The Secret Toll

Forrester stooped, placed two fingers in a hole, evidently provided for the purpose, lifted the section of carefully fitted flooring and set it to one side. Taking his light from the table and turning its rays into the opening Forrester saw a ladder leading into a cellar beneath the cottage. Swiftly he dropped his legs through the hole and descended.

The underground room in which he found himself was smaller than the space covered by the cottage. The walls were of large rough stones, showing evidence of dampness. Along these walls was piled litter of a varied nature – old barrels, boxes, empty food tins and the broken remains of furniture. Against the front wall, at a point almost under the entrance door, stood an old, dilapidated sideboard. It attracted Forrester's attention because he could not conceive how such a large object had been brought into the cellar through the small trap. It was the only thing in the cellar that could be readily moved, and Forrester had an inspiration to look behind it. At the first effort the sideboard swung out from the wall on smooth-running casters that strangely had apparently not been affected by the dampness of the cellar.

Moving the sideboard disclosed a small, rough-board door in the wall. This Forrester opened and flashed his light into the space beyond. It seemed to be a narrow passage, the floor a little below the level of the cellar. Forrester dropped into the passage and started along it, throwing his light about him and studying its formation. The floor was sandy, the walls of solid rock, and the roof appeared to have been formed by a multitude of interlacing tree and plant roots. The average width of the passage was about five feet and its height somewhere between ten and twelve. Forrester's trained eye saw instantly that it was the work of Nature, not of man. At some remote period a cleft had been riven in the solid rock and the intertwined roots above prevented the caving in of the surface soil.

A momentary sparkle on the ceiling caught Forrester's eye. He then discovered that electric lights were hung from the roof at regular intervals. They were beyond his reach, and as no connection or switch along the walls had been discovered, Forrester concluded that the lights could be operated only from some point inside the cottage.

Presently Forrester came to an indentation in the wall on his right, forming a sort of shelf. On this rested two bright steel cylinders about the size of the small fire extinguisher he carried in his car. To one of the cylinders was attached a five-foot length of a slender rubber tubing which connected it with one of the rubber death masks he knew only too well. Here at last was evidence beyond dispute. Forrester did not meddle with the cylinders. The slightest mistake made by one unaccustomed to them might release the deadly gas he had reason to believe they contained. In that confined space its action would be swift and sure.

Continuing along the passage Forrester finally came to the end. At this point it widened out slightly into a small chamber. At one side a ladder led up into a mass of tangled tree roots that hung in fantastic shapes, which gave Forrester an uncomfortable feeling that he had stumbled into a veritable den of snakes. Forcing back this feeling of revulsion he climbed the ladder.

Here the handiwork of man was in evidence. He was ascending into a space that had been hollowed out of the heart of a tree. Above his head was a small wooden trapdoor held in place by a wood slide or bolt. Releasing the bolt allowed the door to drop silently downward on hinges formed of stiff leather. A package fell into his hands, followed by a draft of air laden with the scent of summer woods. Pushing up his light Forrester recognized the hollow in the oak tree. He saw also that the upper side of the trapdoor was so prepared that it would seem like part of the tree to anyone investigating from above.

At last the most vital secret of the "Friends of the Poor" was in his hands – the method by which they had so mysteriously secured their toll under the very eyes of the detectives.

Forrester examined the small, flat package in his hand. Someone had placed a contribution in the tree that night. Then Forrester shivered. The scoundrels would come to collect at any moment! He was shut in at the far end of a narrow passage, the only way of escape leading back through the cottage where they would enter. If they met him here his end would be sure and his disappearance a mystery forever. Hastily he climbed down the ladder and was about to go when several objects drew his attention. The temptation to investigate these before he left was too strong to resist and Forrester lingered a moment or two longer.

All the paraphernalia that had made possible the ghostly illusions, which had frightened others and puzzled him, now lay revealed as nothing but mean claptrap. On the wall hung a group of rusty chains, a small megaphone for throwing the voice and an old locomotive bell. In one corner stood a tin similar to a paint can. This, Forrester found, contained a preparation commonly known as phosphorescent paint and a nearby glove, which smelled strongly of the substance, solved the riddle of the flaming hand which had impressed even the phlegmatic Green. The greatest curiosity of all, however, was a black tube standing against the wall. Forrester instantly remembered the appearance of something of this kind in Humphrey's photograph. On examination it proved to be a homemade periscope. By pushing it up into the opening in the oak tree it was probably possible for a person in the cave to ascertain what was occurring on the surface. Forrester did not wait to experiment, for he was sure that on the night of the Italians' visit someone was taking in the scene and the projecting end of the periscope had been picked up by the camera.

Forrester now hurried down the passage. Unquestionably he had lingered longer than was wise, and a quick escape was imperative. As he passed back through the passage Forrester's engineering training caused him to note certain things about him. Though the rocky walls and the sand beneath his feet were now dry, he saw indications that the cleft must serve as a drain for the neighborhood. In the winter it was probably a well; full of cold, stagnant water, which, he surmised, accounted for the peculiar inactivity of the "Friends of the Poor" after the winter rains and snow fell.

Before he reached the end of the passage Forrester was startled to hear a grating sound, followed by a slight thud.

Like a flash the truth came to him. Someone had discovered the moved sideboard and open door and surmising that the visitor was still in the cave had shut him in.

Forrester paused to reflect. It would be useless to try and force his way out. Even if he could get through the door, which he doubted, there was no telling how many of the band were in the cottage. Forrester was unarmed, as he had expected to deal only with Lucy, and a battle with more than one man would be an unequal struggle. To make matters worse, his electric lamp, which had been in constant use since he entered the cottage, now gave out. The bulb still glowed, but with a dull light that had no power. Forrester flung the lamp down and felt his way back toward the tree. He reasoned that as a package had been placed in the tree it was more than probable that detectives were concealed nearby. To climb into the opening in the tree, attract their attention by shouting, and then give directions for reaching him, seemed the only solution.

Continued calls, however, brought no response. Either there were no detectives there, or else his cries for help, which necessarily had to be subdued, were acting on superstitious minds and accomplishing just the opposite of what he intended – driving help away. Forrester ceased his calls and climbed slowly down into the cave once more.

Suddenly the place was brilliantly illuminated by the turning on of the electric lights over his head. The meaning of this was clear. The time had come when he must fight for his life and Forrester looked about for a weapon. There was nothing that would serve his purpose. Then he recollected the cylinders. Who knew better than these men their death-dealing power? With these cylinders in his hands would it not be possible to hold his assailants at bay – even to overcome them? Forrester dashed down the passage to reach the cylinders before his enemies. It was too late! As he rounded a slight curve in the rocky cleft he saw the figure of a man only a short distance away. Still there might be time. He could see the depression where the cylinders rested and the man was some distance on the other side. Forrester kept on, but his hopes fell as he saw the man reach the spot first and stop.

Forrester also came to a halt and the two men surveyed each other in silence. Completely covering the man's head and shoulders was a black hood. Through two slits Forrester could see the sparkle of his eyes. Forrester recalled Prentice's description of the two hooded men who had attacked him and realized that at last he was face to face with the "Friends of the Poor."

The man moved forward. As he approached, his body slightly crouched like a wrestler waiting for his opening, Forrester took heart. If it was simply to be a hand to hand contest and the men came only one at a time, then there was some hope.

Forrester kept the man off at first with his fists, but at length they closed and a desperate struggle began. Back and forth they tugged and pulled, neither man seemingly gaining any advantage. All at once Forrester saw the cylinders at his side and suddenly realized that throughout the struggle the man had been slowly dragging him along toward these death machines. And with the realization he saw the man reach out and seize the one with the rubber mask attached.

From that moment the battle changed. Forrester's one thought was to keep the mask away from his face, while the man's main effort was evidently directed toward placing it there. Presently Forrester detected the peculiar odor of the gas. Either the cylinder had been accidentally opened in the struggle or the man had intentionally released the gas. As the mask was directed toward Forrester, and only a few inches from his face, he received the full effect of the fumes, while the man was partially protected from its effect. Forrester felt himself weakening, as he had on the night of the battle in Jasper lane.

With a last despairing effort he tripped his antagonist and as they fell Forrester managed to come down on top. Slowly he forced the mask over the man's hooded face and just as he had it in place Forrester sank down unconscious.

CHAPTER XX – THE INVISIBLE DETECTIVE

Forrester awoke to find himself in the same bedroom in which he had recovered consciousness after the attack made upon him in Jasper lane. The recognition of his surroundings was a shocking stimulant. Like a flash the whole scene in the underground passage was recalled.

That he should again have been rescued by the girl possessed a significance which permitted of no alleviating doubt. Mary Sturtevant was unquestionably hand and glove with the "Friends of the Poor." Forrester closed his eyes and groaned. He loved her – would have redeemed her from their clutches – but she had not listened to him. Now the whole terrible secret was within his grasp and yet that love for her must hold him back!

How could he expose the "Friends of the Poor" and drag her down in the crash? Bolshevik they might be – murderers they surely were. Public opinion, aroused now to fever heat, would see that not one escaped the full penalty. Unless the girl were part and parcel with the organization and knew their inmost secrets – their every move – she would never have been close at hand to save him from that hidden passage where no one knew that he had gone.

Suddenly he felt a cool, soft hand upon his forehead. He opened his eyes and turned his head. Mary Sturtevant sat by the bedside, gazing down at him with bright eyes as she gently stroked his head.

"Mary," he whispered, reproachfully, "I can't believe it!"

"Oh, Robert," she exclaimed, "are you feeling all right again? I have been so worried. It is two days since we brought you here. Each time you awoke you were delirious and we had to give you sleeping powders to keep you quiet."

Then she seized his hands in her own and held them close to her. "Robert," she murmured, "now that it is all over, I can answer you. I love you!"

He drew her hands back to him and pressed them to his lips. "All over?" he queried, at last. "What do you mean?"

"I know it is against the doctor's orders to excite you," she answered, "but I cannot stand this dreadful suspense any longer. There is a man waiting downstairs who can explain all. I have made him stay close at hand every day so that when your mind became clear you could know the whole story immediately. I will bring him up now," and Mary Sturtevant withdrew her hands from Forrester's clasp and ran out of the room.

In a few minutes she returned, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man, with kindly brown eyes and streaks of gray in his thick, dark hair. He smiled down reassuringly at Forrester as the girl introduced him.

"This," she announced, happily, "is Mr. Keith Marten, whom I call the invisible detective."

Marten took Forrester's hand and held it for a moment with a warm, friendly clasp, as he said, "I am very glad to meet you face to face, Mr. Forrester. I have known you well for weeks, but chiefly from some distance. As Miss Sturtevant says, I have endeavored to remain invisible."

Marten then drew a chair near the bed and sat down.

"Do either of you mind my smoking?" he asked, taking a cigar from his pocket. "Tobacco is my principal failing – one, however, which I believe I share in common with all who must draw deeply upon nervous force in their work."

Both urged him to smoke, and while Marten lighted his cigar, Mary Sturtevant explained his connection with the case to Forrester.

"Mr. Marten was in the Government Secret Service for many years, and has had his own investigative service for some time.

"You probably noticed that the majority of the men victimized by this supposed band of extortioners were prominent in banking circles. That constituted a direct assault upon the banking fraternity. While people outside of banking circles did not know of it, this persecution was gradually bringing on an actual financial panic. When it was rumored that a banker had given up a large sum to this supposed society, or his murder was reported, a mild run resulted at the bank with which he was associated. If there had been only one or two cases this would have had little effect, but as numerous banks were brought into the matter there was a tendency to spread this fear and the germs of a panic were insidiously gripping financial circles. The matter was finally taken up at a special conference of the Midland Bankers' Association.

"Shortly before you were selected as a victim, the M. B. A. engaged Mr. Marten to solve the riddle of the 'Friends of the Poor,' and the secret toll which they were imposing upon bankers. Mr. Marten has been the invisible detective, working behind the scenes in this case. Just how he accomplished his great work I shall leave to Mr. Marten to tell you."

"Your story will certainly interest me," declared Forrester, smiling at Marten, and elated at the thought that Mary Sturtevant had been working in a good cause. "I had about lost faith in the supposed abilities of detectives."

"There are many able detectives," replied Marten. "You made your first mistake in not going to a high-class detective agency. You cannot judge the ability of all detectives by ex-policemen like Green, or by the average city men. To become a city detective, a man must put in long service as a policeman; and even then he has no guarantee that he will ever be promoted to the detective section. The peculiar type of brain, the scientific turn of mind, and the education which make an efficient detective, naturally render long preliminary service as a policeman abhorrent to the men who make the best detectives. Moreover, the physical requirements of the police department shut out many brilliant thinkers. Consequently, the best detective material seldom, if ever, reaches city police departments.

"The whole principle is wrong, and until some other system is established we will continue to see fine specimens of physical development, whose very appearance advertises their calling, trying to solve intricate criminal cases by muscle-power instead of brain-power. It is analogous to placing a prize fighter in the chair of higher mathematics at some university.

"Forgive me, Mr. Forrester, if I bore you with these extraneous comments, but it is a subject that takes up much of my leisure time. I hope, by educating influential men like you, that the system will be changed; that eventually we will have a great central department like Scotland Yard, or that the detective bureaus of large cities will be separate from the regular police departments."

"You do not bore me, Mr. Marten," returned Forrester. "On the contrary, I am deeply interested; especially because of what happened in the present case."

"Well, enough of that," said Marten. "Now for the story I came here to tell.

"Unlike police detectives, I do not immediately ascribe a crime to the lower criminal classes. I know that criminal tendencies extend upward through every stratum of society. My first effort, therefore, is to place the possible social standing of the criminal, and thus learn approximately where to look for him.

"In the present instance I took all the available data and analyzed the situation. Two points impressed me at once. One, that for approximately a year not a single clue had been discovered. Second, the enormous amount of money which had been extorted. This had reached the sum of nearly a quarter of a million dollars."

"I considered those points," said Forrester, "but they gave me no clue."

"Ah, because you lacked two things," returned Marten. "Experience and the outside viewpoint. Now, in analyzing the first point, I seriously doubted the existence of a group of men as implied by the name 'Friends of the Poor.' When a gang is operating it is difficult to hold the men together. Something slips sooner or later, just as in the case of those West Side Italians who were caught by the police. I became convinced that we had to deal with one man only. I was even more convinced of this when I considered the amount of money involved. To have attempted to split so vast an amount in an equitable way among a number of ordinary criminals would eventually have led to dissensions and exposure.