The Secret Toll

Green shifted his chair so that he could rest his feet on the window sill, relighted his cigar which had gone out while Forrester talked, and smoked for a while in silence.

"Look here," he said, at length. "You remember my theory and arguments that these here 'Friends o' the Poor' lived near that tree?"

"Yes," replied Forrester, "and that newspaper fellow, Humphrey, had something of the same idea. I half agreed with both of you after my discoveries."

"All right," continued Green, "I'll bet you a week's pay them Italiansout there on the West Side – miles away – are just plain auto bandits. They're pullin' some game o' their own, and most likely never even heard o' the 'Friends o' the Poor.' Them city dicks is coverin' up their poor work by misleadin' you. Get me?"

"But the telephone calls," protested Forrester. "Especially the man's voice with the foreign accent!"

"Bunk!" sneered Green. "Reporters, most likely, tryin' to get next to your plans. See here," he added, dropping his feet to the floor and shifting his chair to face Forrester, "I bet there's so many o' them reporter guys around that tree tonight that the 'Friends o' the Poor' can't get near it!"

"And that notice – unaccountably slipped into my cigar humidor while I sat in the library. How do you place that?"

"That's the only real thing that happened," maintained Green. "But it ain't any way mysterious, though they tried to scare you into thinkin' it was. Them guys just crawled through a window while you was out to dinner. It was there all the evenin' – only you didn't happen to want a cigar till late, that's all. Did you find any open or unlocked windows?"

"Not on the first floor. I discovered a second floor window open after hearing a door slam."

"Any floor would suit them guys," asserted Green. "Take it from me, Mr. Forrester; you and me's nearer the solution o' this thing than them city bulls. We're right on the ground now, and we're goin' to locate somethin'. Let them detective guys play around with their Italians. They'll never get 'em near that tree – never on your life!"

—

The library at "Woodmere" faced the terrace, upon which a row of French windows opened. Forrester sat by the big center table that evening, idly turning the pages of a book. Heavy footsteps clattered along the terrace, and a moment later Green entered at one of the windows.

"I was waiting for you," Forrester greeted him, rising as he spoke. "My mother and sister have just left. Now, one last word of instruction, Green. You're to stick close to the windows of the drawing room over there at the Prentices'. After dinner I will walk to one of the windows with Miss Sturtevant. Take a good look at her. While I'm away try and keep an eye on her. If she slips out, trail her! That's your job for tonight."

"Count on me," assured Green. "Is that the money?" he asked, indicating a long flat package on the table.

"That's the package I'm going to put in the tree."

Green picked up the package and weighed it in his hand while his eyes sparkled. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "Twenty-five thousand bucks!"

"No," laughed Forrester, "only a few ounces of paper!"

"Goin' to fool 'em, eh?" grinned the detective.

"That's what I hope to do. I made a very open and noisy visit to my bank this morning, and remained for some time in the president's private office. The idea was to give anyone who might be watching the impression that I was drawing the money from the bank. What actually happened, however, was that I explained my plans to the president, and he instructed a clerk to make up this dummy package."

Forrester took the package from Green and slipped it into an inner pocket. "Come," he said, and led the way out to his car.

—

"Am I too late to ask for the first dance?" inquired Forrester, as he approached Mary Sturtevant after dinner.

"I'm sorry," she replied, smiling, "but you were very late in arriving. A New Yorker seems to be popular in Chicago."

"Depends greatly upon the New Yorker," returned Forrester.

"You haven't changed a bit since Thursday, have you?" cried the girl. "How many dances do you wish?" and she extended her card.

"I'm afraid," declared Forrester, a doleful note creeping into his voice as he glanced over the card, "that I shall have to forego any. I must leave before you have completed this long list of engagements."

"Oh, of course," she exclaimed. "I had forgotten. You have a mostimportant engagement yourself at ten-thirty."

Forrester looked at her sharply.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Miss Sturtevant looked surprised.

"Why, you told me – and it has been in all the papers."

"Not the exact hour," returned Forrester, his eyes still observing her keenly.

"Oh," she murmured, flushing, "wasn't it? Well, then, I must have heard it somewhere."

"Over the telephone, perhaps," suggested Forrester.

"One hears gossip in so many ways, it is hard to remember the source," she returned, easily. "If you won't have time to dance, we can at least chat until the dancing starts. Let's look for a quiet corner."

It was an opportunity which Forrester welcomed. He guided her carelessly toward one of the large windows that opened out on the lawn. The musicians, concealed among palms and flowers at the other end of the room, were playing a tender little air – one that seemed to throw a mantle of romance about them. Forrester looked down at the girl in silence. It seemed hard to believe that she could in any way be linked with the abominable men who had committed so many murders, and now, threatened his own life. Yet her actions had been strange, and her slip of a few minutes before seemed inexplicable. In spite of his misgivings Forrester longed for the girl. Love at first sight had always seemed a mere trick of the novelist to Forrester. As he stood there beside Mary Sturtevant he knew that in his case at least it was a fact! Whoever or whatever she was, he wanted her! If she had made a mistake – well, then he would save her from herself.

"I thought we came here to chat," and she smiled mischievously up at him.

"I think we have been chatting," he returned, and added, "with our minds."

Once more Mary Sturtevant flushed slightly. "You could never guess what I was thinking," she declared, watching him with a peculiar smile.

"I wish I could," he replied, earnestly. "It might solve my greatest problem."

"Sometimes you say such strange things," she asserted. Then, as the music for the first dance started up, she added, extending her hand impulsively, "There, I must go. I wish you the best of luck tonight."

Her last words struck him as ominous. How often he had heard a similar phrase on French battlefields just before a futile sortie. He seized her hand, held it a trifle too long, perhaps, and murmured, lamely, "Thank you."

Then, as she was swept away by her first dancing partner, Forrester slipped through the window to the lawn. After that few minutes of delightful nearness to her he did not want to dance. To hold another girl to him now would seem like sacrilege. He was glad that he had neglected to place his name on any dance cards.

"She's some girl, ain't she, Mr. Forrester?" whispered a gruff voice at his side, and romance fled at the sight of the prosaic Green.

The thought that this rough man was to spy upon the girl who had just left his side was revolting to Forrester in his present mood. He had the comforting feeling, however, that it was for her own good. If she had entangled herself in some way with these people he would save her!

"That's the girl you must keep an eye on, Green. And," instructed Forrester, "see that she is protected also. If anything happens to her tonight you'll have to answer to me."

"I getcha," assented Green. "You don't want them bulls to beat you to a capture."

"What's the plot?" called a cheerful voice, and the two men turned quickly to find Prentice close at hand.

"I thought you were dancing by this time," said Forrester.

"Haven't danced for years," returned Prentice. "I came out to have a quiet smoke, and just spotted you fellows with your heads together."