The Secret Toll

"For a man who knows so little about it," she said, sarcastically, "you seem to have been in a great hurry to get here."

"I don't see why you should suppose this to be my original destination," returned Forrester. "Possibly the large size of this tree attracted my attention in passing."

"Perhaps," she said, and both smiled as they recalled the last time that word was spoken. Then she added, "But you have not passed yet. Your car is still some distance back on the road. Think of a better one."

"Tell me," exclaimed Forrester, "do you live near here?"

Her face hardened as she replied, "That is an unnecessary question at this time. I might even say that it savors of an evasion."

"I beg your pardon," said Forrester, stiffly.

Again the girl sat silently regarding him and Forrester met her eyes with a steady look. He surmised that she was appraising him and her next question confirmed his thought.

"Are you a victim?" she inquired.

"My dear young lady," returned Forrester, "about all we do is to ask each other questions. Sometimes I don't get an answer."

"I accept the reproof and apologize," she said, and smiled. "I live just a little way up this road."

"And I am – unfortunately – a victim," admitted Forrester.

"Now we're quits," laughed the girl. "Let's begin again."

"If this tree has a bad reputation," said Forrester, "I am curious to know why a girl, alone, takes a doubtful chance by talking to a strange man in its shadow."

The girl partly withdrew her right hand from her coat pocket.

"I'm not quite alone," she answered, and Forrester saw that she held a small automatic in her hand. "This has been covering you ever since I rode up."

"Certainly I shall now feel it incumbent upon me to answer all questions," smiled Forrester.

"All right," she retorted, quickly, "what is your name?"

"Forrester."

"Robert Forrester?"

"Yes, how did you guess?"

A wicked little smile stole over the girl's face. "You are the last person I should expect to see here," she declared.

"Why?" queried Forrester.

"I understood you were scared to death," she returned.

"That damned reporter again!" burst out Forrester, clenching his hands. "Wait until I get within reach of him!"

"My, how savage you are!" exclaimed the girl, with mock severity. But Forrester saw that her eyes twinkled.

"You will pardon my strong language," he said, "but this is not the first time that article has made me look foolish."

"Oh, then you're not really frightened?" she inquired, her eyes still flashing with humor.

Forrester opened his mouth as if to speak, but words failed him, and the girl threw back her head and laughed.

"Mr. Forrester," she said, at length, leaning down toward him, "you asked me a little while ago if we must remain strangers. I can now answer your question definitely. If you will come over to the house for a minute I will give you a letter of introduction, which I have, addressed to your mother. I had intended to deliver it in person, but after arriving here I found you were still in town."

Forrester was thunderstruck, and therefore speechless for a moment. This was too good to be true.

"My name is Sturtevant," the girl continued. Then added, with one of her mischievous smiles, "Miss Sturtevant."

"I shall be very glad, indeed, to deliver your letter, Miss Sturtevant," said Forrester. "Or if you prefer to wait until Saturday, you can deliver it in person as you first intended to do. We move out to 'Woodmere' on Saturday."

Forrester had no sooner said this than he could have kicked himself. He had wanted to have a look at the place she occupied and he might now be throwing away the opportunity. When he recalled the negro's words, it had seemed as if the girl lived alone. If she did, it would be both odd and suspicious under the circumstances. Forrester was anxious to ascertain this fact definitely, and he was pleased when the girl disregarded his suggestion.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I should like to have you come over to the house now and get the letter."

"I shall be delighted," returned Forrester, this time without qualification. "If it is only a short distance I will walk."

"It is a very short distance," informed the girl. "It would be hardly worth while starting up your car." Then she added, "Especially if you plan to return here."

Forrester glanced up at her quickly, but she was already turning her horse back to the road and he did not meet her eye. Whether or not she had some object in what she said, or was simply poking fun at him, he could not tell.

Miss Sturtevant kept her horse down to an easy walk and Forrester found no difficulty in maintaining his place at her side. She made no further reference to the tree and its evil repute, so Forrester did not again bring up the subject, leading their light chatter instead into comments upon the surrounding country.

The Bradbury house, which Forrester now knew had been taken by Miss Sturtevant, stood only a short distance back from the road, and as they turned into the gate Forrester could see an elderly woman on the porch. A few minutes later she was introduced to him as Mrs. Morris, and during the short talk he had with her, while Miss Sturtevant was getting her letter, he gathered that she was a paid companion to the girl. Miss Sturtevant quickly returned with the letter for his mother, and after a few brief words, which included an invitation to Forrester to come again, they parted.

At the gate Forrester met the big negro, Joshua.

"Hello, Joshua," he greeted the negro.

"Howdy-do, suh."

"Any new stories about that haunted tree, Joshua?"

"No, suh! Mah Missey done say Ah talk too much." And the negro hurried on.

Forrester wondered as he returned along the road toward the tree.

CHAPTER IX – LUCY

Forrester had at first been in a quandary as to the character in which he should approach the negress. If she were open to suspicion it would be unwise for him to pose as a detective, or openly confess to being a victim of the "Friends of the Poor." As he weighed the matter, a recollection of Humphrey offered him a suggestion. Why not, for the moment, assume the character of Humphrey and approach her as a reporter? The fact that neither Humphrey nor the detectives had at any time referred to her, and that no one outside of Joshua had mentioned her, led him to believe that her retreat in the woods had remained unnoticed. A visit by him in the guise of a reporter would probably be the first of the kind that she had received. Although he knew Humphrey had not made use of a notebook while interviewing him, Forrester believed that a notebook would impress an ignorant colored woman. In her mind it would more fully bear out his claim to being a reporter. In accordance with this idea Forrester had provided himself with a new and imposing notebook which he was prepared to pull out as soon as he started his interview with the negress.

Leaving the road, Forrester followed the path around the oak and back into the woods. The thick foliage shut out every ray of sunlight and Forrester could well imagine how the gloom and silence of these woods would give full play to superstitious minds. If the negress were seeking to hide herself, the woods in themselves formed an eerie protection. The path turned sharply to the right just beyond the tree and Forrester had gone only a few yards when he was startled to find himself unexpectedly in front of her cottage. He had supposed the place to be more deeply buried in the woods, and this precipitant arrival at her door impressed Forrester at once with the negress' accusatory proximity to the oak tree. A savage snarl greeted Forrester as he stepped into the small clearing in front of the house and he saw a half-breed dog facing him with teeth bared and hair bristling. Forrester spoke soothingly to the animal but the sound of his voice seemed only to enrage it the more and it barked loudly. He hastily glanced about for a club with which to defend himself in case the beast should attempt to attack him. Just at this moment, however, the cottage door opened and the negress stood in the doorway. She was tall and thin, with wiry, jet-black hair that contrasted strangely with the sickly yellow of her skin. Her eyelids drooped and at first Forrester thought she was squinting at him, but as he discovered later, this was a natural affection of the eyelids. It gave her a peculiarly sinister look and Forrester felt an aversion for her the moment she appeared in the doorway. She stood with her hands on her hips and silently looked him over.

"How do you do," said Forrester.

"Good afternoon," she returned, sullenly, her voice deep and harsh.