The Secret Toll
By the time Forrester reached the Nevins home and rang the door-bell, the lesson had had its effect. He had acquired part of the attributes of a good detective – caution, and a suspicion of everybody and everything. In the future, so he assured himself, he would be more guarded in his conversation, not only with new acquaintances, but with his friends as well. At this moment a servant opened the door and Forrester stepped into the brilliantly lighted hallway with a feeling of relief.
As he was well known in this home he went immediately to the library without being announced. There he found his mother and sister with the Nevins family. Evidences of grief were apparent on all their faces and after a general exchange of subdued greetings, young Nevins led Forrester to a sofa in a corner and said, "I suppose you've heard about Father, Bob?"
"Yes," replied Forrester, "and I'm mighty sorry, old man. It must have been a great blow."
"It was a dreadful shock to Mother. You know when a person is ill, and death is momentarily expected, you are sort of prepared for the final end, but when you find your father dead on the front steps, and you know that he has been murdered, it is an awful stroke."
"If you don't mind talking about it, Charlie, I should like to hear some of the details."
"I don't mind, Bob. The fact is, that is about all we have been able to talk about. There is very little to tell, however.
"It seems that Father received a notice about two weeks ago from this damnable blackmailing society which calls itself the 'Friends of the Poor.' About that notice, and what happened subsequently, we know practically nothing outside of the few details we read in the newspapers, and a little that the police were willing to tell us. Father never said a word to either Mother or myself about it. I believe he did not even tell his business associates, simply putting the matter into the hands of the police and going on about his business as usual. The Chief of Detectives called in person this morning, and during his visit, told me that he had offered Father a police guard, but that Father refused it.
"Last night Father attended a dinner of the Midland Bankers' Association, and as we naturally did not expect him home until quite a late hour, Mother and I retired at our usual time. The first we knew, therefore, that Father had not been home all night, was when we missed him at breakfast. When a maid went up to call him she found his bedroom door open and saw that the bed had not been occupied. I was just about to call up the police when the patrolman on our street rang the door-bell and asked the maid who answered the door if she knew the man who was lying on our steps. Of course, she immediately recognized Father, and when we heard her scream we all hurried to the door. The patrolman helped me carry him in. This man waited until the doctor came, as he said he would have to make a report and he wanted to know if foul play were suspected.
"Our doctor lives just across the street. He was here in five minutes, but there was nothing that he could do. He said that Father had unquestionably been dead for many hours."
"Could he tell the cause of death?" inquired Forrester.
"Yes," returned Nevins, "he stated that it was clearly a case of asphyxia. Father, of course, had been murdered by the same method as all the other victims of the 'Friends of the Poor.'"
"But," protested Forrester, "how could they get at your father? It was my impression that he always went about in his car with a chauffeur driving."
"That is quite right," answered Nevins, "but Fate was with these people last night. They had evidently been watching for just such an opportunity. When our chauffeur drove the car up at nine o'clock this morning, which was his custom, to take Father down to the bank, I called him in and questioned him about last night.
"He said he had called for Father at eleven o'clock, as he had been instructed to do, and they started for home. Just as they reached Oak Street something went wrong with the motor. The chauffeur spent a half-hour trying to discover the trouble and he says that Father grew very impatient. Father, it seems, tried to get a taxicab, but all the cabs that passed were going north and had people in them. You know it is not much of a walk from Oak Street up to the house, and the chauffeur said that Father finally told him to take his time in fixing the car and he would walk home. The chauffeur saw him start off up the Lake Shore Drive and that was the last anyone saw or heard of Father until he was found on our steps this morning."
Forrester's thoughts reverted to the car which had followed him through the fog. There was little doubt in his mind that this same car had followed the elder Nevins, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Forrester did not question that the banker's murderers were in that car now. At this very moment they might be waiting outside for Forrester to reappear. It flashed through his mind what a simple matter it would be for him to notify the police and have them ready when he started out.
"Mother," said Forrester, "how soon do you expect to go home?"
"I suppose we could leave at any time now, Son," replied Mrs. Forrester.
"How did you plan to go home? I did not see the car outside when I came in."
"No," explained Mrs. Forrester, "it was such a pleasant evening that I told William he need not return. After the excitement and worry we have been through I thought it would be good for us to walk home."
"It is not at all nice out now," said Forrester. "A heavy fog has come up. I think I would better call a taxicab."
Forrester went to the telephone and ordered a taxicab. Then he whispered to Nevins, "May I use a phone upstairs where I can talk without being overheard?"
"Yes," informed Nevins, "you will find a phone in Father's room."
Forrester went upstairs and called police headquarters. He briefly explained who he was, what had occurred on his walk over, and suggested that they watch for the strange car as he returned home.
"Leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes," instructed the man at headquarters, "and we'll be ready for you."
After returning to the library Forrester took an occasional surreptitious look at his watch and was pleased to hear the taxi driver ring the door-bell just as the fifteen minutes expired.
As Forrester assisted his mother down the steps he glanced hastily around. The fog was still heavy. He could make out nothing save the taxicab at the curb, but just as he was giving the address to the taxi driver he noticed a small man of slight build appear out of the fog. This man stopped quite near to him and lit a cigarette. Aside from noting the man's build and the fact that he wore a cap and had very dark hair, Forrester could make out no other details, for the man stood with his back to Forrester and the lighted match really served only to throw him out in silhouette. Forrester entered the cab and it started off. As he leaned back he reflected that the man he had seen was of too small a stature to be a detective. His act of stopping so close to them might have been mere accident, but to Forrester the thing had a significance which could not be overlooked. He was confident that this was one of the men they wanted. He hoped that the police, although not visible in the fog, had arrived as promised. If so, he felt that their problems were pretty close to a final solution.
They reached Bellevue Place without incident. The whir of the taxicab's engine had effectually drowned any sound of pursuit and though he had glanced back several times, Forrester had been able to see nothing save a wall of fog back of the cab. Yet somewhere in that fog-draped street he was sure the murderers' car was lurking.
There appeared to be no one around as they left the cab, but Forrester, after his mother and sister had gone into the house, lingered for a moment in the dark doorway. He could hear the hum of the taxicab's engine as it passed down the street toward the Lake Shore Drive. Otherwise the night was silent.
Suddenly Forrester heard the roar of opened mufflers in the other direction, and the next instant two black shapes passed swiftly by through the fog. Red flashes leaped out of the darkness and sharp reports resounded through the street as they passed the door.
"The police are on the job!" exulted Forrester.
He hastily stepped inside and closed the door, for his army experience had shown him the danger of stray bullets.
CHAPTER V – THE HAUNTED TREE
Twice before he retired that night Forrester sought information from the police. By one o'clock, however, when no report had been turned in, he decided to wait until morning.
Early Wednesday morning he called the detective bureau on the telephone to find out what the police had accomplished. The voice at the other end of the wire was apologetic.
"We're sorry, Mr. Forrester, but the men got away from us. Had it been any other kind of a night we would have had them, sure. The fog prevented the detectives from seeing the car distinctly, so that after it turned into the Lake Shore Drive, and mingled with other cars, it was impossible to pick it up again.
"Our men were sure that their bullets struck the car. After giving up the chase they spent half the night on the West Side trying to locate an automobile with bullet holes, but were unsuccessful."
"Then you have made no progress at all on the case," said Forrester.
"No, I wouldn't say that," was the reply. "We now have some fairly definite people to look for. Before the incident of last night the whole thing was a mystery that did not present a single tangible point on which to base our investigations. Now, we believe that these people are just an ordinary auto bandit gang, and we know how to take steps to look them up."
"If anything of a hopeful nature occurs," requested Forrester, "I will appreciate it if you will call me on the telephone and let me know about it."
"We will be glad to do that," agreed the man at headquarters. "You may expect to hear from us at any time. And in the meanwhile, we will also appreciate any further tips similar to the one you gave us last night."
Forrester then called the garage and ordered his roadster sent around to the house.
Although the police seemed to be trying, and were under the impression that they were making some progress, Forrester decided to make a few efforts on his own account as he had originally planned. Even if he did not get very far in his investigations, he at least might discover something that would be of assistance to the police. He had little faith in Green, yet he realized that with this private detective, the police, and himself all working along individual lines, it was possible that the sum of all their discoveries might convey some hint of the lines that must be followed to bring the criminals to justice.
Forrester was not much impressed with Humphrey's triangulation theory. It was too far fetched and fanciful. Moreover, he realized that before putting even this surveying method into actual practice, he must first look over all the ground carefully. At the present moment, the only prominent and definite landmark in the case was the oak tree. He knew that this had already been the starting point for all the detectives who had been conducting investigations, but it was possible that because of his freedom from traditions, as Humphrey had put it, he might discover something which the more experienced detectives had overlooked. As soon as his roadster arrived, therefore, he planned to visit the oak tree in Jasper lane.
This analyzing of Humphrey's suggestions recalled to Forrester his suspicions of the night before. He decided, before going further, to make sure of Humphrey, so he got the Times office on the wire and inquired for the reporter. He recognized the young man's voice immediately and it lifted a considerable load from his mind.
"This is Forrester," he told Humphrey. "I called up to see if you had any new information for me."
"Oh, hello!" called Humphrey. "No, I haven't any new tips – but say – did you see my article this morning?"
"No," admitted Forrester, "I haven't had time to look at the paper."
"Don't miss it!" cried Humphrey. "I'll bet I've killed any idea those fellows might have had that you would put up a fight."
"What did you say?" queried Forrester.
"Why, I described how I called on you last night, and stated that I found you in a blue funk. Without actually saying so, I intimated that the cold sweat was standing out in beads on your forehead and thrills of fear running up and down your spine."
"I'm afraid," laughed Forrester, "that you have given my friends an idea that I hid in a dugout all through the war."
"Not on your life!" protested Humphrey. "You just read that article. You'll find that I'm an artist when it comes to descriptive writing."
"All right," agreed Forrester, "I'll read it tonight. I'm starting out now to have a look at that oak tree."
"Good luck!" said Humphrey. "Let me know if you spot anything. I've got to break away now. The Chief's shouting. Good-bye!"
The most direct route to follow in starting out for the North Shore would have been to go straight up the Lake Shore Drive and Sheridan Road. Forrester, however, had become cautious since his experience of the night before. He turned his car west and followed less used thoroughfares as far as Devon Avenue, glancing back from time to time. The few cars which he saw at these times all turned off at various streets before he reached Devon Avenue. Forrester, confident that he was not followed, swung east on Devon Avenue and soon turned into the north bound traffic on Sheridan Road.
Twice before reaching Jasper lane he stopped his car at the side of the road and pretended to adjust his engine. What he really did, however, was to carefully inspect the cars which passed him so that if he met any of them again they would be easily recognized. But when he turned into Jasper lane it was quite evident that no one had followed or paid any attention to him.
The surrounding country appeared lonely and deserted at the point where Jasper lane branched off from Sheridan Road. In this locality there were only large estates and vacant tracts of land, all heavily wooded. Jasper lane, which sloped slightly upward as it left Sheridan Road, was an unfrequented byway sometimes used as a short cut to a few large estates that lay along a prominent road farther to the west.
Forrester figured that two hundred feet would bring him to the crest of the rise before him and he kept his eyes on the left side of the road as he drove slowly along. He did not need any special guide to locate the oak tree, however, for its gigantic form towered above all the other trees in the neighborhood. He turned his car to the opposite side of the road, stopped his engine, and inspected the tree. The trunk, which was fully six feet in diameter, rose to a height of about fifteen feet, at which point it branched into two parts. Forrester's engineering mind took in this detail at once and it occurred to him that the space thus formed would make a roomy and comfortable perch from which to keep a watch over anything that might take place at the tree. He surmised that the detectives who had previously watched the tree had merely concealed themselves in the surrounding undergrowth where clever people, familiar with the locality, might have been able to espy and avoid them in approaching the tree. If at any time he decided to do a little watching on his own account, Forrester concluded that this was the point of vantage which he would occupy.
Forrester now jumped down from his car and strode across the road to take a closer view of the tree and its surroundings. The tree stood back from the road a few feet, and an open grass-covered space surrounded it for a distance of about ten feet. Beyond this clear space were thick undergrowth and young saplings, and a little farther back the woods began. From the road to the tree was a well-defined pathway. As Forrester approached the tree he found that this pathway wound around it and led off toward the right through the thick woods.
The opening referred to in the demand he had received was noticeable at once – a hole about a foot high by six or eight inches across. It had probably been caused by some fungus growth or insects eating into the tree and gradually rotting away part of the wood. The opening was about four feet from the ground and Forrester had to stoop slightly to put his arm into it. The space inside was comparatively small. Forrester was under the impression that oak trees were seldom, if ever, affected in this way, but as he felt around, digging his fingers into the rotting wood, there seemed no reason to believe that the opening was other than a natural one. While his arm was still inside the tree, Forrester was startled to hear a voice close behind him, for he had not heard anyone approach.
"What yo'all doin' dere?"
Forrester withdrew his hand and turned swiftly to find himself facing a coal black negro. Though Forrester was himself a tall man he found that he had to slightly raise his eyes to look into those of the man before him. They looked each other over for a moment and then the negro repeated his question.
"What yo'all doin'?"
"I don't know that that's any of your business," said Forrester.
"Dat's all right, Boss. Ah don't mean no offense. Dat tree done have a bad name, an' us folks aroun' yere has begun to kinda keep our eyes open."
"Well," inquired Forrester, "what do you think I'm doing at the tree?"
"Ah dunno, Boss. Dat's what Ah'm tryin' to fine out."
There was a slight pause as the two men again looked each other over. To Forrester, the negro, in spite of his size, appeared to be really a harmless individual. Possibly he was a gardener in the vicinity. The negro on his part could see that Forrester was a gentleman, and therefore hardly likely to be one of the supposed blackmailing gang who had made this tree famous for miles around. His changed attitude was clearly apparent in the manner in which he next addressed Forrester.
"Yo' mus' scuse me, suh, fo' buttin' in on yo' disaway, but mah Missey done tole me to watch eberybody dat hung aroun' dis yere tree. Ah only been doin' mah duty, suh."
Forrester accepted this apology in the spirit in which it was tendered, and assumed a more tolerant attitude toward the negro.
"You live around here, do you?" he inquired.
"Yas, suh. Jes' a little way up de road on de oder side."
"Gardener, I suppose," suggested Forrester.
"Yas, suh. Dat an' some mo.' Mah wife, Marthy, an' me done be caretakahs fo' ole Mistah Bradbury. His house is jes' up de road aways. Him an' his wife done be liben in Califo'ny, suh."
"Well, arn't you and your wife afraid to live alone out in the woods, with bad men all around?" asked Forrester, with mock gravity.
"Yas, suh. We done be mighty afeared sometimes. But we ain't alone no mo'."
"I thought you said your folks were in California?"
"Yas, suh, Ah done say dat. But we done got a young lady liben dere now, Boss. She ain't been dere long, suh – only since las' Sato'day. She's a mighty fine young lady, Boss, an' Ah's skeered dis yere tree am goin' to dribe her away. She done seem jes' fas'nated wif dis tree – hangin' aroun' all de time, Boss."
"Well!" murmured Forrester, thoughtfully. It was strange that a young woman should take such an interest in this tree, associated as it was with mystery, menace and the blood of victims. "You'd better look out for her," he added. "Some of these bad men may get her."
"Say, Boss, what yo' mean bad men?"
Forrester looked his surprise.
"Why," he explained, "the bad men who make people put money in this tree and then come and get it out."
"Dat ain't no men, Boss!"
"No men!" repeated Forrester.
"No, Boss. Jes' hants!"
"What nonsense are you talking now?" queried Forrester.
"Dat ain't no nonsense, suh. Dere ain't nobody aroun' yere, 'ceptin' maybe dat bad niggah woman dat libes back in dem woods, dat would go neah dis tree in de night time."
This was growing interesting, decided Forrester. He could not remember having heard Prentice, the detectives, or anyone, refer to these uncanny surroundings. Possibly they had heard of them, but had scoffed at the idea. Perhaps, then, that had been one of the reasons why so little progress had been made. Forrester meant to get at the bottom of all this talk.
"What is your name?" he inquired.
"Joshua, suh."
"That's a good Bible name," commented Forrester. "I fancy a man with a name like that ought to tell the truth."
"Ah does, Boss; hones' Ah does," protested Joshua. "Ah belibes in de Lawd an' goes to church reg'lar. But de Lawd, he can't always stop de debil puttin' hants in t'ings."
"You really think this tree is haunted, do you, Joshua?"
"Hones', Boss. Dat's de whole truf an' nuffin but de truf."
"Tell me what makes you think the tree is haunted," requested Forrester.
"Done make me hab de shibers ebery time Ah talk 'bout dat, Boss. Yo' see, dere's a bad Jamaica niggah woman libes back in dem woods. She an' her husband done come yere 'bout two yahs ago. Dis yere tree all right den, but she done murdah her husban' one night."
"If she murdered her husband," said Forrester, "how is it she is living here now? Why wasn't she hung or put in jail?"
"De trouble was, Boss, dere wasn't no ebidence!"
"Then how do you know she murdered her husband?"
"Jes' a minute, Boss, jes' a minute! Yo' done got me all frustrated. Yo' done axe so many questions – an' axe dem so fas.'"
"All right, Joshua," laughed Forrester. "You tell the story your own way."
"As Ah was sayin', Boss, she done murdah her husban.' Nobody done see her do it, an' de polisman dat wen' huntin' roun' nebber foun' nuthin'. She said her husban' jes' run away. But we-all knows she done kill him, 'cause eber since he been missin' he done hant dat tree."
There was a slight pause as Joshua collected his wits. After the previous warning Forrester remained silent until the colored man was ready to go on with his story.
"One Sunday night, mah wife an' me come by yere on our way from church. An awful still night, Boss, an' ter'ble dark. When we got jes' yere, we heered a noise – click, click, click – jes' like dat. Den we heered cuss words – blasphemin' de Lawd something ter'ble. Den we heered mo' click, click. An' after dat —sighs. We don't wait to heah no mo', Boss. We jes' runned home an' got our heads under de cobers – quick! Marthy's awful fat, Boss, but mah goodness, how dat woman can run!
"Nex' mo'nin' Ah says to Marthy: What yo'all t'ink dat was we heered las' night?
"'Joshua,' she says, 'don't you know what dat was? Dat was dat Jamaica niggah woman's husban' diggin' his own grave! Dey such bad peopull de Lawd done sen' him away an' he had to come back yere an' dig a hole for hisself.'
"Eber since den, Boss, folks has heered funny t'ings aroun' dat tree. Sighin's, an' chain rattlin's, an groans. An' some folks say dey done seen funny lights floatin' roun'. Tain't no men gettin' dat money, Boss – no suh. It's de hant of dat Jamaica niggah woman's man gettin' money to gib to de debil! Boss, dere's lots of polismen done come from de city an' watch dat tree. Dey neber seen or heered nuthin' – but in de mo'nin' de money was gone! Dat means hants sure, Boss."
Forrester stood for a moment, gazing thoughtfully across the roadway. He was sure that he had unearthed something worth while by allowing this colored man to talk. Whether the man actually believed what he had told Forrester, or was just repeating a prearranged story, which someone had instructed him to tell, Forrester could not now determine. One thing was certain, however. Several singular and suspicious people did live near this tree. He made up his mind to investigate the colored woman who was reported to be living back in the woods, and also, at the first opportunity, to secure information regarding the young woman who was taking such an interest in the tree.
"Joshua," said Forrester, suddenly, "have you told this story to the young lady who is now living at your house?"
"Yas, Boss, Ah shuah did. De fus' time Ah foun' her at dis yere tree Ah done tole her all 'bout it, an' wahned her to keep away. She jes' laughed at me, Boss, an' said dere wasn't no such t'ings as hants. Why, Boss, dat young lady done been comin' down to dis yere tree ebery night since Sunday! She come all alone– by herself– in de dark! Ah know, Boss, 'cause Ah done follow her. Ah got to keep mah eyes on dat young Missey. Ah got to take keer of her, Boss."