That seemed to me the only plausible explanation.
No facts had come out concerning the ha'nt or the robbery, and I do not think that either was connected in the public mind with the murder.
But to my mind the death of Colonel Gaylord was but the climax of the long series of events which commenced on the night of my arrival with the slight and ludicrous episode of the stolen roast chicken.
I had been convinced at the time that Mose was at the bottom of it, and I was convinced now that he was also at the bottom of the robbery and the murder.
How Radnor had got drawn into the muddle of the ha'nt, I could not fathom; but I suspected that Mose had hoodwinked him as he had the rest of us.
Assuming that my theory was right, then Mose was hiding; and all my energies from the beginning had been bent toward his discovery.
The low range of mountains which lay between Four-Pools Plantation and the Luray valley was covered thickly with woods and very sparsely settled.
Mose knew every foot of the ground; he had wandered over these mountains for days at a time, and must have been familiar with many hiding places.
It was in this region that I hoped to find him.
Immediately after the Colonel's death I had offered a large reward either for Mose's capture, or for any information regarding his whereabouts.
His description had been telegraphed all up and down the valley and every farmer was on the alert.
Bands of men had been formed and the woods scoured for him, but as yet without result.
I was hourly expecting, however, that some clue would come to light.
The sheriff, on the other hand, in pursuance of his theory that Mose had been murdered, had been no less indefatigable in his search for the body.
The river had been dragged, the cave and surrounding woods searched, but nothing had been found.
Mose had simply vanished from the earth and left no trace.
To my disappointment the morning still brought no news; I had hoped to have something definite before the inquest opened.
I rode into Kennisburg early in order to hold a conference with Radnor, and get from him the facts in regard to his own and Mose's connection with the ha'nt.
My former passivity in the matter struck me now as almost criminal; perhaps had I insisted in probing it to the bottom, my uncle might have been living still.
I entered Radnor's cell determined not to leave it until I knew the truth.
But I met with an unexpected obstacle.
He refused absolutely to discuss the question.
"Radnor," I cried at last, "are you trying to shield any one?
Do you know who killed your father?"
"I know no more about who killed my father than you do."
"Do you know about the ha'nt?"
"Yes," he said desperately, "I do; but it is not connected with either the robbery or the murder and I cannot talk about it."
I argued and pleaded but to no effect.
He sat on his cot, his head in his hands staring at the floor, stubbornly refusing to open his lips.
I gave over pleading and stormed.
"It's no use, Arnold," he said finally. "I won't tell you anything about the ha'nt; it doesn't enter into the case."
I sat down again and patiently outlined my theory in regard to Mose.
"It is impossible," he declared. "I have known Mose all my life, and I have never yet known him to betray a trust.
He loved my father as much as I did, and if my life depended on it, I should swear that he was faithful."
"Rad," I beseeched, "I am not only your attorney, I am your friend; whatever you say to me is as if it had never been said.
I must know the truth."
He shook his head.
"I have nothing to say."
"You have got to have something to say," I cried. "You have got to go on the stand and make an absolutely open and straightforward statement of everything bearing on the case.
You have got to appear anxious to find and punish the man who murdered your father.
You have got to gain public sympathy, and before you go on the stand you owe it to yourself and me to leave nothing unexplained between us."
He raised his eyes miserably to mine.
"Must I go on?" he asked. "Can't I refuse to testify—I don't see that they can punish me for contempt of court; I'm already in prison."
"They can hang you," said I, bluntly.
He buried his face in his hands with a groan.
"Arnold," he pleaded, "don't make me face all those people.
You can see what a state my nerves are in; I haven't slept for three nights." He held out his hand to show me how it trembled. "I can't talk—I don't know what I'm saying.
You don't know what you're urging me to do."
My anger at his stubbornness vanished in a sudden spasm of pity.
The poor fellow was scarcely more than a boy!