"Mr. Clark, what did Mr. Mark say to you then, just before he died?" asked the coroner. "He said: 'It was the fellow--the man with the blue cross on his left arm.'" As Oakes spoke, his voice became metallic and incisive, while his quick eyes suddenly swept the audience. There was a shuffling of feet, a turning of bodies, and a man of weak nerves cried out: "The blue cross on the left arm!" The negro made a lunge forward, swung both arms into the room, and cried out: "Oh, Gawd! Oh, Gawd!" then dropped on the other side of the wall. The Chief of Police stood up and pointed to the window. "Catch that coon," he cried. The tumult which followed was a relief, but the crowd lost sight of the negro. No one had ever seen him before, and he escaped--at least for the time being. The jury brought in a verdict "that Mr. Mark came to his death at the hands of a party or parties unknown." As Dr. Moore and I discussed matters later, we could but agree that the identity of Quintus Oakes had apparently been well hidden in that of Charles Clark, the agent, and that our first day in Mona had been a memorable one. _CHAPTER VIII_ _The Mansion_ Mona was situated on a plateau terminating rather abruptly at the river on the west, and elevated well above its waters. In the neighborhood of the station it was high, and a long climb. A mile farther down stream, where the Mansion sat on the edge of the cliff, the elevation was not so great--perhaps a hundred feet or more above the railroad tracks by the river. The Mansion end of the plateau was lower, therefore, than the town. Beyond, up the river, the land lay at the same elevation as Mona. The beautiful place itself was some distance back from the crest of the plateau and was approached from the river by the highway we had known so well that day. This was intersected at right angles on the plain above by River Road, which ran parallel to the waters below. The junction of these two roads was known as "The Corners." Upon following River Road for nearly a mile toward the south one would arrive at the Mansion gate. The other road--the Highway, as it was called--led directly to Mona, in the centre of the plateau which gradually terminated to the north, south and east in the rolling hills of that region. Never was town site better selected; never was place more hopeful until recently, when the blackness and gloom of the unoccupied Mansion, with its tale of dread, seemed to have extended to men's minds and laid its grasp of uncanniness and uneasiness on business and pleasure. And now, to make the slough of despond deeper, had come the sharp, quick act of a murderer--above all, an unknown assassin--and a crime similar to one scarce forgotten.