The Secret Toll

"The house looks dark and dismal," commented Prentice, as he seated himself and drew out a cigar. "Why don't you turn on more lights?"

"It did seem a bit lonesome before you came," admitted Forrester. "I don't believe more light would help. To me it would simply emphasize how large and deserted the house is at this moment. How do you happen to be in town on a night like this?"

"We expected friends from Rockford," explained Prentice, "to stay with us over the week end. You know we are giving a dinner tomorrow evening."

Forrester nodded.

"I stayed in town to meet them," continued Prentice. "When they did not arrive and I found it was to be such a bad night, I decided to stay at the club, instead of going home. The time was dragging, for it seemed that practically everyone I knew had left town. Then I thought of you and concluded I would run up and pay you a little visit."

"I am very glad you did," approved Forrester, "for I am willing to admit that I miss the family now that they have gone."

At that moment the telephone bell rang sharply.

"Looks like you were not going to be so lonely after all," observed Prentice.

Forrester picked up the receiver.

"Hello!" said a man's voice. "Is that you, Mr. Forrester?"

"Yes," replied Forrester.

"I want to get a little information," informed the voice. "I believe you expect to put some money into a certain tree tomorrow night."

"Who are you?" demanded Forrester.

"That is of no immediate importance," returned the voice. "What I wanted was to find out the exact time at which you intended to place the money in that tree."

"I am not giving any information to strangers," snapped Forrester.

"I am sorry," returned the voice in a conciliatory tone, "but I can't give you any particulars at this time. It is important, however, that I know at what hour you intend to visit the tree."

"Better call up the detective bureau," retorted Forrester. "Good-by," and he hung up the receiver.

Prentice was leaning toward Forrester with a puzzled expression on his face. "That was a peculiar conversation," he said. "May I ask what it was about?"

"A man whose voice I did not recognize," explained Forrester, "was trying to find out at what hour I intended to place that extortion money in the tree tomorrow night. He wanted his information without giving me any."

"Strange," murmured Prentice. "Perhaps it was a newspaper man – or a detective."

"No need for them to disguise their identity," asserted Forrester. "I certainly have talked freely to all of them."

Prentice sat in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, and Forrester was equally absorbed in trying to fathom the object of the person who had called him up. Their thoughts were interrupted by another clamorous ring on the telephone. Again a man's voice came over the wire when Forrester took up the receiver. This was a very different voice, however; coarse, with a slightly foreign accent, and rough in its address.

"That you, Forrester?" asked the voice.

"Yes," answered Forrester, gruffly. "What do you want?"

"This is the 'Friends of the Poor'," came back over the wire.

"'Friends of the Poor'!" repeated Forrester, astonished and Prentice sat up suddenly in his chair.

"Yes," affirmed the voice. "We're tired of fooling around with you and we want to know something definite."

"What do you wish to know?" inquired Forrester, less harshly.

"We want to know the exact hour at which you will put the money in the tree tomorrow night."

Forrester hesitated. He glanced at Prentice, who was leaning toward him, an interested listener, and reflected whether or not to ask his advice. Forrester's own impulse was to treat the man as he had the first caller. It occurred to him, however, that if this man really did represent the "Friends of the Poor," as he claimed, it would simplify matters for the detectives if a definite hour were arranged. He remembered Cahill's instructions to approach the tree at ten-thirty.

"I had planned to go to the tree about ten-thirty," finally announced Forrester.

"That's all right," said the voice. "Be sure you make it ten-thirty sharp – and no dicks, remember!" The wire suddenly became dead as the man at the other end hung up the receiver. Forrester hung up his own receiver and turned to Prentice.

"What's this about the 'Friends of the Poor'?" exclaimed Prentice.

"That man said he represented the 'Friends of the Poor'," replied Forrester. "He wanted me to give him the exact hour at which I would place the money in the tree."

"That's a strange proceeding," muttered Prentice.

"Strange?" queried Forrester.

"That they should take the risk of calling you up on the phone," explained Prentice.

"Things are getting rather hot for them," declared Forrester. "They realize it, and probably do not want to take a chance by staying near the tree for too long a period. The man warned me not to have any detectives at hand."

"He did!" ejaculated Prentice.

There followed a moment's silence while Prentice relit his cigar.

"Tell me, Bob," he requested, at length, "have you made any definite plans about tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I'm coming to your house for dinner for one thing," smiled Forrester.

"You know what I mean," said Prentice, seriously. "You have trifled with this 'Friends of the Poor' matter long enough. What have you decided to do – are you going to pay the money or fight?"

"Both," answered Forrester, laughing. He then explained to Prentice the major details of his own and the detectives' plans for Saturday night.

"And you mean to say, Bob," gasped Prentice, "that these detectives have actually located the 'Friends of the Poor'?"

"Not located them, exactly," returned Forrester, "but they have a very strong suspicion."

"Against whom?" asked Prentice.

"A band of Italians on the West Side," divulged Forrester. "They have secured what they claim to be certain evidence and expect to capture the men at the tree tomorrow night."

Prentice smiled. "That's not the first time I've heard that police theory," he declared. "Still, there may be something to their idea, after all, in view of the telephone calls you received this evening. There should be interesting developments tomorrow night. But, Bob," he added, "take my advice and leave this matter entirely in the detectives' hands. Don't fail in your part of the matter. Place your money in the tree at the hour you agreed upon and then get away as quickly as you can."

"You take the matter too seriously," objected Forrester.

"And you don't realize how serious the affair is, Bob," asserted Prentice. "The claims of these detectives have given you too much confidence. Even if they do capture some men tomorrow night, there may be others of the band who will seek revenge. I cannot urge you too strongly to place that money in the tree and assure your own safety. The history of the case – "

Prentice was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell once more. He paused, with an astonished look on his face, and Forrester laughed.

"Unquestionably my busy night," said Forrester, as he picked up the receiver.

Forrester's face also expressed amazement, as he listened, and he placed one hand over the transmitter while he remarked in an aside to Prentice, "A woman's voice this time!" Then, speaking into the telephone, he said, "Yes, this is Mr. Forrester."

"I want to get some information," said the woman's voice, "that is vitally important to you. I must know at what hour you will place the money in the tree tomorrow night."

"Who are you?" inquired Forrester.

"I cannot tell you that now," replied the voice, "but let me assure you that I am absolutely friendly to you. It is chiefly in your interest that I want this information."

"But," protested Forrester, "it is a matter in which I cannot be too free in furnishing information to strangers."

"I know," admitted the voice, "but you'll have to trust me for the present."

"Are you a lady reporter?" asked Forrester.

"No."

"Are you securing the information for a reporter?"

"No."

"Are you connected in any way with a newspaper?"

"No."

"Are you a lady detective then?" and Forrester could not restrain a slight laugh.

"It is useless for you to ask questions," declared the voice. "I am asking information – not giving it."

"But favors beget favors," protested Forrester.

"You are not doing me a favor," returned the woman. "This is in your own interest."

"Well, then, if you insist," acceded Forrester, "I will take the risk and inform you that I expect to visit the tree at ten-thirty tomorrow night."

"Thank you," was the reply, and the receiver was hastily hung up.

"I don't understand these telephone calls at all," said Prentice. "What do you make of them, Bob?"

"I fancy your first idea was correct," returned Forrester. "It is my opinion that these thick-headed detectives have talked too freely to the newspaper reporters about their new plan, and that we are simply going to have a convention of the press at the tree tomorrow night."

Prentice laughed heartily. "Perhaps you are right, Bob," he agreed. "If I had not had such a trying experience with these people myself, I should have liked to be a spectator, too. As it is, I imagine it will be safer to keep out of the way. And now," he added, rising, "I believe I would better go. I want to drive out early in the morning, and you, too, should have a good night's sleep."

Forrester accompanied Prentice to the door and stood until he saw the car disappear in the rain and mist. Then he returned to the library. The windows still rattled under the lash of the wind and rain, and somewhere far up in the house he heard a door slam.

"I don't think I'll do much sleeping tonight," thought Forrester, and crossing to the library table, lifted the lid of his humidor to get a cigar. He paused with a startled exclamation, for there before him lay a small square of brown wrapping paper. On it he recognized the crude skull and rough hand-printing of the "Friends of the Poor." The words stood out clearly in the light shed by the lamp on the table. He read:

Your efforts to trace us are known. We prefer your death to your money but will overlook your activities if you cease them at once and raise amount of your payment to $25,000. This opportunity ends positively at midnight Saturday.

Friends of the Poor

CHAPTER XII – SATURDAY

"Woodmere," the Forresters' summer estate, lay between Sheridan Road and the lake. The house, a long, two-storied building of white stucco, with green shutters and a green tile roof, looked much smaller than it really was because of the many great trees that towered above it. On the lake side a wide, paved terrace extended the length of the house. A short stretch of lawn spread from the terrace to the edge of the little bluff that dropped down to a sandy beach. On the edge of this bluff stood a vine-clad pergola, furnished with comfortable willow chairs. Here, on warm summer days, Forrester liked to sit with his pipe, and the ladies brought their reading and fancy work. From the pergola one had a wonderful view up and down the shore line, while the great lake stretched as far as the eye could see. Even during the sultry days of midsummer this spot was sure to pick up a cooling breeze.

Large ornamental gateways stood at the north and south ends, and from these a wide driveway swung in a crescent shape up to the front door. A branch drive turned off at the south side of the house and passing the end of the terrace wound through a mass of shrubbery to the garage.

Shortly after noon on Saturday Forrester turned his car in at the south gateway and drove to the garage. The doors stood wide open, and William, the family chauffeur, who was working on the big car, came out to take charge of Forrester's roadster.

"I'm glad to see you arrived safe, sir," William greeted Forrester. "The ladies were a bit worried at your staying alone in the town house last night. Stormed dreadful here, sir."

"It was a bad night, William," agreed Forrester. "But that's just the sort of night to make one sleep soundly. Did that man, Green, arrive?"

"A few minutes ago, sir. He's up in his room now."

"I'll go up," said Forrester, and entering a door at the side of the garage, climbed to the chauffeur's quarters. Green had been given a cozy room overlooking the lake and Forrester found him in the midst of his unpacking.

"Gee!" exclaimed Green, on sighting Forrester, "I hope that mystery ain't solved all summer. I sure like this here room."

"The mystery will be solved tonight, I believe, Green."

"What!" gasped Green. "Who's got the dope? Not them city dicks?"

"You guessed it. Drop that work for awhile, and I'll tell you the whole story. Here, have a fresh cigar," offered Forrester, catching sight of a cold and much-chewed cigar end in the corner of Green's mouth.

The two men sat down near the window and lighted their cigars.

"An amazing lot of things have happened since I saw you on Thursday, Green," began Forrester. "For a time I thought I was getting on the actual trail – then the city detectives called Thursday night and told a plausible story that knocked all the props from under my theories; and yours, too, for the matter of that."

"Huh!" scoffed Green.

"I know how you feel," assented Forrester. "I wondered myself, until an incident occurred Friday night which half convinced me they were right. Now, let me tell you the whole story, and then we will talk it over. One thing I want to impress upon you, however. Some things I am about to tell you, especially about a certain young lady, are to be kept absolutely quiet – no matter what happens."

"That's part o' my business," assured Green. "A detective don't get nowhere if he talks too much."

"I'll take that as a valuable hint," laughed Forrester.

He then related the occurrences of the last two days; his meeting with Mary Sturtevant, his visit to Lucy, the call from Cahill and O'Connor, their theories and plans, the mystifying telephone calls, and finally the startling discovery of the notice in his humidor.

"And now," Forrester concluded, "I want your opinion on all these facts. Forget your natural animosity to the city detectives, Green, and consider their clues and theories in the light of cold reason."

Green shifted his chair so that he could rest his feet on the window sill, relighted his cigar which had gone out while Forrester talked, and smoked for a while in silence.

"Look here," he said, at length. "You remember my theory and arguments that these here 'Friends o' the Poor' lived near that tree?"

"Yes," replied Forrester, "and that newspaper fellow, Humphrey, had something of the same idea. I half agreed with both of you after my discoveries."

"All right," continued Green, "I'll bet you a week's pay them Italiansout there on the West Side – miles away – are just plain auto bandits. They're pullin' some game o' their own, and most likely never even heard o' the 'Friends o' the Poor.' Them city dicks is coverin' up their poor work by misleadin' you. Get me?"

"But the telephone calls," protested Forrester. "Especially the man's voice with the foreign accent!"

"Bunk!" sneered Green. "Reporters, most likely, tryin' to get next to your plans. See here," he added, dropping his feet to the floor and shifting his chair to face Forrester, "I bet there's so many o' them reporter guys around that tree tonight that the 'Friends o' the Poor' can't get near it!"

"And that notice – unaccountably slipped into my cigar humidor while I sat in the library. How do you place that?"

"That's the only real thing that happened," maintained Green. "But it ain't any way mysterious, though they tried to scare you into thinkin' it was. Them guys just crawled through a window while you was out to dinner. It was there all the evenin' – only you didn't happen to want a cigar till late, that's all. Did you find any open or unlocked windows?"

"Not on the first floor. I discovered a second floor window open after hearing a door slam."

"Any floor would suit them guys," asserted Green. "Take it from me, Mr. Forrester; you and me's nearer the solution o' this thing than them city bulls. We're right on the ground now, and we're goin' to locate somethin'. Let them detective guys play around with their Italians. They'll never get 'em near that tree – never on your life!"

—

The library at "Woodmere" faced the terrace, upon which a row of French windows opened. Forrester sat by the big center table that evening, idly turning the pages of a book. Heavy footsteps clattered along the terrace, and a moment later Green entered at one of the windows.

"I was waiting for you," Forrester greeted him, rising as he spoke. "My mother and sister have just left. Now, one last word of instruction, Green. You're to stick close to the windows of the drawing room over there at the Prentices'. After dinner I will walk to one of the windows with Miss Sturtevant. Take a good look at her. While I'm away try and keep an eye on her. If she slips out, trail her! That's your job for tonight."

"Count on me," assured Green. "Is that the money?" he asked, indicating a long flat package on the table.

"That's the package I'm going to put in the tree."

Green picked up the package and weighed it in his hand while his eyes sparkled. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "Twenty-five thousand bucks!"

"No," laughed Forrester, "only a few ounces of paper!"

"Goin' to fool 'em, eh?" grinned the detective.

"That's what I hope to do. I made a very open and noisy visit to my bank this morning, and remained for some time in the president's private office. The idea was to give anyone who might be watching the impression that I was drawing the money from the bank. What actually happened, however, was that I explained my plans to the president, and he instructed a clerk to make up this dummy package."

Forrester took the package from Green and slipped it into an inner pocket. "Come," he said, and led the way out to his car.

—

"Am I too late to ask for the first dance?" inquired Forrester, as he approached Mary Sturtevant after dinner.

"I'm sorry," she replied, smiling, "but you were very late in arriving. A New Yorker seems to be popular in Chicago."

"Depends greatly upon the New Yorker," returned Forrester.

"You haven't changed a bit since Thursday, have you?" cried the girl. "How many dances do you wish?" and she extended her card.

"I'm afraid," declared Forrester, a doleful note creeping into his voice as he glanced over the card, "that I shall have to forego any. I must leave before you have completed this long list of engagements."

"Oh, of course," she exclaimed. "I had forgotten. You have a mostimportant engagement yourself at ten-thirty."

Forrester looked at her sharply.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Miss Sturtevant looked surprised.

"Why, you told me – and it has been in all the papers."

"Not the exact hour," returned Forrester, his eyes still observing her keenly.

"Oh," she murmured, flushing, "wasn't it? Well, then, I must have heard it somewhere."

"Over the telephone, perhaps," suggested Forrester.

"One hears gossip in so many ways, it is hard to remember the source," she returned, easily. "If you won't have time to dance, we can at least chat until the dancing starts. Let's look for a quiet corner."

It was an opportunity which Forrester welcomed. He guided her carelessly toward one of the large windows that opened out on the lawn. The musicians, concealed among palms and flowers at the other end of the room, were playing a tender little air – one that seemed to throw a mantle of romance about them. Forrester looked down at the girl in silence. It seemed hard to believe that she could in any way be linked with the abominable men who had committed so many murders, and now, threatened his own life. Yet her actions had been strange, and her slip of a few minutes before seemed inexplicable. In spite of his misgivings Forrester longed for the girl. Love at first sight had always seemed a mere trick of the novelist to Forrester. As he stood there beside Mary Sturtevant he knew that in his case at least it was a fact! Whoever or whatever she was, he wanted her! If she had made a mistake – well, then he would save her from herself.

"I thought we came here to chat," and she smiled mischievously up at him.

"I think we have been chatting," he returned, and added, "with our minds."

Once more Mary Sturtevant flushed slightly. "You could never guess what I was thinking," she declared, watching him with a peculiar smile.

"I wish I could," he replied, earnestly. "It might solve my greatest problem."

"Sometimes you say such strange things," she asserted. Then, as the music for the first dance started up, she added, extending her hand impulsively, "There, I must go. I wish you the best of luck tonight."

Her last words struck him as ominous. How often he had heard a similar phrase on French battlefields just before a futile sortie. He seized her hand, held it a trifle too long, perhaps, and murmured, lamely, "Thank you."

Then, as she was swept away by her first dancing partner, Forrester slipped through the window to the lawn. After that few minutes of delightful nearness to her he did not want to dance. To hold another girl to him now would seem like sacrilege. He was glad that he had neglected to place his name on any dance cards.

"She's some girl, ain't she, Mr. Forrester?" whispered a gruff voice at his side, and romance fled at the sight of the prosaic Green.

The thought that this rough man was to spy upon the girl who had just left his side was revolting to Forrester in his present mood. He had the comforting feeling, however, that it was for her own good. If she had entangled herself in some way with these people he would save her!

"That's the girl you must keep an eye on, Green. And," instructed Forrester, "see that she is protected also. If anything happens to her tonight you'll have to answer to me."

"I getcha," assented Green. "You don't want them bulls to beat you to a capture."

"What's the plot?" called a cheerful voice, and the two men turned quickly to find Prentice close at hand.

"I thought you were dancing by this time," said Forrester.

"Haven't danced for years," returned Prentice. "I came out to have a quiet smoke, and just spotted you fellows with your heads together."

"This is my body-guard, Detective Green," stated Forrester.

"Looks like an able-bodied protector," laughed Prentice. "But I suppose you won't need him after tonight." Then he added, throwing his cigarette away, "Think I'll go in. You'll be back, won't you, Bob?"

"I hope to return if all goes well."

"Remember my advice – get away from the tree if there is going to be a battle. See you later," and Prentice strolled in through the window Forrester had recently left.

"Ten o'clock!" exclaimed Green, consulting his watch. "Gee, you swells eat late. Better start, hadn't you?"

"I think I will," decided Forrester. "There's just about time to walk over, instead of using the car."

Green watched Forrester until he disappeared in the darkness, then strolled over to a large tree which commanded a view of all the windows on that side of the house. If any other person contemplated leaving the dance Green was sure they would try to slip out of one of these windows, selecting that way as the one least likely to attract attention. In the deep shadow under the tree the detective appeared a part of the trunk against which he leaned.

Presently, though no sound had reached Green, he saw a man's figure appear in silhouette against the lighted window which faced him; a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a sack suit and a cap. Green knew from his dress that he was not one of the guests. While the man might be only a chauffeur, or a neighbor's employee, Green decided to take no chances, and remained in motionless expectancy. His suspicions grew as he noted that the man did not attempt to peer in as a merely curious visitor would have done. Instead he remained where he had paused when Green first discovered him, standing in the same tense, motionless attitude as the detective. Either the man was keeping watch as Green was doing, or he was there to keep an appointment.