“Now, in the first place, Mr. Skaggs,” he said when the tale was done, “I am lawyer enough to see for myself how weak the evidence was upon which the negro was convicted, and later events have done much to confirm me in the opinion that he was innocent.”
“Later events?”
“Yes.” The Colonel leaned across the table and his voice fell to a whisper. “Four years ago a great change took place in Maurice Oakley. It happened in the space of a day, and no one knows the cause of it. From a social, companionable man, he became a recluse, shunning visitors and dreading society. From an openhearted, unsuspicious neighbour, he became secretive and distrustful of his own friends. From an active businessman, he has become a retired brooder. He sees no one if he can help it. He writes no letters and receives none, not even from his brother, it is said. And all of this came about in the space of twenty-four hours.”
“But what was the beginning of it?”
“No one knows, save that one day he had some sort of nervous attack. By the time the doctor was called he was better, but he kept clutching his hand over his heart. Naturally, the physician wanted to examine him there, but the very suggestion of it seemed to throw him into a frenzy; and his wife too begged the doctor, an old friend of the family, to desist. Maurice Oakley had been as sound as a dollar, and no one of the family had had any tendency to heart affection.”
“It is strange.”
“Strange it is, but I have my theory.”
“His actions are like those of a man guarding a secret.”
“Sh! His negro laundress says that there is an inside pocket in his undershirts.”
“An inside pocket?”
“Yes.”
“And for what?” Skaggs was trembling with eagerness.
The Colonel dropped his voice lower.
“We can only speculate,” he said; “but, as I have said, I have my theory. Oakley was a just man, and in punishing his old servant for the supposed robbery it is plain that he acted from principle. But he is also a proud man and would hate to confess that he had been in the wrong. So I believed that the cause of his first shock was the finding of the money that he supposed gone. Unwilling to admit this error, he lets the misapprehension go on, and it is the money which he carries in his secret pocket, with a morbid fear of its discovery, that has made him dismiss his servants, leave his business, and refuse to see his friends.”
“A very natural conclusion, Colonel, and I must say that I believe you. It is strange that others have not seen as you have seen and brought the matter to light.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Skaggs, none are so dull as the people who think they think. I can safely say that there is not another man in this town who has lighted upon the real solution of this matter, though it has been openly talked of for so long. But as for bringing it to light, no one would think of doing that. It would be sure to hurt Oakley’s feelings, and he is of one of our best families.”
“Ah, yes, perfectly right.”
Skaggs had got all that he wanted; much more, in fact, than he had expected. The Colonel held him for a while yet to enlarge upon the views that he had expressed.
When the reporter finally left him, it was with a cheery “Good night, Colonel. If I were a criminal, I should be afraid of that analytical mind of yours!”
He went upstairs chuckling. “The old fool!” he cried as he flung himself into a chair. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Maurice Oakley must see me, and then what?” He sat down to think out what he should do tomorrow. Again, with his fine disregard of ways and means, he determined to trust to luck, and as he expressed it, “brace old Oakley.”
Accordingly he went about nine o’clock the next morning to Oakley’s house. A gray-haired, sad-eyed woman inquired his errand.
“I want to see Mr. Oakley,” he said.
“You cannot see him. Mr. Oakley is not well and does not see visitors.”
“But I must see him, madam; I am here upon business of importance.”
“You can tell me just as well as him. I am his wife and transact all of his business.”
“I can tell no one but the master of the house himself.”
“You cannot see him. It is against his orders.”
“Very well,” replied Skaggs, descending one step; “it is his loss, not mine. I have tried to do my duty and failed. Simply tell him that I came from Paris.”
“Paris?” cried a querulous voice behind the woman’s back. “Leslie, why do you keep the gentleman at the door? Let him come in at once.”
Mrs. Oakley stepped from the door and Skaggs went in. Had he seen Oakley before he would have been shocked at the change in his appearance; but as it was, the nervous, white-haired man who stood shiftily before him told him nothing of an eating secret long carried. The man’s face was gray and haggard, and deep lines were cut under his staring, fish-like eyes. His hair tumbled in white masses over his pallid forehead, and his lips twitched as he talked.
“You’re from Paris, sir, from Paris?” he said. “Come in, come in.”
His motions were nervous and erratic. Skaggs followed him into the library, and the wife disappeared in another direction.
It would have been hard to recognise in the Oakley of the present the man of a few years before. The strong frame had gone away to bone, and nothing of his old power sat on either brow or chin. He was as a man who trembled on the brink of insanity. His guilty
