The Secret Toll

"That looks like the same silhouette!"

"And now," cried Humphrey, "I want to show you something that is even more puzzling. Do you happen to have a magnifying glass, Mr. Forrester?"

"Yes," said Forrester, opening the drawer in the table and taking out a large reading glass.

"Hold the glass over the opening in the tree," instructed Humphrey. "Do you see anything?"

Forrester adjusted the glass to different distances, while he examined this part of the photograph.

"Yes," he agreed, after a time, "there seems to be a thin black object inside the opening. It may be my package."

"No," protested Humphrey. "This looks like a black rod with a bright or white spot near the end. Can you make it out, now that I have explained it?"

"Yes," acknowledged Forrester, "but I cannot even make a guess at what it can be."

"I'll bet it's a hand!" groaned Green. "I've seen it before!"

CHAPTER XV – THE MASK OF DEATH

Humphrey's visit marked a turning point in the mysterious case of the "Friends of the Poor." His famous photograph was published in theTimes and created a considerable stir. Fortunately, in the newspaper reproduction only the prominent features were discernible, and as at Forrester's request the reporter had omitted any reference to the perplexing details which he had discovered, these possible clues remained unknown to the police and public. All the newspapers showed a tendency to ridicule and censure the police for their misdirected activity, which aroused the department to redoubled efforts in the solution of the case. This was further accentuated by pressure brought to bear upon the chief of police, and even the mayor himself, by various civic associations which had become alarmed at the inability of the police to protect wealthy citizens from this terrible menace.

A small army of detectives was assigned to the case, and as Green expressed it, "You can't turn a corner without steppin' on some bull's toes." Police activity was largely expended in the form of espionage upon persons who had in any way been connected with the case, and careful investigation of all people who lived in the vicinity of the oak tree. Green reported to Forrester that a man who was unquestionably a detective was keeping the Forrester estate under surveillance, and Forrester discovered that a detective was steadily on guard at the tree.

That the "Friends of the Poor" were undaunted by this display of police action, and were prepared to flaunt their power in the very faces of the police, was shown by the fact that one morning the detective who had been on watch at the tree the night before was found dead. The police surgeon stated it to be a clear case of asphyxiation, although how such a thing had been accomplished in the open air he was not prepared to say. This tragedy, however, terminated all efforts of the police to keep an open watch over the tree, for it was evident that the mysterious force which was at work could not be reached in this way.

On the same day Green had come to Forrester in a state of great dejection. The detective had found one of the familiar wrapping paper notes pinned to his chair in the pergola, which read:

To Detective Green and Robert Forrester:

You have but ten days to live

Friends of the Poor

Following the death of the detective at the tree, the negress, Lucy, was arrested on suspicion, and Forrester learned from the newspapers that the police had thoroughly ransacked her home in a search for incriminating evidence, but without results. Forrester was impressed, when he read this report, by the fact that Lucy persistently refused to give any information regarding herself. As had been the situation at the time of the reputed murder of her husband, there was absolutely no evidence against her, and the police were forced to release her. To Forrester, however, she still held her position as a possible though puzzling element in the case.

Forrester also read with indignation that detectives had visited Mary Sturtevant, closely questioning everyone in her household. Not a breath of suspicion was raised against her as a result of this investigation, which pleased Forrester, though it still further bewildered him in his surmises regarding the girl. What chance had he in unearthing something which a direct police investigation could not disclose? Forrester had not seen Mary Sturtevant for some days, but this incident impelled him to call on her, so early in the evening he took his roadster and drove over to the girl's house.

Mary Sturtevant's apparent coldness toward him at their recent meetings had worried Forrester, and he was greatly relieved when her greeting was more cordial than ever and she showed every indication of pleasure at seeing him.

"Robert," she said, as he drew his chair close to hers and sat down, "I had about come to the conclusion that you had taken my advice and gone away."

"You know," replied Forrester, "that I will not leave here until this case is solved – unless you promise to go with me."

"That is impossible," she returned. "I am in no danger – not even from the police," and she glanced at him with one of her old mischievous smiles. Then added, gravely, "But you are risking your life every day that you remain here."

"Mary," protested Forrester, "your attitude in this matter is inexplicable. Won't you confide in me and let me help you?"

"Some day, Robert," she declared, earnestly, "I shall probably be able to explain to you; but please for the present, say no more about it."

While absolutely certain of his own feelings toward her, Forrester was still doubtful about her attitude toward him. The fact that she continued to use his given name when they were alone encouraged him. Beyond that, however, she gave little or no evidence of how she felt toward him. Forrester was unwilling, therefore, to risk offending her by further talk upon a subject which she so urgently requested him to drop. He turned the conversation to other matters in which they were mutually interested.

At ten o'clock Forrester rose to go, and the girl accompanied him to the foot of the steps. There she held out her hand and as he took it, she said, pleadingly, "Please, Robert, won't you go away for a little while?"

Forrester leaned over and touched his lips to her hand.

"No," he returned shortly, and jumped into his car.

As he drove along Jasper lane Forrester was startled to hear a sharp report behind him. It echoed through the still woods and for a moment he thought that someone had fired a shot at him, but the immediate jarring of his car signified that one of the rear tires had blown out. He stopped the car, shut off the engine, and after adjusting the spotlight so that he could see to work, threw his coat into the car and started the job of changing tires.

He had nearly completed the task when he was suddenly seized in a strong grip and something placed over his face!

Though taken at a disadvantage, and aware, from the peculiar odor which assailed his nostrils, that his opponent was endeavoring to render him unconscious by some sort of gas or drug, Forrester did not give up hope but fought back courageously. His arms had been pinioned at his sides, however, and he found it impossible to do more than struggle in the grasp of his attacker. Realizing that he must soon lose consciousness, Forrester made a supreme effort and succeeded in wrenching his arms free. His first thought being to get air, he grasped at the object over his face in an effort to pull it away. It was too late, for he already felt faint and weak and could not exert the necessary strength.

Then he dimly heard several explosions like pistol shots and everything became blank.

—

Forrester slowly opened his eyes and stared straight ahead for a minute or two, trying to recollect what had happened and where he was. He was in bed, but the room, so far as he could see in the dim light of a distant, shaded lamp, was unfamiliar.

"Oh, Robert," cried a voice, "are you all right? How do you feel? Speak to me!"

Languidly he turned his head and recognized Mary Sturtevant sitting by the bedside. Then he discovered that one of his hands was held tightly in both of hers.

"What has happened?" he queried, weakly.

"You met with an accident," she answered. "The doctor said we got there just in time. You must not talk about it now, or ask any questions."

She dropped his hand, and jumping up, hurried across the room. In a moment she returned with a glass, and holding his head up with one hand, placed the glass at his lips.

"Drink this," she ordered.

Forrester drank a little from the glass and then she let his head drop gently back on the pillow and sat down beside him. He watched her dreamily for a moment or two, finally dropping off to sleep.

When Forrester again awoke the bright morning sun was streaming in through a window at the foot of his bed. The first thing he saw was the big colored man, Joshua, rocking in a chair near the window and crooning to himself. Forrester tried to sit up, but found that he was very weak. His effort attracted the attention of the negro.

"Yo' jes' lie still, Boss. Dem's mah orders."

"Hello, Joshua!" said Forrester, and was surprised at the feebleness of his voice when he tried to speak. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah belong heah, Boss. Dis am Mistah Bradbury's house."

Forrester was puzzled. He knew that "Mr. Bradbury's house" was where Mary Sturtevant lived.

"How did I get here, Joshua?" he inquired.

"Ah guess de hants done got yo', Boss. Mah Missey an' me done fine yo' layin' in de road in front of dat tree wif a rubber t'ing in yo' han'."

"A rubber thing?" exclaimed Forrester. "What do you mean?"