The Secret Toll

"How can you," she asked, "in so short a time?"

"Mary, I am old enough to know my mind and heart. I have danced and dined and flirted with the women of two continents without a desire for any one of them. But from the moment I saw you, I wanted you – just you. Sometimes love may grow as the result of long friendship or close association; but when a man meets his real mate he knows it – instantly."

"Robert," said the girl, timidly, and Forrester thrilled at the sound of this name on her lips for the first time. It showed at least a partial victory. "The fate that has so strangely thrown us together still holds us in its hands. Both of us are entangled in the meshes of a malignant force and until such time as fate relinquishes its present hold upon us I cannot give you the answer you are seeking."

This admission from Mary Sturtevant startled Forrester. Yet its greatest effect upon him was to further strengthen his resolve to pull her back from the black pit of disaster before it was too late.

"I have known from the first that some hidden influence controlled you," imparted Forrester. "It is that knowledge which impelled me to disclose my feelings toward you so soon. I want to save you from these people who are dragging you down. I want to save you from yourself. If you will marry me, now, we can go away and leave this hideous nightmare behind."

As Forrester made this statement a peculiar expression drifted over the girl's face. Then her eyes sparkled as she extended her hand and laid it caressingly upon one of his which grasped the arm of her chair.

"Do you think that I am involved in this affair of the 'Friends of the Poor' – that I have guilty knowledge of it?" she asked.

"I have suspected it," assented Forrester. "Many of your actions have implicated you seriously. You must remember," he added, "that I have been playing the detective myself."

"And you still want to marry me?" she queried.

"Yes; I want you more every minute I know you."

"Then, I know you really love me," she murmured. "But, Robert – I cannot draw back now. If you will wait until this thing reaches its inevitable end – and you still feel that you want me – then I will answer you."

Mary Sturtevant rose to her feet and Forrester knew that she was dismissing him. Her companion had long since discreetly disappeared and the dusk of approaching evening already threw the porch into shadow. Realizing that they were free from observation, and acting on a sudden impulse, Forrester took the girl in his arms and held her close to him. She neither resisted nor responded, but her soft, warm body aroused in Forrester a feeling of reckless determination to solve the mystery quickly and at any cost. Releasing her, he left without a word, dashing down the steps and across the drive to his car.

CHAPTER XIV – THE INTRUDERS

Several days passed without incident, and so far as Green or Forrester were concerned, no progress had been made. Each day Green went to his post in the pergola and lolled in an easy chair while consuming Forrester's cigars at an alarming rate. With the lake rippling at his feet, birds calling in the trees around him, and gentle breezes tempering the increasing heat of advancing summer, Green was in paradise. The monotonous hours of his watch were relieved by occasional visits from William, the chauffeur, and flirtations with the maids.

Forrester, on the other hand, existed in a state of feverish but profitless activity. He secured several books on criminology and studied them conscientiously in the quiet of the library; he spent hours in the woods watching the tree or spying upon the negress, Lucy. He could not free himself from the idea that this eerie colored woman was in some way connected with the mystery, although Green scoffed at its possibility.

"You're wastin' time on that Jamaica nigger woman," counseled Green. "That type can't stand prosperity. If she had her fingers on any o' them dollars, she wouldn't be rustin' away in the woods. I'd risk a bet that she's just hidin' from her past."

Once Forrester called on Mary Sturtevant during this quiescent interval, and twice met her at social functions to which both had been invited. On these latter occasions the girl had eluded all his efforts to be alone with her. In fact, Forrester had a feeling that she purposely avoided any appearance of more than a mere acquaintance with him.

He was not deceived by these eventless days. Surmising that the "Friends of the Poor" were holding off some act of retaliation merely to lull him into a sense of false security and thus take him off his guard, Forrester maintained a constant watchfulness of everything about him. This caution at times may have made him appear churlish; in such instances as a refusal to accept assistance from passing motorists when he had trouble with his car on the road.

Then, on Saturday, one week after the enigmatical happenings at the oak tree, the case once more presented itself with weird and baffling additions. Toward noon, Humphrey telephoned that he had important information and would come out to "Woodmere" after business hours. Forrester extended him an invitation to dinner, coupled with an admonition against mentioning a word regarding the matter before his mother and sister. So it was not until after dinner, when Forrester had summoned Green and the three men had shut themselves in the library, that Humphrey disclosed his startling information.

Forrester placed cigars on the library table, inviting the others to help themselves, while he filled and lighted his pipe. "Now," he said, "what is it?"

"The detectives have caught the Italians!" divulged Humphrey.

"Always them Italians," sneered Green. "Well, what then?"

"Yes," requested Forrester, "tell us the whole story – right from the start."

"It begins with the photo I made last Saturday," began Humphrey. "I took the negative and a print to the detective bureau as I promised, and turned them over to Cahill and O'Connor. It was a wonder, too; take it from me! At the moment the flash went off both the detectives and the two Italians looked straight at the camera. O'Connor immediately spotted one of the men as Dominick Campanelli, a suspect the police have taken in half a dozen times but never could actually fasten anything on. That picture of mine settled him! I showed the detective bureau this time that it was worth while letting reporters on the inside of their cases."

"Leave out the interpolations," interrupted Forrester. "Green and I want the facts that concern us."

"Oh, you gotta let them reporters blow off a little steam," declared Green.

Humphrey glared at Green. "You detectives haven't any extra steam to blow off," he retorted. "Well, as I was about to say, Cahill and O'Connor started out to hunt for those two men in the photo. They picked up Campanelli out in Hammond on Thursday. He had a man with him named Luigi Licansi, who turned out to be the man that drove their car. The detectives kept this capture quiet until, on Friday, along in the afternoon, they found the other man in the picture – Frank Tanuzzio – hanging around the very garage where the car with the bullet holes was discovered. Cahill considered that a conclusive piece of evidence.

"At the detective bureau the men were sullen and refused to talk. The detectives put them through the third-degree all night without results. This morning the men were taken to the office of the State's Attorney. When he informed them that they were to be charged with being members of the 'Friends of the Poor,' and would probably pay the penalty for the murders committed by that band of money-gougers, these Italians were scared stiff and immediately offered to make a full confession."

"You mean," exclaimed Forrester, "that these men were not really the 'Friends of the Poor,' as the detectives had supposed?"

"I should say not!" returned Humphrey. "Just low-browintruders– common thieves. It was simply a case of one crook trying to steal from another. And I want to tell you that when the facts are made public they'll be mighty lucky to be safe in jail."

"What've I been tellin' you, Mr. Forrester," cried Green. "Thank God, them Italians will be off our minds now."

"Yes," admitted Humphrey, "you guessed right for once, Green. I've seen their signed confession. I telephoned here as soon as I left the Criminal Court building."

"What did they say in the confession?" questioned Forrester.

"Of course, I can't remember the exact words, but the facts are about like this: Reading in the newspapers that people were placing large sums of money in that oak tree, they figured that it would be easy to slip up some night and steal the money before the other fellows could get it. It was just a question of knowing what night the money would be there. When they heard of your case, Mr. Forrester, these Italians decided that their opportunity had come and watched you night and day to find out when you placed the money in the tree. That was their car which followed you through the fog that night. Reading my article, stating that you intended placing the money in the tree last Saturday, they made sure of the time by telephoning you Friday night."

"One telephone call accounted for," murmured Forrester.

"I frustrated the detectives' capture," continued Humphrey, "by setting off the flashlight for my photo. It startled and blinded the detectives, so they tell me, allowing these fellows an opportunity to get away."

"Did they get my dummy package?" inquired Forrester.

"I think not," replied Humphrey. "The Italians claim not to have taken anything from the tree at any time."

Forrester stretched out his feet before him, thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets and smiled at the two men.

"That settles all doubt about the 'Friends of the Poor,'" he said. "They not only remain unknown, but probably secured my dummy package and know that I have fooled them. Gentlemen, kindly omit flowers."

"Ah! but here's the biggest surprise of all," exclaimed Humphrey, as he jumped out of his chair, and taking a large envelope from the table where he had laid it on entering the library, drew forth a photograph.

Green and Forrester also rose and approached the library table while Humphrey was arranging the photograph where the lamplight would fall full upon it.

"A camera is a wonderful thing," commented Humphrey. "Astronomers discover stars with it that are not visible to the eye, even through a powerful telescope; and spiritualists claim to have secured photos of specters or ghosts or whatever they call the things that visit them. I can believe it after seeing this photo."

"You ain't got a picture o' them ghosts, have you?" queried Green, memories of a certain gruesome night only too clearly recalled.

"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," returned Humphrey, non-committally, but obviously amused at Green's apprehension. "That's what I'm going to let you folks decide. There!" he added, placing a finger on the photograph as the others bent over it. "See that black spot back of the tree? That is the shadow thrown by the tree trunk when my flashlight went off. Naturally, anything in that shadow would not photograph well. If you look carefully, however, you can make out what appears to be a man standing a short distance back of the tree. It looks like a silhouette, and may be only my imagination. That is why I want your opinions."

First Forrester and then Green studied the photograph.

"Well?" inquired Humphrey, at length.

"I believe you are right," acceded Forrester. "A man was evidently hiding behind the oak while we were there."

"I can go you one better!" asserted Green, positively. "Remember, Mr. Forrester, the man's silhouette I saw on the Prentices' lawn that night – the man who – "

"Yes – yes," interrupted Forrester, quickly, fearing that Green was about to mention the girl before Humphrey.