Moore and I became daily more imbued with the spirit of the adventure; besides which, we were keenly alive to Oakes's feelings and his desire to succeed. The newspapers far and near were following the case carefully, and we knew that his reputation and financial success depended largely on the outcome of this case. A few evenings later Moore and I were standing in the square, discussing the very apparent change in the temper of the crowd since their attention had been directed by the arrival of the man they believed to be Quintus Oakes. "Yes," said Moore, in answer to a remark of mine, "it is a clever scheme and makes the people think that Hallen is doing something; but how will they take it if they discover the trick?" "Well, perhaps by that time the real Oakes, our friend, will be in position to reveal his identity--that would calm any bad feeling--they would realize that work had been done quietly all the while." Moore shook his head doubtfully. "I don't like Skinner's attitude," he said, "he knows something." Reilly approached us at this moment to say that Clark wanted us at the Mansion immediately, and that a conveyance was waiting for us at the hotel. We went at once and found it, a four-seated affair, with Hallen and Dowd on the back seat. We two sat in front with the driver--one of Oakes's men; and after we had left the town I turned to the Chief and asked him if he knew what Oakes wanted of us. "Yes," said he; "the _negro_ is here." Oakes was awaiting us upstairs, with Martin and Elliott. The first thing we learned was that Oakes had recognized the negro "Joe" as a former boot-black on Broadway. Joe's identification of _him_ during the court scene had placed the negro in a state of less fear than would otherwise have been the case. "He came readily enough," said Martin; "he was threatened with arrest if he did not; but he is acting peculiarly. Seems more worried than an innocent man should be." "He naturally dreads the ordeal; innocent men frequently appear guilty to the onlooker. The really guilty ones are prepared and go through more coolly," said Oakes. "Yes, sir, I know that; but this one is different. I should hardly say he is guilty; still, his actions are peculiar--I cannot explain _how_." "Think a little, Martin," said Oakes. It was the tone of the superior, firm but kindly. Martin thought a few seconds, then he said: "Well, sir, he seems anxious to describe what he saw, and seems to think that you are his friend and will believe him; but he appears to be actually fearful of punishment." "Rather ambiguous," said Oakes. "Perhaps he is hiding some vital point, Martin. Is he not?" "Yes, sir; and that point is against himself." "Of course it is, or he would not hide it; against himself, or one dear to him." Oakes's correction was without malice, polite and patient. He was the clear reasoner, the leader, instructing a trusty subordinate--the kindly Chief and his young, but able lieutenant.