The Secret Toll

"Do you wish any dances?" she inquired, after a time. Forrester's face flushed. Divided between his disturbing reflections and the enchantment of her nearness, he had not thought of reserving any dances. He held out his hand and she placed her dance card in it.

"You see, you are always late," she chided him. "Five dances are already taken."

"I'll take these three after young Melville," announced Forrester, and wrote his initials on the card.

Forrester had lost his interest in dancing of late, so he held himself in the background until it was time to claim his first dance with Mary Sturtevant. Then he hunted for her everywhere. She was not to be found, and even after the orchestra had begun to play, she did not appear. He saw nothing further of her until time for his second dance, when he suddenly became aware that she was standing by his side.

"You are like the beautiful young woman that the magician passes through his cabinet," exclaimed Forrester.

"Do I appear and disappear so mysteriously as all that?" she laughed, but offered no apology nor explanation.

Then the music began and they swept out on the floor.

Just before the dance ended Forrester noted a stir near the conservatory doors. Though the doors were closed, several people were grouped about them, apparently looking through the glass at something going on within the conservatory. When the music stopped Forrester suggested that they stroll in this direction and ascertain what was taking place. Before they reached the conservatory doors, however, Mr. Melville, their host, appeared at Forrester's side. The man's face was pale and drawn.

"Forrester," said Mr. Melville in a low voice, "we have had an accident in the conservatory. I would appreciate your help. Come around by way of the hall – the doors from this room have been locked."

Mr. Melville turned away toward the hall and Forrester excused himself to Mary Sturtevant. He noticed that her face also had paled.

"I think I know what has happened," she said. "Please let me go with you."

"It might not be agreeable to Mr. Melville," objected Forrester.

"Robert," she whispered, impressively, "you are safe only when I am with you!"

Forrester stared at her in astonishment. There was a beseeching look in her eyes, however, and she held her hands out to him with a pleading gesture which he could not resist.

"Come," he said, briefly, and taking her arm led her across the room and around through the hall into the conservatory. Near its center, hidden from prying eyes among palms and flowering plants, they found Mr. Melville's son stretched out on a bench. Near by stood the father, while a gray-haired man leaned over the young man. The gray-haired man stood erect at the sound of Forrester's and the girl's approach. Mr. Melville was apparently too much distressed to notice Mary Sturtevant's unbidden presence. He turned to Forrester, informing him simply that the gray-haired man was a doctor.

The deathly pallor on the young man's face told the story. Forrester, however, inquired:

"Dead?"

"Yes," replied the doctor. "Asphyxiated!"

"This is the work of the 'Friends of the Poor,' Forrester," asserted Mr. Melville. "I knew that you were involved and had been carrying on some investigations in the matter. It occurred to me that there might be some clues here of value to you. This is the story:

"About two weeks ago I was ordered by these people to place a certain sum in that oak tree. Naturally, I ignored the demand and notified the police. Since then I have taken every precaution to protect myself against attack. Unable to get at me, it seems obvious that these contemptible wretches have reached me through my son. That, I believe, is a new angle, and shows the extremes to which these people are prepared to go."

"When did this happen, Mr. Melville?" asked Forrester.

"About a half-hour ago, I should say, I saw my son pass into the conservatory with this young lady," and Mr. Melville turned toward Mary Sturtevant for the first time.

Forrester also turned and looked at the girl. She met his gaze steadily.

"Shortly after I came here," she explained, "my next dancing partner entered and claimed me. I left young Mr. Melville sitting near that open window over there."

Forrester gave no outward indication of the shock he had received. He clearly remembered that after young Melville's dance the next three dances were his. It was during the first of these, the one she had intimated belonged to someone else, that he had missed the girl. He knew, therefore, that she had lied deliberately, placing it squarely up to him to protect her. "Protect her from what?" thought Forrester. "What was this frightful new development in the mystery?"

"I decided I wanted a smoke," continued Mr. Melville, "and so came into the conservatory. A moment later I found my son on the floor beneath that open window where Miss Sturtevant says she left him. My doctor was among the guests and I summoned him at once – but too late, it seems."

"Any other facts?" asked Forrester, and received another shock when the doctor handed him a small piece of filmy white fabric.

"I found this beside the body," said the doctor. And added, as Forrester took it, "Note the peculiar odor."

Forrester lifted the fabric to his nose. Instantly he recognized the same pungent, drug-like smell which he had noticed the night he was attacked with the death mask. Examining the filmy bit of cloth, Forrester saw that it was a part of a lady's handkerchief which had been torn in half. In one corner the letter "S" was embroidered. Crumpling the handkerchief in his hand, Forrester pushed it into his waistcoat pocket.

"I believe I can make use of this," he said.

CHAPTER XVII – AT THE DOORSTEP

Crushed beneath the weight of his secret knowledge of Mary Sturtevant's seemingly close connection with the infamous band of extortioners and murderers who were literally terrorizing the city, Forrester fell into a dull routine that held him back from making any progress in the case. That a girl of her delicate refinement, superior intelligence and appealing femininity should be involved with these men whose wanton butcheries were becoming more and more appalling, was a bewildering conundrum. Had anyone simply stated the case to Forrester, he would have ridiculed such a suggestion, yet step by step facts had accumulated rapidly from the day he first met her at the oak tree, culminating in the astounding situation at the dance. The facts were so glaringly against her then that he hardly dared review them.

At the time he put her handkerchief in his pocket he had had two objects in view; to save her from the possible consequences of the discovery of so definite a clue, and later to confront her with it and force a confession. He had a wild idea that once he knew the whole story he could persuade her to go away with him where the baleful hold these men apparently had on her could not follow. Remembering the coincidence of her leaving the room with young Melville, her absence when it was Forrester's turn to dance with her, and her untruthful statement regarding her parting with Melville, Forrester saw clearly that her activities in the affair were more than passive. Everything pointed to her as a daring accomplice.

Forrester decided that as she had repulsed all his efforts to induce her to leave, it would be better for him to stay away from her entirely and let her work out her destiny in her own wilful way. For this reason he refused all invitations, knowing that the wide acquaintance which her letters of introduction had gained for her would inevitably result in his meeting the girl at practically every place he went.

In spite of loud protests from Josephine, he had declined on this night to attend one of the largest affairs of the season and was sitting in the library with an open book laid face-down across his knee. After a short chat earlier in the evening, Green had retired to his station across the lawn and Forrester attempted to read. The printed words made little or no impression on his perturbed mind and at length he dropped the book. For over two hours he sat staring out through the open French windows, wholly lost in melancholy thoughts.

Suddenly Forrester was conscious that someone was looking at him through the open window. He started up in alarm just as Prentice strolled into the room.

"Hello!" greeted Prentice. "Did I startle you?"

"Rather," answered Forrester, as he dropped back into his chair. "How the deuce did you get in?"

Prentice raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's a strange question," he declared. "I just walked in, of course. Why do you look so astonished?"

"Well, you see," explained Forrester, "I have a detective stationed out there on the lawn. He is not supposed to allow anyone to slip in like that."

"He has probably dropped off to sleep," laughed Prentice. "Or perhaps, recognizing me, did not think it necessary to interfere. Are your folks at the dance tonight, Bob?"

"Yes, and I'm a little surprised that you are not there."

"A man of my age, Bob, gets surfeited with such affairs. My wife and daughter are there, however, and I promised to run up with the car and bring them home. In passing, it occurred to me that you might like to go along for the ride on such a warm night. It will give me an opportunity to chat with you, too. You know it has been a long time since we had a confidential talk over things."

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Prentice, but I had rather not go. I had quite a battle with Josephine over staying at home. If she found that I had actually come as far as the door after all, there would be high jinks. You know, I seem to be settling down terribly lately."

"You've taken too large and unaccustomed a burden on your shoulders, Bob. Better drop that 'Friends of the Poor' matter. Even the police are not getting anywhere."

"I would not have believed a few weeks ago that criminals could go so far without detection," said Forrester.

Prentice glanced around as though he feared being overheard. Then he addressed Forrester in a low tone. "I've changed my mind about the criminal side of this money drive. I am inclined to believe that it is something more – something of world-wide significance." Then added, in a louder voice, "Well, I must be going on. Good-night, Bob," and he passed out of the window.

Forrester listened to his steps fade away along the terrace and then sat pondering over Green's noninterference with Prentice's approach. It was unusual and peculiar. If the detective were getting careless he was of no further use. Happily, in this instance, it had been only Prentice, but might not one of his enemies come in on him just as easily?

Forrester jumped up and strode across the lawn to the pergola.

"Green!" he called, sharply.

The breeze whispering through the leaves and the splash of tiny wavelets on the beach below were the only sounds Forrester heard. He stepped into the pergola and struck a match. Green was in his chair, but huddled down in a loose and helpless bundle. Forrester shook him without result, though the man's labored breathing showed that he was not dead.

"My God!" cried Forrester. "I believe he has been attacked with the death mask!"

He ran part way to the garage before remembering that the chauffeur was with the car and waiting several miles away to bring Mrs. Forrester and Josephine home. Green must be gotten out of the way before they arrived. Returning to the pergola Forrester placed Green's inert form over his shoulder and carried the detective to his room over the garage. Laying the man carefully on the bed Forrester hurried to the house to telephone.

"Yes," said the doctor, a half-hour later, "I think he will live. We got him just in time. Peculiar thing, Mr. Forrester, how a man can be asphyxiated in the open air – yet this fellow shows every symptom of asphyxia."

"Please don't mention the matter at the house, doctor," requested Forrester. "My mother and sister might be unnecessarily alarmed over it."

"I understand," agreed the doctor. "Mum's the word." Then, turning to William, who had returned and stood in the room, he added, "Are you going to watch him?"

"My wife and I will take turns," replied William.

"Well, if there is a change that does not look favorable, telephone me at once. I'll be back in the morning. Good-night."

—

During the period of Green's convalescence Forrester emerged from his lethargy, passing to the other extreme. He became restless and uneasy. The doctor advised him against discussing any serious matters with Green, stating that the man had received a mental as well as a physical shock and that complete recovery could come only through both mental and bodily rest. Forrester remained away from Green, therefore, and finding himself unable to concentrate upon his reading or to focus his thoughts for any length of time, he spent many hours walking along North Shore roads, or discovering new bypaths through the woods.

On one of these occasions he found himself unexpectedly in the rear of Lucy's cottage. As he retained lingering suspicions of the Jamaica colored woman it seemed to Forrester an opportune time to pay her another visit. He walked around the end of the building through the neglected, weed-grown clearing to the door and knocked. No noisy dog greeted him this time, and in the quiet and gloomy woods the place seemed to exhale an atmosphere of insidious mystery. He knocked twice before Lucy opened the door and stood as he remembered her before – silent, distrustfully observant, her peculiar eyes with their oddly drooping lids vaguely suggestive of furtive evil.

"Good afternoon," Forrester greeted her, cheerfully.

"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