"How did it happen?" asked Oakes. "I heard a shot near me," Maloney answered, "a heavy revolver shot. I turned, and was then hit with something like a sand-bag, I guess, for everything got dim." Hallen walked him into the headquarters building, to avoid the rapidly increasing crowd. "Shut the doors," he ordered. The command was quickly obeyed, and we who had worked together were all within the building now, away from the crowd. "Who was it?" asked Hallen of Maloney. The man hesitated a while, but upon being pressed for an answer finally replied: "I have not dared to mention my suspicions, sir, but the fellow looked like Mike O'Brien. At any rate, he was wounded; he was walking with a limp, sir, and I saw blood on his trousers leg. He must have been in a scrap or an accident." "When I was coming to," he continued, "I saw him hiding a revolver behind a rock. I pointed out the place to the men when they came a few moments after, and they found it." "Why did you not cry out for help?" asked Oakes suddenly, even viciously, I thought. Maloney answered quickly: "Because he thought I was dead, and I let him think so. If I had made any noise, sir, he would have finished me. I did not move until I knew help was near." "Good!" said Oakes; "you had presence of mind. Let us see the revolver; the men left it here, did they not?" Hallen stepped forward with the weapon. Oakes examined it; but his look informed us that it was not the _old_ one taken from the wall in the Mansion. Further questioning failed to reveal anything of importance, but it seemed clear from what Maloney said that the assaulter escaped on horseback after he was seen by his intended victim, for Maloney insisted that he had heard a galloping horse afterwards. "He was wounded, you said?" queried the detective. "Yes, sir, quite badly, I thought." Moore examined Maloney's injury and took careful note of his condition; then the gardener was told to go, and he was soon joined outside by the two laborers--his new found friends. Together they went for the hotel bar across the street. As they disappeared, Oakes exchanged glances with the doctor, and I knew that something was wrong. There came a long silence, which Hallen finally broke. "This is a queer story, Oakes; I don't understand it. Is it the murderer at work again--and O'Brien accused? You say the Mansion mysteries are the work of the same hand that shot Mr. Mark, and possibly Mr. Smith. But those mysteries are old, and O'Brien is a recent arrival here and knows very little of the Mansion. I cannot see his guilt. How do you explain it, Oakes?" The keen man addressed faced the Chief, and we all knew the words that were coming were valuable. "Chief, I have just told you of Mr. Stone's adventures with me this morning--of my proof that Maloney lied to us. Well, he has lied again." "Yes," chimed in Dr. Moore, "the man's a fake. He was not seriously injured, if at all."