The Secret Toll

For a time his eyes were blinded by the recent glare of his light, and the darkness shut him in like a wall. After a while, however, his eyes again became accustomed to the darkness and he could dimly see the gray road in the starlight. At the same moment that his vision had adjusted itself to the darkness, Green was conscious of something like a moving shadow in the roadway before him. He heard no sound, yet he was confident that someone or something had stopped in front of the tree. He did not hesitate this time but instantly threw on his light. It brought out in bold relief the figure of a woman walking up the path toward the tree. She stopped abruptly at the unexpected burst of light and Green realized that she would instinctively turn to see its source, allowing him to see her face.

Indeed, she had already begun that turning movement when Green's vision was suddenly shut off by a broad hand that covered his eyes, and he felt a long arm encircle his body. He struggled desperately, but the person who held him was too powerful. Green was like a child in that vise-like grasp. He felt a precipitate movement of the body of this person, followed by a crash in the roadway. Green needed nothing more to tell him that his lighting outfit had been kicked aside and probably destroyed.

Then Green felt himself unexpectedly propelled out into the roadway by a pair of powerful arms. He lost his balance and fell at full length. The dust rose in clouds about him, momentarily stifling and blinding him. All thought of the supernatural had now been driven from Green's mind. He had plainly seen a woman who could not possibly be a ghostly visitant, and he had been very roughly treated by some other person who could not for one moment be considered as a misty, disembodied spirit. Green scrambled to his feet, pulling out his automatic as he did so, and stared about him. As far as the darkness would permit his gaze to penetrate Green could see no strange forms or movement anywhere, and the silence of the woods was unbroken. Whoever had been there had made good their escape during the time Green was stretched in the road.

Green stood with his back toward the tree. Glancing warily in all directions he slowly turned to face it. Then, as he looked toward the tree he became aware of a white, or greenish-white, misty glow that seemed to come from it. Gradually this light increased until he seemed to be able to dimly make out the small hole in the tree. Suddenly a more pronounced mass of light appeared. It was not a bright light; simply a hazy, greenish glow in the darkness, though it seemed to flame and smoke in a weird, peculiar manner. Green remembered having read or heard somewhere that specter forms were supposed to emit just such a light. While he stared, wild-eyed and shaking, the light apparently took the form of a hand pointing at him. And as he continued to look in petrified amazement Green realized that it was a hand – a flaming, smoking, ghastly hand. And then he saw also that the hand was slowly turning. At last he could perceive quite distinctly that the flaming hand was pointing in the direction from which he had come.

Green had had enough. He took the hint and started down the road as fast as his legs could carry him.

CHAPTER VII – SPIRIT CLUES

While driving down from the North Shore, Forrester decided to ascertain as soon as possible if either Green or the detective bureau had ever heard of the strange rumors regarding the oak tree, for it seemed to him that to the trained detective mind this might offer some suggestion. Forrester did not believe in the supernatural. Such occurrences must be backed by a human agency of some sort, and the knowledge of the existence of these occult manifestations, if carefully analyzed, might lead to the formation of a definite clue.

It was late in the afternoon when Forrester reached the city, but he did not delay his inquiries. He went first to Green's office, finding, of course, that the detective had already left to carry out his plan of night observation, although Green's office girl, trained to secrecy, said that she did not know anything about the detective's movements. Forrester then went to the detective bureau and related his story. Far from attaching any importance to the matter, the men there simply laughed at and ridiculed the story of a haunted tree, ascribing it solely to the well-known superstitious nature of colored people. They assured Forrester that it could have no bearing whatsoever upon the case, and he left the detective bureau more impressed than ever with the idea that the solution of the problem was entirely in his hands. Humphrey's general analysis now assumed greater importance in Forrester's eyes, for the reporter had predicted that Forrester would discover clues unnoticed or disregarded by the detectives. Here was a quick fulfilment of Humphrey's prophecy!

As Forrester closed the front door, after reaching home, his mother and sister hurried out into the hall to meet him. Mrs. Forrester threw her arms around his neck, while Josephine sympathetically took one of his hands in both her own.

"My poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Forrester. "Why didn't you tell us you were worried to death?"

"Worried!" echoed Forrester. "Where did you get the idea that I was worried?"

"Oh, Bob," explained Josephine, "we read that article in the Timesthis morning, and people have been calling us up all day."

"Why didn't you tell us you received one of those dreadful notices?" queried Mrs. Forrester.

"Because I didn't think it amounted to anything," answered Forrester. "There was no use upsetting you with a little thing like that."

"A little thing like that!" exclaimed Josephine. "Why they killed poor Mr. Nevins! When we didn't hear anything from you all day we were sure you had met with an accident."

"And the paper said you were so frightened, Bob," added his mother, "that we thought perhaps you had run away and hidden somewhere without letting us know."

"Damn!" exploded Forrester. "Wait until I get my hands on that reporter!"

"Arn't you really frightened?" asked Josephine.

"Do I look frightened?" retorted Forrester. "You mustn't believe all the rubbish you see in the newspapers. Those reporters have to invent half the stuff they write."

"But you did get a notice, didn't you, Son?" asked Mrs. Forrester.

"Certainly, but it's nothing to get excited about," grumbled Forrester. "I'll just put the money in that tree Saturday night and the whole thing will be forgotten. Prentice told me he had had the same experience once, and you see nothing ever happened to him."

"Oh, don't wait until Saturday," protested Mrs. Forrester. "Take it up right now and get the thing off our minds. The decorators are through and before we saw that newspaper article I had made all arrangements to move out to 'Woodmere' Saturday morning."

"Yes," added Josephine, "fix it up right now as Mother suggests, Bob. We would never dare move out into the country with this threat hanging over you, and I do so want to leave the hot city. Practically all our friends are up in the country now."

"Now look here, folks," protested Forrester, releasing himself from the embraces of his mother and sister, and throwing back his shoulders. "I'm the head of this house, and I command you to say nothing more about this matter. Let your arrangements for moving Saturday morning go ahead just as you had planned. I cannot do anything about delivering this money before Saturday night, as these men would not be expecting it until that time. Now, mind what I say and forget about it. It's all nonsense, coddling and worrying about a man who has come safely through the war. The police are working on the case right now and you have absolutely no cause for worry or fear."

"But Mr. Nevins…" began Josephine.

"His case has nothing to do with mine," interrupted Forrester. "He was an old man in the first place; and in the second, he didn't take any precautions."

"But there have been others…" started Mrs. Forrester.

"Now, now, NOW!" exclaimed Forrester. "Don't say another word! You can safely leave this whole matter to me. Now then, Mother, have dinner served at once. I didn't have any luncheon and I'm hungry as a bear."

During dinner Mrs. Forrester referred to the fact that Mr. Nevins' funeral would take place on Thursday afternoon at three o'clock, and after promising to attend, Forrester did not again allow them to refer to the matter in any way. Dinner over, Forrester retired to a corner of the library, ostensibly to read, but though he occasionally turned a page of his book to keep up the pretense, his mind was absorbed in the problem of the "Friends of the Poor" and the working out of a plan of action for the following day.

—

At eight o'clock Thursday morning Forrester left home in his roadster and went straight to Green's office. The detective had had two nights and a day for investigation, and Forrester was anxious to know what facts he might have in his possession before continuing his own researches.

Green was at his desk when Forrester entered the office, and the young man noted the detective's dusty clothes, sickly pallor and the shadows under his eyes. Green must have been working hard, Forrester thought, and therefore would have information of importance.

"How-do," grunted Green, without rising.

"Good morning," returned Forrester, drawing a chair up to Green's desk. "I have an idea that you are going to give me some news."

"My God!" gasped Green, with such vehemence that the usual unlighted cigar dropped from his mouth and remained unnoticed on the floor.

"Well," queried Forrester, "what are you so upset about? Did you get a notice, too?"

"I've been through hell," groaned Green. "Ain't been to bed all night. Couldn't eat any breakfast. Damn Prohibition anyway! What I need right now is a whole goblet o' whiskey!"

Forrester laughed. "I can get that for you if I decide you need it for medicinal purposes, Green. But I should like to hear your story first."

"Couldn't you arrange the drink first, Mr. Forrester?" pleaded Green.

"No," returned Forrester, "I'd have to take you up to our country house, 'Woodmere', to get that for you, and I'm afraid you couldn't stand the trip until you get this trouble off your mind. Come on, pull yourself together and tell me what has happened."

"I hate to repeat it, Mr. Forrester. God knows, I don't even like to think about it!"

"You make me curious, Green. I'll bet you have got a clue – for it begins to look like you'd had a real fight with those men."

Forrester glanced down at Green's dusty clothes.

"Men?" snorted Green. "There ain't no men!"

Forrester gave a startled exclamation and looked at Green in amazement for a moment. The reply was curiously like that which the negro had made to him the day before.

"Mr. Forrester," continued Green, "I've been doin' police and detective work for twenty years. I ain't afraid o' no man livin'. Just show me a bunch o' tough mugs and I'll jump right in and clean 'em up. But I'm damned if I'll ever sit out in the woods at night again with rustlin' leaves, bodiless voices and burnin' hands! No, sir– never again! You don't want no detective to solve this case, Mr. Forrester – you want a spiritualist, or somethin' like that!"

"Look here, Green!" exclaimed Forrester. "You're too old and experienced a man – you've got too much common sense – to believe in stuff like that. Who has been telling you all these things?"

"Tellin' me?" gasped Green. "My God! I seen 'em myself, with my own eyes; heard 'em with my own ears. Nobody don't have to tell me nothin'. I seen it!"

"Mere trickery!" scoffed Forrester. "Someone was playing a joke on you."

"Damn it all!" cried Green, jumping up and pounding a huge fist on his desk. "Don't tell me I didn't see what I seen. I never had no superstition till last night, but believe me! You can tell me any kind o' a ghost story now and I'll swear to it. Take it from me, Sir Oliver Lodge and all them people ain't so cracked as we thought they was. I thought them city detectives was a bunch o' boneheads, but I apologize to 'em now – every one. I tell you, Mr. Forrester, here's a case that'll never be solved. It's some imp o' hell that leaves those notices at people's doors. No wonder they're found asphyxiated when they don't pay. It's coal-gas straight from hell that comes out and suffocates 'em. You'll never catch nobody takin' that money out o' that tree, 'cause you can take my word for it, when you put it in there, a ghostly, flamin' hand reaches over your shoulder and pulls it out again. Believe me, no human eyes is goin' to see the people that gets that money."