Kitabı oku: «The Secret Toll», sayfa 3

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."

Forrester glanced at his watch. It was after one o'clock and he decided to return to the city and think the situation over carefully before he undertook any further steps. Taking a coin from his pocket, he handed it to Joshua.

"You're a good story teller, Joshua," declared Forrester. "Here's a little present for you. I'm coming up to see you again sometime. Perhaps I'll drop over to your house to see you."

"T'anks, Boss, t'anks," exclaimed Joshua, pocketing the coin, and Forrester left him bowing and scraping as he went to his car and started back to the city.

CHAPTER VI – THE FLAMING HAND

As Green had told Forrester, he had some theories of his own about the people who called themselves the "Friends of the Poor." Like Humphrey, he did not believe that the West Side held any clues. He was more inclined to believe that the guilty people could be located within a comparatively short distance of the tree in which the victims were ordered to leave their money.

This theory of Green's, however, had developed solely from the fact that all activities of the band had ceased as soon as the ground was covered with snow. With snow on the ground, according to his hypothesis, it would be a comparatively easy matter to follow any tracks from the tree – at least for some distance. If similar tracks could be discovered near any house or houses in the neighborhood, a smart detective would have an excellent clue. On the other hand, Green conjectured that if a West Side gang were involved they would logically visit the tree in an automobile, and therefore have little fear of giving the detectives a clue from any tracks which they might leave between the auto and the tree.

The fact that the detectives who had watched the tree had failed thus far to hear or see anything, strengthened Green in this conviction. During their watch on the tree it was probable that all the detectives had remained at some little distance so as not to frighten off anybody approaching it with evil intent. For people living in the country, and familiar with the locality, it should be an easy matter to approach the tree noiselessly in the dark and then get away without being observed. In connection with these theories Green had worked out a plan, which Forrester's commission now enabled him to put into effect.

The murder of George Nevins, and the demand made on Forrester, coming close together, led Green to believe that the "Friends of the Poor," made bolder by past success, were now making a big drive on the rich men of the city. It was more than probable, therefore, that other notices had been sent out, and that almost any night some victim could be expected to approach the tree and leave his payment. This, of course, would also mean a visit by the criminals.

On Wednesday evening, just as dusk was falling, Green dropped off the train, carrying a heavy bundle in each hand. He had carefully studied an automobile road map of the vicinity and found no difficulty in locating the oak tree. Jasper lane sloped away in both directions from a point opposite the tree so that Green could see a considerable distance in either direction. After a careful inspection of his surroundings, to make sure that he was not observed, he swiftly plunged into the heavy undergrowth at the side of the road directly facing the tree.

Green had carefully timed his arrival to give him a few minutes of daylight to arrange his apparatus, which consisted of a small storage battery and a powerful automobile spotlight. He drove a stick into the ground and attached the spotlight to it. The light was so arranged that it could not be seen by anyone passing on the roadway before dark. At the same time the light had a clear space through which to throw its beam directly on the tree when the current was switched on. Green connected the storage battery to the spotlight and tried the switch a couple of times to make sure that it was in working order. Then he sat down beside his apparatus, leaned his back against a tree, and prepared to await developments.

After darkness fell he found his vigil somewhat tiresome. He dared not smoke, nor strike a light of any kind, so it was impossible to even take note of the time. Under such circumstances time seems to stretch to an interminable length and the nerves get on edge. Green at length felt these effects from the waiting game he had started to play.

During his many years on the police force, and since beginning his career as a private detective, his work had been confined to well-lighted city streets. Lately, much of his time had been spent in brilliantly lighted resorts, keeping an appraising eye on the after-business-hours amusements of trusted employees. To step from these places to the thick woods on a dark, still night was something of a change, and as time passed Green was willing to admit it.

He had never before believed that such absolute quiet could be possible. All Nature slept. No chirp of bird voices, or hum of insects, could be heard. There was no sound save the occasional rustling of leaves overhead, the distant and weird call of locomotives on the railroad, and once in a great while the snapping of a twig in the underbrush, or the sound of something dropping through the trees. These were just the ordinary sounds of the woods at night, but to Green's inexperienced ears they might mean anything, and many times one hand shot out to the switch on his lighting apparatus while the other grasped the automatic in his pocket. But each sound had stood by itself, and Green's nervous alertness relaxed as time wore on.

Suddenly Green's ears caught the sound of a stone overturned on the roadway. This was more like the sounds he had been expecting and his body stiffened to attention. A moment later he heard the sound again, a little nearer, and then a third time it came from the road directly opposite to him. To Green it could mean nothing but the cautious footsteps of someone approaching the tree. He continued to listen intently. Sure enough, there was a slight scratching sound in the direction of the tree. This was Green's long awaited opportunity. Abruptly he threw the switch and a broad beam of light made the great trunk of the oak stand out against the black background of the woods.

The sight was not at all what Green had expected to see. He quickly switched off the light and swore volubly yet softly. All that he had discovered was a night-prowling cat in the act of climbing the tree, probably in search of birds' nests.

The discovery that this sound had its source in a common, everyday house cat, greatly relieved the tension on Green's nerves. He readjusted himself to a more comfortable position and for some time paid little attention to the various sounds about him. Gradually, however, he became conscious of a sound that he had not heard before. To Green it appeared something like the whistling of the wind just before a summer thunderstorm, but looking up, he saw that the sky was unclouded and filled with a multitude of twinkling stars.

The sound continued at intervals, growing louder on each occasion, and at last Green realized, with a start, that it was distinctly like a human sigh. In a moment Green's phlegmatic constitution was upset. He became conscious of a slight chill in his spine and a peculiar tingling in his scalp. When, a moment later, he distinctly heard a metallic rattle like a person in heavy chains trying to move about, he swore audibly for comfort and promised himself that if he ever got back to the city alive, he would resign forthwith.

The sound of his own voice relieved him a little, and reason reasserted itself. Neither victims depositing money, nor the criminals who might be seeking it, would be apt to make noises like that. On the other hand, Green had never believed in the supernatural. He ascribed everything to a human agency, and he now argued that for whatever reason the sounds were made, some human being was back of them. He resolved that the next time a sound came to him he would throw on the light.

But that next sound was more uncanny than anything that had gone before, and as Green listened he temporarily forgot about the light. What he heard was the muffled tolling of a bell. The sound rose and fell on the still night; now seemingly close at hand; now floating far away.

Green was sure that it must be very close to midnight, and even though it had been earlier in the evening, it was not likely that anyone would be ringing a church or school bell. Moreover, he was confident that the sound he heard originated in his immediate neighborhood. Gradually the sound of the tolling bell grew fainter and seemed to drift away. Green threw on the switch again. He could see the tree and the space about it clearly, but there was no sign of anyone, and he could detect no movement in the undergrowth. Even the cat had silently disappeared. Green allowed the light to remain on for a minute, while he listened intently, and keenly inspected the scene before him. Then he switched the light off once more and resumed his watch. But Green was recalling certain eerie stories he had heard in years gone by, and there in the dark and silent woods many disturbing doubts besieged him.

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.