Kitabı oku: «The Secret Toll», sayfa 4

CHAPTER VII – SPIRIT CLUES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But Mr. Nevins…" began Josephine.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forrester glanced down at Green's dusty clothes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now look here, Green!" exclaimed Forrester. "I'm willing to admit that something or other has given you a bad scare, and that you've lost your grip. What you need is a good breakfast and some hot coffee. Come on out with me and get your breakfast. You can tell me the whole story while you're eating."

Green mumbled objections, but Forrester continued to urge him until the man put on his hat and accompanied Forrester to a nearby restaurant. There, between gulps of food and the consuming of several cups of hot coffee, Green told his story across the table to Forrester.

At its close, Forrester lit a cigarette and sat in deep thought. To Forrester, Green's original theory that some or all of the "Friends of the Poor" lived near the tree, seemed extremely plausible. Crude as the detective might be, his reasoning in this regard apparently had a sound basis in the weird happenings as related by Joshua, and now confirmed by Green's experience. Combining the theories of both Green and Humphrey, and fitting them in with the negro's story and Green's tale, threw several hitherto unnoticed figures into the limelight. Forrester did not doubt for a minute that the woman revealed by Green's light was the girl referred to by Joshua. If so, then the man who had attacked Green was probably the big negro himself. A third person to be considered was the peculiar negress, said to live in the woods near the tree. Forrester remembered with a start Humphrey's triangulation theory. Here were three prominent figures with which to lay down a triangle. Surely he was making more progress in the quest than any of the detectives. These occurrences might only be indefinite spirit clues, but they pointed accusing fingers at several very definite people.

Though he had little faith in Green's ability as a detective, it was possible that the man's very stupidity might force him to stumble upon worth while clues, as in this instance; clues which Forrester later could make use of in his own deliberations. Thinking along these lines, Forrester decided that he would not allow Green to leave the case, as the man had intimated he would do.

"Green," said Forrester, at length, "you spoke in your office as if you wished to drop this case."

"You bet I do!" returned Green, emphatically.

"That would be foolish," remonstrated Forrester. "There's a good deal of money in it for you, and your reputation won't lose anything if you are on the ground when the case is solved."

"It'll never be solved," affirmed Green, positively.

"Yes, it will," declared Forrester. "I'm going to do it, with your help."

Green stared. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," he protested.

"Now, listen to me," went on Forrester. "On Saturday morning we open our country house. I want you to come up on the noon train with enough baggage to last you all summer, or until we settle this case. You are to be my body-guard when I am home, and watch the house while I am away. Occasionally I may want you to look up certain things for me, but I will promise you right now that I won't ask you to go near that tree again unless I am with you. Our chauffeur has a nice place over the garage and I'll have him give you a room there, so you can be close at hand. Now, that's settled. The noon train, remember. And here's the address."

Forrester tore off a corner of a menu and wrote out directions for reaching "Woodmere."

Green wavered. "Well, I dunno," he said, hesitatingly.

Forrester leaned across the table.

"Green," he said, smiling, "we have a little private stock left in the cellar up there. Our guests are permitted to use it."

Green's eyes twinkled. "That might help to keep them ghosts away. One poison sometimes counteracts another, so I guess one kind o' spiritsmight chase away the other kind."

"Then the matter is settled?" asked Forrester.

"Sure thing," grinned the mollified detective. "But remember – I've got to have regular protection against ghosts."

CHAPTER VIII – THE GIRL ON THE HORSE

Taking Green to breakfast and listening to his story had occupied more time than Forrester had allotted for his interview with the detective. So, after leaving the city behind and entering the smooth and less frequented roads of the North Shore, he drove his roadster at a pace that would quickly have brought him into the toils of any local guardians of the law who might have spied his racing motor. Fortunately, they were reserving their watchfulness for a later hour of the day and Forrester kept up his swift pace until familiar landmarks told him that he was approaching Jasper lane.

He had just placed his hand on the gear lever when a horse and rider unexpectedly appeared coming out of a narrow side-road a short distance ahead. Forrester threw out his clutch and shifted his hand to the emergency brake. So great had been his speed, however, that the car slid for some distance along the oily roadway and passed directly under the horse's nose. Both horse and rider were startled. Snorting wildly, the horse reared on his hind legs with such suddenness that his rider was thrown to the ground. Forrester jumped from his car and ran back to see if he could be of any assistance. He discovered then that the rider was a girl, who had sprung quickly to her feet before he reached her.

"I am sorry," exclaimed Forrester, apologetically, removing his cap. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no," she returned, with a smile, "it was nothing at all."

"It was very careless of me," continued Forrester, "not seeing you sooner."

"Not at all!" returned the girl. "It was entirely my fault. I should have remembered that I was approaching the main motor highway and been more cautious." Her eyes twinkled, as she added, "Just like a woman, wasn't it?"

"Well," smiled Forrester, hesitatingly, "I wouldn't exactly say that."

"Oh, yes, you would," she asserted. "I know how you men talk about us behind our backs. You see, I have a brother."

"I would not take what a brother said as a guide to other men's opinions," suggested Forrester. "Brothers do not always fully appreciate their sister's charms."

"Am I to consider that as a compliment, or just a piece of information?" challenged the girl.

"I leave that to your own good judgment," returned Forrester.

The girl flushed slightly. "Would you mind catching my horse?" she requested.

Forrester glanced around and saw that the horse was ambling along by himself and already some distance away. Forrester started after the horse at a run, and thought with deep chagrin that the girl standing back there in the road was probably laughing at him. To run before a new acquaintance is never a graceful performance. He had seen a spirit of mischief lurking in the girl's eyes and he half suspected that her horse could have been recalled without this display of energy on his part. Probably it was his punishment for attempting to compliment her on such short acquaintance. Forrester caught the horse without difficulty, which convinced him that his supposition regarding the girl's purpose was correct. He took advantage of the return trip with the horse to study her carefully and deliberately; partly for his own information and partly to punish her for sending him after the horse.

He had already noted that her hair was slightly reddish in hue and very abundant, and that her eyes were brown. He now observed that she was tall, but not too tall, and slender, but not too slender. She was attired in a brown linen riding suit, with tan boots, and a white straw sailor hat. Whether accidentally or by design, the hat was tilted at just the right angle. That she was athletic and a good horsewoman was evidenced by her quick recovery from what would have been a very bad fall for the average woman.

She greeted him with a smile as he neared her.

"My, how you can run!" she exclaimed.

That he had been put on exhibition Forrester was now sure, and his resentment must have shown in his face, for she added, soothingly, "It is awfully good of you to take so much trouble for a stranger."

Forrester was distinctly attracted to the girl. She was so different from girls that he knew. He could not recollect a girl of his acquaintance who possessed such unquestionable beauty and engaging personality, combined with a self-reliance that detracted not a jot from her femininity. Small wonder that he felt a poignant regret that they were about to part and probably never meet again. Almost unconsciously his thoughts took the form of words.

"Must we remain strangers?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she answered, placing her foot in the stirrup and vaulting lightly into the saddle. She smiled down at him and then, with a wave of her hand, started at a gallop up the road.

Forrester stood a moment watching her retreating figure.

"Perhaps!" he repeated to himself. "How am I to take that? 'Perhaps' might mean anything – yes, or no, or maybe. Who the deuce can she be? I'll have to ask Josephine if she knows her."

Going back to his roadster Forrester resumed his journey. It was his intention to pay a call on the mysterious negress, so just before he reached the oak he drove his car well up on the side of the road and alighted. With Green's story in mind he glanced around to see if any evidences of the detective's adventure remained. Almost in front of the oak he discovered the battered remains of the spotlight, and in the gulley across the road he saw a corner of the small storage battery. This removed any doubt Forrester might have had that Green had actually been at the oak tree. In fact, it seemed highly probable that Green had really met with the mishaps he described. If the detective had not been dreaming or drinking then there were certainly many strange things going on here and perhaps some real clues to be unearthed.

Forrester stood in front of the oak for some minutes, deliberating. Then he approached it and plunged his arm into the opening as he had done the day before. In thinking the matter over it had occurred to him that the oak might be hollow and someone concealed within it. After feeling carefully around, however, and digging his fingers once more into the rotten wood, Forrester was convinced that this hollow in which the packages of money were placed, and which was little larger than a man's head, was the only opening in the tree. The rest of the great trunk appeared to be absolutely solid.

Just as Forrester withdrew his arm from the opening he heard a sound behind him that resembled several persons walking. He stood erect and turned swiftly; then paused, staring sheepishly, like a bad boy caught in the pantry. Before him was the girl on the horse. Her left hand, which grasped the reins, was resting on the front of the saddle, while her right hand was buried in the pocket of her coat. Surprised and disconcerted as he was, Forrester nevertheless noted the easy nonchalance of her attitude. This time, however, she did not smile but sat regarding him with the suggestion of a frown on her face.

"Putting it in or taking it out?" she inquired, lightly.

"I – I – don't know what you mean," stammered Forrester.

She slightly raised her eyebrows. "I presume, if I were to ask you the question, you would tell me you did not know that oak has a bad reputation."

By this time Forrester had recovered his poise, and his newly acquired detective instinct asserted itself. The girl was evidently regarding him with something approaching suspicion, and it aroused in him an answering feeling of distrust. In these surroundings his mind was working rapidly. He recalled the young lady of Joshua's story, and the woman of the night in Green's recital.

"Has it?" asked Forrester, innocently, after a pause.

The girl regarded him keenly for a moment before she spoke.

"For a man who knows so little about it," she said, sarcastically, "you seem to have been in a great hurry to get here."

"I don't see why you should suppose this to be my original destination," returned Forrester. "Possibly the large size of this tree attracted my attention in passing."

"Perhaps," she said, and both smiled as they recalled the last time that word was spoken. Then she added, "But you have not passed yet. Your car is still some distance back on the road. Think of a better one."

"Tell me," exclaimed Forrester, "do you live near here?"

Her face hardened as she replied, "That is an unnecessary question at this time. I might even say that it savors of an evasion."

"I beg your pardon," said Forrester, stiffly.

Again the girl sat silently regarding him and Forrester met her eyes with a steady look. He surmised that she was appraising him and her next question confirmed his thought.

"Are you a victim?" she inquired.

"My dear young lady," returned Forrester, "about all we do is to ask each other questions. Sometimes I don't get an answer."

"I accept the reproof and apologize," she said, and smiled. "I live just a little way up this road."

"And I am – unfortunately – a victim," admitted Forrester.

"Now we're quits," laughed the girl. "Let's begin again."

"If this tree has a bad reputation," said Forrester, "I am curious to know why a girl, alone, takes a doubtful chance by talking to a strange man in its shadow."

The girl partly withdrew her right hand from her coat pocket.

"I'm not quite alone," she answered, and Forrester saw that she held a small automatic in her hand. "This has been covering you ever since I rode up."

"Certainly I shall now feel it incumbent upon me to answer all questions," smiled Forrester.

"All right," she retorted, quickly, "what is your name?"

"Forrester."

"Robert Forrester?"

"Yes, how did you guess?"

A wicked little smile stole over the girl's face. "You are the last person I should expect to see here," she declared.

"Why?" queried Forrester.

"I understood you were scared to death," she returned.

"That damned reporter again!" burst out Forrester, clenching his hands. "Wait until I get within reach of him!"

"My, how savage you are!" exclaimed the girl, with mock severity. But Forrester saw that her eyes twinkled.

"You will pardon my strong language," he said, "but this is not the first time that article has made me look foolish."

"Oh, then you're not really frightened?" she inquired, her eyes still flashing with humor.

Forrester opened his mouth as if to speak, but words failed him, and the girl threw back her head and laughed.

"Mr. Forrester," she said, at length, leaning down toward him, "you asked me a little while ago if we must remain strangers. I can now answer your question definitely. If you will come over to the house for a minute I will give you a letter of introduction, which I have, addressed to your mother. I had intended to deliver it in person, but after arriving here I found you were still in town."

Forrester was thunderstruck, and therefore speechless for a moment. This was too good to be true.

"My name is Sturtevant," the girl continued. Then added, with one of her mischievous smiles, "Miss Sturtevant."

"I shall be very glad, indeed, to deliver your letter, Miss Sturtevant," said Forrester. "Or if you prefer to wait until Saturday, you can deliver it in person as you first intended to do. We move out to 'Woodmere' on Saturday."

Forrester had no sooner said this than he could have kicked himself. He had wanted to have a look at the place she occupied and he might now be throwing away the opportunity. When he recalled the negro's words, it had seemed as if the girl lived alone. If she did, it would be both odd and suspicious under the circumstances. Forrester was anxious to ascertain this fact definitely, and he was pleased when the girl disregarded his suggestion.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I should like to have you come over to the house now and get the letter."

"I shall be delighted," returned Forrester, this time without qualification. "If it is only a short distance I will walk."

"It is a very short distance," informed the girl. "It would be hardly worth while starting up your car." Then she added, "Especially if you plan to return here."

Forrester glanced up at her quickly, but she was already turning her horse back to the road and he did not meet her eye. Whether or not she had some object in what she said, or was simply poking fun at him, he could not tell.

Miss Sturtevant kept her horse down to an easy walk and Forrester found no difficulty in maintaining his place at her side. She made no further reference to the tree and its evil repute, so Forrester did not again bring up the subject, leading their light chatter instead into comments upon the surrounding country.

The Bradbury house, which Forrester now knew had been taken by Miss Sturtevant, stood only a short distance back from the road, and as they turned into the gate Forrester could see an elderly woman on the porch. A few minutes later she was introduced to him as Mrs. Morris, and during the short talk he had with her, while Miss Sturtevant was getting her letter, he gathered that she was a paid companion to the girl. Miss Sturtevant quickly returned with the letter for his mother, and after a few brief words, which included an invitation to Forrester to come again, they parted.

At the gate Forrester met the big negro, Joshua.

"Hello, Joshua," he greeted the negro.

"Howdy-do, suh."

"Any new stories about that haunted tree, Joshua?"

"No, suh! Mah Missey done say Ah talk too much." And the negro hurried on.

Forrester wondered as he returned along the road toward the tree.