The Secret Toll

"You here again?" and a scowl added to the forbidding aspect of her face.

"Yes; after more news," replied Forrester.

She smiled sneeringly, and Forrester suspected that she was now well aware that he was not connected with a newspaper.

"Well, what sort of news do you want this time?" she snapped.

An inspiration came to Forrester. Perhaps if aroused and angered she might let something slip. "Your opinion of the detectives and police," he answered.

The effect was contrary to his anticipations. She smiled, her face assuming a more cheerful expression than he had ever seen upon it.

"Stupid fools!" she said, briefly, emphasizing in two words of similar import, the depth of her contempt for the representatives of the law. It was a revelation to Forrester, which, more than anything else, influenced some of his subsequent actions.

"What has become of your dog?" he asked. "I missed his friendly reception."

Again her face glowered. "The police shot him," she answered. Then added, "I'm busy; you'd better run along," thus ending the interview abruptly as she had before.

"I think I will," assented Forrester. "Good-bye," and he walked away along the path that led by the tree, conscious that the inscrutable eyes of the negress were following him in speculation.

Forrester returned home, but instead of going directly into the house he strolled across the lawn to the pergola. There he sat down to smoke his pipe, and analyze his impressions of Lucy.

A golden glow from the late afternoon sun hung over the lake. Here and there a sailing craft with sun-gilded sails moved lazily along before the gentle offshore breeze. Birds chirped in the trees at his back, and humming insects hovered around him. Nature breathed peace and restfulness. Only man – and woman – created the turmoil and misery that disturbed life's predestined course. If only human beings would realize that when His work was done all that was needed had been accomplished, and cease their ineffectual attempts to check or alter the inevitable. Yet, while man continued to battle, man must also fight back.

Forrester's reveries were interrupted by the spluttering roar of a motor and he glanced toward the garage. William, seated in the big car, was tuning up his engine, while a man, pale, haggard and unsteady on his feet, trudged across the lawn toward the pergola. Forrester was surprised to see Green up and in action.

The detective entered and sank weakly into a chair near Forrester.

"What's up, Green?" cried Forrester. "I thought you were still confined to your bed."

"I'm goin' back to bed when I get home," replied Green. "I'm goin', Mr. Forrester; I'm through!"

"You mean you are going to leave me?" queried Forrester.

"Yes," assented Green. "I ain't got any wife or children, but I may have some day, and I don't want to disappoint 'em by being bumped off now. Besides, it ain't dignified for a detective to be gassed off while his back is turned – without a chance. If I have to die, I'm goin' to die fightin'. So I'm goin', Mr. Forrester. That's final."

"I'm sorry, Green," admitted Forrester, earnestly. "You have become almost like one of the family. You have been a help, too. Some of your ideas have been tip-top, and I may yet profit by hints you have given me. If I do, I'll not forget that bonus I promised you."

"I ain't worryin' about no bonus," returned Green, "but I am sort o' worryin' about you. Do you know what that day was that I nearly got took off?"

"Do you mean what day of the week or month?" inquired Forrester.

"That was the last day o' the ten days them guys give us! The only thing that saved you was probably the accidental droppin' in o' that friend o' yours, Prentice, that night. He must've come while they was operatin' on me. They've been gettin' closer and and closer, Mr. Forrester, but they're at the doorstep now!"

Green rose to go. Forrester jumped from his chair and shook the man's hand warmly.

"One last piece o' advice," whispered Green. "Watch the girl! Maybe she ain't an actual criminal, but somebody's got a good hold on her. What she knows about them people would most likely be an eye opener for you."

CHAPTER XVIII – TRIANGULATION

Green's sudden departure, following the enforced and trying separation from Mary Sturtevant, depressed Forrester and left him with a sense of helpless loneliness. He ate dinner that night in a morose silence that called forth several cutting remarks from Josephine. After dinner Forrester sought the seclusion of his room in preference to the library. He wanted to be isolated in order to work out his problem, for Green's words, coupled with the afternoon visit to Lucy, had aroused a determination to end the suspense quickly and finally. He had information that was unknown to the police – information which Green claimed to be vital – and he wanted to decide how to use it to the best advantage.

Green's intimation that Mary Sturtevant might not be an actual criminal gave a different twist to the situation. To conceive of her being a bandit queen had seemed preposterous, yet what other construction could be placed on her actions?

But Forrester also recalled Prentice's vague reference to a new angle in the case – a phase that had hitherto not been thought of. "Something of world-wide significance," were his words. What connection could there be between these local, cold-blooded murders and the rest of the world?

Unexpectedly a great light seemed to come – swift, overwhelming, terrific in its magnitude. Forrester caught his breath.

Red interests!

Why not? Was not the long arm of Bolshevism reaching out everywhere in an effort to destroy nations and bring about a new order of things; could not some master mind have devised, with grim humor, a plan to make so-called Capitalism pay the cost of its own destruction? Forrester's head swam with these thoughts. He saw now that the savage reprisals for refusal to pay could not possibly be the work of ordinary men. Not even the most desperate criminal would take the risk of so arousing public wrath. On the other hand, would not the wholesale fear aroused among wealthy men by this method be part of Red propaganda?

How many perplexing things seemed to assume a new and easily explained meaning. "Friend of the POOR" – an appropriate title seen from the viewpoint of Red schemers. Lucy, a woman close to the soil, her color a bar to progress, despite her education, would be an easy convert. Forrester was sure the mystery embraced her at some point, yet Green had said she could not resist the temptation of displaying her prosperity. But working fanatically for what she believed a great cause, would explain it. It was possible that she was the one who collected the money and passed it on.

And Mary Sturtevant's part became less blameworthy. Many women of her class had dabbled in amateur Bolshevism. In her case she had, perhaps, gone a little too far, and the Red tentacles were reaching out and seeking to draw her closer. Probably she was making a brave struggle to free herself and hoping at any moment to win.

But at what point could he begin his attack in the light of this new development? There must be something more tangible than theories and fanciful ideas to lay before the police. The responsibility must be laid upon some one, with facts to back up the accusation. Forrester thought of Humphrey and his triangulation theory. It seemed as whimsical as tossing a coin, but Forrester decided to try.

Taking a pad and pencil he first placed a small circle for the oak tree. His recent speculative conclusions led him to draw a small square for Lucy's cottage in its approximate position near the tree. Obviously, Mary Sturtevant was the next most prominent figure in the case, and with a mental measurement of the probable location of the house she occupied, he drew another square. The connecting of these three points with lines astounded Forrester. He saw that he had an obtuse-angled triangle, with Lucy occupying the controlling point.

However, there must be one or more additional triangles that would overlap, for Humphrey, in explaining his theory, had said: "At some point the lines will cross."

Forrester mused over this for a time. He could not decide on other points which would be near enough to these to form an overlapping triangle. He tried several ideas without result. His own home was too far away. But how about other victims? Suddenly it came to him. The first and last victims, so far as he knew, were Prentice and Melville, and the homes of these were reasonably near. So Forrester placed a square for each of these men's homes on his sketch. That still left a third point for his triangle. He finally decided to use the tree again for this point. The lines did not cross, at least in the way he imagined Humphrey had in mind, but they did serve to increase the size of his original triangle and bring it to a perfect form of the isosceles triangle. It was significant, moreover, that the line from Prentice, thefirst victim, led directly through Lucy's cottage to the tree, and he noted with a start that the line from the Melville home, where the girl had been deeply involved, led through Mary Sturtevant's house.

The way to a solution unquestionably led through Lucy and Mary Sturtevant, if there were anything at all to Humphrey's idea. Green pointed at the girl. Forrester's inclinations led him to the negress, and the odd working out of the triangle theory seemed to confirm him in his impressions. Forrester decided to investigate Lucy at once. His reference to the police had amused instead of angered her. She had pithily expressed her disdain of them. Was it not possible that these feelings arose from a sense of victory? In searching her house, the police had failed to find something that she knew was there! Whatever it was, Forrester intended to locate it, and use his information for what it might be worth.

Forrester took an electric pocket lamp from the top of his chiffonier, and a dark muffler from a drawer. These he placed in his pocket. Then he selected a cap of an unobtrusive shade and went down to the laundry. There he cut off a short length of clothesline, wound it around his body and buttoned up his coat.

Unlocking the laundry door, which opened at the southern end of the house, Forrester looked carefully around. He could hear William whistling at his work in the garage, while above him his sister was playing the piano in the music room. No other sound reached him and no one was in sight. Forrester closed the laundry door softly and stole across the lawn to the road.

CHAPTER XIX – FACE TO FACE

It was bright moonlight when Forrester left the house and walked south on Sheridan Road. He had decided to walk to Lucy's, believing that he would attract less attention, both on the way and after reaching his destination, than if he used his roadster. Though wayside trees cast great shadows across the road, and the gloom near bordering hedgerows, or the underbrush of vacant tracts, afforded partial concealment, Forrester looked with apprehension upon the brilliancy of the night. Fortunately for his plans, large clouds began shortly to drift over the moon. The gloom was more intense during these moments of darkness because of the transition from periods of strong moonlight.

The night was unusually still, undoubtedly because of an approaching storm, and few people seemed to be abroad. Only two motor cars passed him during the journey between his home and Jasper lane. One of these passed at a time when the moon was shining brightly and Forrester was sure that it was Melville's limousine. At the moment, he was walking in the deep shadow of a high hedge and was probably invisible to the occupants of the car. It was a providential circumstance, for to be stopped and questioned at this time would not only cause delay, but might attract undesirable attention.

Reaching Jasper lane, Forrester kept to the grass at the side, and walking slowly, succeeded in approaching the oak tree without any sound that would be audible to others than himself. He paused, listening long and intently. The silence seemed almost palpable, its noiseless fingers clutching at him from the darkness. A momentary flash of the moon gave him his bearings. During the succeeding darkness, Forrester, stooping low, carefully felt his way past the tree and down the path toward Lucy's cottage. Unless the colored woman had secured another dog, Forrester was sure that he could reach her door unnoticed. It was then his purpose to tie her fast and either frighten her into some helpful admission or else discover for himself some clue possibly overlooked by the police.

The cottage stood dark and silent in its little clearing. Forrester reached it without hearing a sound, but he had a momentary feeling of uneasiness when the moon shone full upon him as he crossed the clearing. At the door he paused to consider. Was the woman away? Or had she retired for the night? If the latter, then he would probably be able to surprise her while she slept. Forrester placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly and quietly. Then he exerted a gentle pressure, and was gratified, though astonished, to find that the door opened. Fearful of squeaking hinges Forrester moved the door inward an inch at a time, and entering, closed it in the same careful way. There was no key in the lock, but running his hand along the edge of the door, Forrester discovered a bolt which he softly pushed into place.

Forrester took out the muffler and wound it about his neck and face until only his eyes were exposed. Then he pulled his cap down so that its vizor shadowed even these. With intermittent and cautious flashes of his pocket lamp he found that the room was unoccupied and the door leading to what he believed to be Lucy's bedroom closed. This he approached with wary tread and opened the door slowly and softly. A flash of his light showed that the bedroom was also deserted. Lucy was not at home! It was a wonderful opportunity that might be interrupted at any moment, so Forrester worked fast. He considered it immaterial what the woman might discover after he was gone. Any disorder she would probably attribute to another visit by the police.

Forrester tore the coverings from the bed and scattered the contents of drawers on the floor. His search was unrewarded. There was not a line of writing anywhere; no concealed arms, Bolshevik literature or suspicious bottles; absolutely nothing to form the slightest clue. He then carried his search into the sitting room with equally unsuccessful results. Forrester received an uncomfortable shock as he turned his pocket lamp into the aquarium and saw the slimy bodies of the snakes writhe uneasily under the glare of the light.

Thus far the search had been fruitless and discouraging, but the sight of the snakes in their glass prison started Forrester's mind to working. What was the real purpose of these snakes? Their uncanny, loathsome bodies were repellent to the strongest man. Repellent! The word was illuminative. Was not one of its definitions "drive back"? Was this the actual purpose of the snakes?

Forrester fixed the button on his pocket lamp to keep the light steady, and laid it on the center table to illumine his work. Lifting the stand on which the aquarium rested he placed it near the middle of the room and pulled aside the heavy rug.

Directly beneath the spot where the aquarium stood was a square trapdoor in the floor!