, and increased, if possible, the tingling excitement of the men who pressed after the cashier, eager to learn just what had happened. What they now beheld caused them to gasp with dismay.

A number of full sacks of grain had been placed on the floor in front of the bank vault. This grain had doubtless been brought in the sacks from the old feed mill, a quarter of a mile away; and the full sacks had been skilfully arranged in such a position that the outer door of the vault, blown from its hinges, had fallen upon them. A leather grip stood open upon the floor, and scattered about on all sides could be seen a full set of up-to-date burglar’s tools.

“Look,” cried Timmick, aghast, pointing with a trembling finger – “look at that, gentlemen! Oh, the scoundrels!”

Outside, the crowd, with noses pressed against the cold plate glass of the big front window, could see everything, and the sound of their agitated voices reached the ears of those within.

“The bank’s been robbed!” cried Stickney. “The critters must have done it in a hurry.”

“I don’t think it has been robbed,” said Lawyer Francis. “The inner door of the vault remains in place. The burglars were detected at their work before they could complete the job.”

“Let us hope,” said Lemuel Hayden grimly, “that you are right, sir.”

“Open that inside door, Timmick – open it!” spluttered Rufus Sprague. “Let’s find out if they got anything.”

But the cashier shook his head. “I think, gentlemen,” he said, “we had better wait until the president arrives. When I open that door I wish to do so in the presence of Mr. Eliot. At any rate, I think it would not be advisable to go ahead beneath the watching eyes of that crowd outside the window. Mr. Stickney, will you draw the shade?”

“Yep, I will,” said Stickney, rejoicing with a feeling of high importance over the fact that he was one of those who had obtained admission to the bank. “Whether the robbers got anything or not, it will be just as well to proceed with our investigation in private.”

Hurrying to the window, he drew the shade, greatly to the disappointment of the gathered watchers, some of whom expressed their feelings with considerable emphasis.

There was one person, however, who was not thus deprived of further knowledge of what was taking place within the bank. In the shadows of the patrons’ side of the cashier window, Sleuth Piper congratulated himself again.

CHAPTER XXI.

WHAT SLEUTH LEARNED

The excited chattering of the crowd in front of the bank was broken in upon by the harsh voice of Captain Quinn.

“Ahoy, you blatherskites!” cried the old sailor, appearing upon the edge of the gathering. “Stow that jabber a minute and tell me if you’ve put your peepers on my monkey. The little whelp has run away, and he’ll freeze to death unless I find him. It would break my heart if anything should happen to my monkey.”

This statement aroused some laughter and provoked a few jeers.

“Go crawl into your bunk, you old pirate,” advised one of the younger men. “It would be a good thing if your monkey did freeze. The town wouldn’t miss it – or you, either.”

“Take twenty years off my shoulders,” snarled the old tar, “and I’d lay you by the heels for that, you swab! You talk bold and sassy to a man three times your age and crippled with the rheumatics, but I’ve scrubbed the deck of my vessel with dozens of your kind in my day.”

“Everybody knows that, you old man-handler,” was the retort. “You’ve cracked the skull of more than one better man, but the law protected you because you were the master and they were nothing but common sailors. Oh, we know you here in Oakdale.”

“Yes, and I know you, the whole common crew of ye. You’re brave as dogfish chasing po’gies until you spy a shark, and then you run and hide. What are ye doing here? Why ain’t ye off with the men that’s trying to run down the burglars? You’re afraid. There’s not one of ye’s got the courage of a squid.”

“If you weren’t so old,” said one of the wrathy listeners, “we’d be handing you a taste of your own high-sea methods before you could say half as much.”

“Never mind my age,” bellowed Quinn, squaring away. “Come try it, any one of ye or the whole crew together. You’ll find it a bit lively while it lasts, or my name is not Aaron Quinn. Hoist anchor, you blackguards. Up with your sails, and come at me with every stitch set. What’s the matter, you lubbers – what’s the matter? Why don’t you come on? Afraid, eh? – afraid of old Aaron Quinn! A bold lot you are! You can wag your tongues loud and talk bold, but not one of ye has as much gizzard as a chicken. Bah!”

With a derisive gesture, he disdainfully turned his back upon them and slowly moved off into the darkness, seeming deaf to their jeers and cat-calls.

A few minutes later Urian Eliot appeared, made his way through the throng that respectfully stepped aside from his path, and was admitted to the bank. The door had not long been closed behind the president when it opened again, for Stickney, the grocer, whose manner as he came out betrayed that he was leaving the place with great reluctance and much against his will.

“How is it, Stickney?” called one of the gathering. “Did the robbers get anything, or were they frightened away?”

“Huh!” grunted the grocer, standing on the steps. “I don’t know. They waited for Eliot before they opened the inner door of the vault, and when he came he proposed, as I didn’t happen to be a director or some high muckamuck connected with the bank, that I should leave. And I was one who risked his life to follow Timmick into that place, not knowing but we might have to face desperate burglars armed to the very teeth. That’s the way they treat a fellow citizen who is ready to shed his blood for them. But what can you expect of men who try to run a bank in these days without a night watchman of their own? That’s their idea of economy, perhaps, but it will be a mercy if it hasn’t proved expensive economy. They take our money in trust and then fail to give it proper protection. Timmick refused to touch the inner door until Eliot came. Perhaps it was unlocked. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the bank had been cleaned out of every dollar and every scrap of security it contained. I have an account here myself; seventy-nine dollars balance, too. If there has been a robbery, somebody will have to make good. They can afford it, men like Eliot and Hayden and the others; but I can’t afford to lose it.”