The Secret Toll

"But nobody has ever succeeded in locating these people at the tree," protested Forrester.

"I know," admitted Cahill, grinning, "but O'Connor and me have worked out a plan. We figure that in the past these guys have been able to slip in between the detectives on watch. You see, it's pretty dark in those woods at night. Our plan is going to put a stop to that. It's like this:

"We're going to put a peg in the ground on each side of the tree, back and front. O'Connor will be on one side and me on the other. There'll be a string from each peg running to O'Connor, and the same thing on the other side to me. We'll hold these strings, one in each hand. Now, that completely surrounds the tree, so that anyone approaching will kick into a string. We'll know from the hand the string's in just what direction to look for them in the dark. O'Connor's strings will be A and B, and mine will be C and D. Get the idea?

"If O'Connor feels a tug, he'll yell A or B at me. If I get a feel on one of my strings I'll holler C or D. Get me? Then we'll both make a rush at just the right spot. Believe me, Mr. Forrester, we got them this time. No sneaking up between detectives next Saturday night."

"The idea sounds very good, Cahill," agreed Forrester. "Perhaps it will work. If I don't hear from you in the meantime, what hour do you wish me to approach the tree on Saturday night?"

"We've fixed on ten-thirty, if that is convenient for you, Mr. Forrester," answered Cahill.

"That suits me," declared Forrester.

"And now, we'll be going," announced Cahill, rising. "Thanks for the cigar. As fine a smoke as I've had in a long time."

"Bang up," murmured O'Connor.

"Take another along," suggested Forrester, accepting the hint.

The two detectives each carefully selected another cigar, and then Forrester went with them to the door.

"What will you do if the ghosts supposed to haunt that tree should appear?" inquired Forrester.

"You don't believe that stuff, do you, Mr. Forrester?" asked Cahill, scornfully.

"Well, several people, unknown to one another, have agreed on the details."

Cahill smiled. "Maybe so," he said, "but don't forget that O'Connor and me can shoot, Mr. Forrester. We can lay out any ghost that ever ghosted."

"You certainly have my best wishes for your success," said Forrester.

"Don't worry any more," assured Cahill, as he passed out. "The police have got this gang dead to rights this time. Saturday night will end it!"

CHAPTER XI – TELEPHONE CALLS

"Son," said Mrs. Forrester at breakfast Friday morning, "Josephine and I have changed our minds."

"About what?" prompted Forrester.

"We are moving out to 'Woodmere' late today instead of tomorrow morning. The Prentices are giving a dinner dance, the first of the summer season, Saturday evening. If we moved tomorrow we would be too tired and upset to attend. We do not want to disappoint the Prentices, especially as we understand the affair is given to introduce Miss Sturtevant."

"Does she know the Prentices?" exclaimed Forrester.

"Only through a letter of introduction, I believe," explained Mrs. Forrester.

"Of course, you will be there, Bob, now that you know who will be the principal guest," laughed Josephine.

"I haven't received an invitation," returned Forrester, gravely.

"Oh, the affair is quite informal," declared Mrs. Forrester. "All the invitations were extended over the telephone, because it was only decided upon at the last moment. Mrs. Prentice told me to be sure to see that you came. She wants you to meet Miss Sturtevant."

"Not realizing that Bob was such a forward young man and attended to his own introductions," interjected Josephine.

"That was only an accidental meeting, Josephine," protested Mrs. Forrester. "They had no opportunity to get really acquainted."

"I wonder?" said Josephine, with a side glance at Forrester. Then added, "Of course, Mrs. Prentice does not realize what a rival Miss Sturtevant will be for Diana."

Forrester glared at Josephine. Until she had taken up his recent meeting with Mary Sturtevant, it had been her custom to tease him about Diana, Prentice's daughter. Josephine had professed to believe that a genuinely serious affair was developing, at least on Diana's part.

"Josephine," remonstrated Mrs Forrester, "you must not make light of Bob's interest in Diana. I should be most pleased to see Bob select her as his life's partner. Miss Sturtevant is here only for a brief visit, and they have met but once; simply by chance. One cannot be so much attracted to a chance acquaintance as to one who has been a friend since childhood."

"Very wisely spoken, Mother," approved Forrester, with a triumphant look at Josephine.

"I am satisfied to await the developments of Saturday evening," returned Josephine, and finished her breakfast in silence, while his mother explained to Forrester the details of the day's plans.

The knowledge that the solution of the case was now practically out of his hands left Forrester with a sensation of loss. Never before had he felt so thoroughly bereft of an object in life. He rather welcomed, therefore, the information that the household moving would take place on Friday instead of Saturday as originally planned. Throughout the morning he was busily engaged in assisting his mother and sister to pack, in the securing of a motor truck to carry their trunks and bags, and the various other little details connected with the removal of the household for the summer season.

Shortly after luncheon his mother, sister and the servants left in the big car. It was a dark, gray day with low-hanging clouds and a chill wind blowing off the lake. As Forrester stood by the curb watching the car disappear down the street, he found that a light, misty rain was falling. The weather affected him strongly under the circumstances and he returned to the house with a feeling of depression. Forrester seemed to find something sinister about the deserted house. The closing of the front door behind him echoed through the lonely rooms, and the thud of his feet was uncannily loud as he passed down the hall to the library.

Forrester laughed, shook himself and hunted up his pipe.

"The truth is," he said, aloud, as the tobacco glowed under the match, "my nerves are getting ragged."

In spite of the fact that the detectives had assured him that the solution of the mystery was close at hand Forrester could not fully convince himself that the matter was to be settled in so commonplace a way. The discoveries which he had made must surely possess some significance. It did not seem possible that a band of West Side Italians, far away from the oak tree on the North Shore, could be back of the so-called ghostly manifestations of which he had heard so many rumors, and which Green claimed to have actually witnessed. If these apparitions had no connection with the "Friends of the Poor," then what was their purpose?

Busily engaged in his amateur detective work, and full of a certain confidence in his own ability, Forrester had half expected to solve, in a few days, a mystery that had baffled experienced detectives for a year. Now, with the final reckoning only one day away, he realized that he had made practically no progress, except, perhaps, to increase the scope of the mystery. Possibly the fact that he felt himself free to come and go in comparative safety until Saturday had blurred his view of the future. Here in the still, deserted house, however, the misgivings that had been dormant beneath his energetic efforts to solve the problem, now came to the surface. The partial doubt which he had felt the previous evening in respect to the detectives' theories, now reasserted itself with increased force.

While his own theories were mere chimerical pictures, based upon a fanciful explanation of the peculiar facts he had unearthed, Forrester nevertheless had a feeling that they possessed more real substance than was apparent at the present time. Again Forrester laughed and tried to shift his thoughts to the seemingly more logical and matter of fact deductions of the detectives.

During these meditations he had been pacing the library floor, several times refilling his pipe. Now he went to the fireplace and lit the gas logs in an effort to dispel the chilly, gloomy atmosphere that pervaded the room. He drew a chair up to the fireplace and sought more cheerful thoughts in recollections of Mary Sturtevant. This did not help. Aside from the girl's attractive personality, Forrester could not but realize that it was the faint element of mystery that seemed to surround her which had stimulated his curiosity and thrown a glamour about her such as no other girl of his acquaintance had ever possessed. Yet that very element of mystery was a disquieting feature. In spite of any arguments he might devise to ease his own mind, Forrester realized that if he were to tell the men at the detective bureau all the details of his acquaintance with Mary Sturtevant he would create a disagreeable stir. While the peculiar effect of her sudden appearance from nowhere had been partly offset by her letter of introduction to his mother, it still remained an odd coincidence that she should select a home so near the blackmailers' tree, and in addition take such a strong interest in the tree itself. And then there was the reprimand which Joshua intimated she had given him for talking about the tree to a stranger. Moreover, what object could a young woman of her undoubted social position have in leaving her family in the East and renting a big house in a Chicago suburb with only a paid companion?

It was no use. In whatever direction he turned his thoughts Forrester's mind reverted to the mystery of the "Friends of the Poor." Glancing at his watch, he found that these thoughts and speculations had consumed a large part of the afternoon and he decided to get away from the dreary surroundings and gloomy inspirations of the empty house by going out to dinner.

—

The slight drizzle of the afternoon had increased to a heavy downpour of rain which beat loudly on the windows, while a strong east wind roared about the house. The inclemency of the weather increased the feeling of loneliness and isolation which had seized upon Forrester since the departure of his family. He sprang up, therefore, with a sensation of pleased anticipation when the door-bell rang, but paused immediately to reconsider his action.

Most of his friends were already at their summer homes. It did not seem likely that even the few stragglers who might have remained in town would be out on a night like this. For the first time since the affair started Forrester felt like arming himself. He opened the drawer of the library table and took out a revolver which had lain there unused for many years, only to discover that it was unloaded, and as he could think of no place where he might find the necessary cartridges for it, the weapon was useless. He reasoned, however, that its appearance in his hand might in itself be a partial protection, so with the revolver apparently ready for instant use, Forrester went to the front door and opened it.

No one was there, and the street lay apparently deserted in the driving rain.

It was a strange incident and when Forrester returned to the library he wondered whether it was a wise step for him to remain alone in the house that night. He was still debating the question when a half-hour later the telephone bell rang. Picking up the receiver Forrester was relieved to recognize the voice of Prentice on the wire.

"I called at your house a little while ago," apprised Prentice, "and was alarmed that the door-bell was not answered. After thinking it over I decided to phone you."

"There is no one here but myself," replied Forrester. "The folks moved to 'Woodmere' today. I stayed in town because I have a little job to attend to in the morning. That must have been you who rang the bell about a half-hour ago. I did answer the bell – and was amazed when I found there was no one at the door."

"You took a thundering long time to answer," said Prentice. "It seemed to me that I stood a long time in the rain. I am at the Drake hotel now. My car is handy and I will be over in a couple of minutes."