The masses were in ignorance of the strides we had made twards the solution of the horrible happenings at Mona, and, of course, Hallen was getting more than he deserved in the way of criticism. Oakes told us that he momentarily expected some new developments in the case, as Hallen was endeavoring to find Skinner and bring him to the Mansion. His surmises proved true, for it was found an easy matter to locate the old man; and early in the evening Hallen arrived at the Mansion and joined us in the apartments upstairs, and with him were Martin and Skinner. Dowd, the rival of the old man, was with us, having begged earnestly of Oakes to be allowed to follow as close to the action as possible, and having stuck by us like a veritable leech since the morning. Dowd was a nice fellow, and a newspaper man from start to finish, and he seemed to have developed a great liking for Oakes. We were all upstairs when Martin ushered in the tall, rather slender, but powerful old man, Skinner. None of us, save Hallen, had seen him at close range before; but I saw a curious expression, half of defiance, half of dismay, in his face, that made me watch him most closely. Dr. Moore was scanning his features carefully in a way that showed he had detected something, but Quintus Oakes, rising from his seat and advancing politely to meet the old gentleman, seemed neither to have seen anything nor to know anything. He was just the polished gentleman we all knew so well; but I noticed that, as he shook hands with Mr. Skinner, he cast a quick glance at the man's arm and the wrist, and then at the old man's eyes. Moore whispered: "He has excluded Skinner as the criminal. Look! see him take it all in." Oakes was leading Skinner to a seat, and as he walked, he spoke freely. He had discovered that which Dr. Moore had also seen, but which I had failed to detect. "Mr. Skinner, allow me," said he, gracefully. "It's not well lighted here; I imagine that little white scar on your right eye--on your cornea, just in front of the pupil--interferes somewhat with your vision." "Yes, Mr. Clark, it does interfere just a trifle." "Just enough to spoil duck-shooting, eh! I understand you used to be quite fond of that sort of thing, Mr. Skinner." Moore and Hallen exchanged glances; and the knowledge was general to us--the old man was _not_ the murderer, for the assassin could shoot well, and the old scar on the eye prevented that in Skinner's case. "But to what do I owe the honor of a request to call at the Mansion, escorted by such a nice young man, to see Mr. Clark, the agent?" queried Skinner. The old fellow was shrewd--he looked at Hallen and smiled half-heartedly. Then he looked at me, and remarked that we had met before somewhere, and extending his hand to Moore, he said he guessed he was glad to know us all better. Then turning quietly to Chief Hallen, he laughed, and gave us a shock from which we were unable to rally for a few moments.