CHAPTER IX--LUCY
Forrester had at first been in a quandary as to the character in whichhe should approach the negress. If she were open to suspicion it wouldbe unwise for him to pose as a detective, or openly confess to being avictim of the "Friends of the Poor." As he weighed the matter, arecollection of Humphrey offered him a suggestion. Why not, for themoment, assume the character of Humphrey and approach her as a reporter?The fact that neither Humphrey nor the detectives had at any timereferred to her, and that no one outside of Joshua had mentioned her,led him to believe that her retreat in the woods had remained unnoticed.A visit by him in the guise of a reporter would probably be the first ofthe kind that she had received. Although he knew Humphrey had not madeuse of a notebook while interviewing him, Forrester believed that anotebook would impress an ignorant colored woman. In her mind it wouldmore fully bear out his claim to being a reporter. In accordance withthis idea Forrester had provided himself with a new and imposingnotebook which he was prepared to pull out as soon as he started hisinterview with the negress.
Leaving the road, Forrester followed the path around the oak and backinto the woods. The thick foliage shut out every ray of sunlight andForrester could well imagine how the gloom and silence of these woodswould give full play to superstitious minds. If the negress were seekingto hide herself, the woods in themselves formed an eerie protection. Thepath turned sharply to the right just beyond the tree and Forrester hadgone only a few yards when he was startled to find himself unexpectedlyin front of her cottage. He had supposed the place to be more deeplyburied in the woods, and this precipitant arrival at her door impressedForrester at once with the negress' accusatory proximity to the oaktree. A savage snarl greeted Forrester as he stepped into the smallclearing in front of the house and he saw a half-breed dog facing himwith teeth bared and hair bristling. Forrester spoke soothingly to theanimal but the sound of his voice seemed only to enrage it the more andit barked loudly. He hastily glanced about for a club with which todefend himself in case the beast should attempt to attack him. Just atthis moment, however, the cottage door opened and the negress stood inthe doorway. She was tall and thin, with wiry, jet-black hair thatcontrasted strangely with the sickly yellow of her skin. Her eyelidsdrooped and at first Forrester thought she was squinting at him, but ashe discovered later, this was a natural affection of the eyelids. Itgave her a peculiarly sinister look and Forrester felt an aversion forher the moment she appeared in the doorway. She stood with her hands onher hips and silently looked him over.
"How do you do," said Forrester.
"Good afternoon," she returned, sullenly, her voice deep and harsh.
"Would you mind calling off that dog?" requested Forrester. "I want tohave a chat with you."
"About what?" she asked.
"Oh, about yourself, and the oak tree, and what has been going on therelately."
"I don't know anything about it!" she snapped.
"I'm sorry," said Forrester. "I thought perhaps you would know somethingabout it."
"What made you think that?" she demanded.
Forrester immediately fell into Humphrey's manner so far as he couldrecollect it. "I'm a reporter for the _Times_," he explained. "I havebeen assigned to write up a special feature article for next Sunday'sedition about this tree that the 'Friends of the Poor' have been using,and the neighborhood. While scouting around I just now happened todiscover your cottage. Naturally, it occurred to me that anyone livingso near to the oak tree might know something about it."
There is a certain glamour and attraction connected with reporters,newspapers and special interviews which appears to appeal to persons inall stations of life. Forrester observed that his remarks had had a verysoftening effect upon the negress. She regarded him thoughtfully for amoment, then turned and administered a kick to the dog.
"Get out!" she cried, and as the beast slunk off into the woods sheturned to Forrester. "Come in," she invited.
Forrester had observed that though the woman's voice was monotonous andexpressionless in character, she used excellent English, without a traceof negro dialect. In her pronunciation, however, the slight accentpeculiar to West Indian negroes was noticeable. Before the door had beenopened Forrester had also noted that the cottage was a small one-storyaffair and as he now passed through the door he marked a partition, witha doorway, running across the center, and concluded that the interior ofthe cottage was divided into two rooms. As the negress closed the doorbehind him Forrester quickly scanned the room into which he had beenushered. This was about twelve by fifteen feet, and quite obviouslyserved as both kitchen and sitting room. A small iron cookstove stood inone corner, a table occupied the center of the room, and a rocking chairand two straight-backed chairs of ancient design completed thefurnishings. On a small stand in the window next to the entrance doorstood an old glass aquarium, covered with wire netting. It contained nowater, however, and Forrester discovered several small snakes slowlycoiling themselves around on the gravel in the bottom. It instantlyrecalled to his mind that the Voodoo worshippers of the West Indies usedsnakes in their ceremonies.
The woman crossed the room and seated herself in the rocking chair, butdid not invite Forrester to sit down. He selected one of thestraight-backed chairs, pulled it up to the table, and as he sat downdrew out his notebook and spread it open on the table in an ostentatiousmanner that could not fail to impress the woman.
"What is your name?" he inquired.
"Lucy."
"Lucy what?"
"That's all--just Lucy."
"You've lived around here for some time, I suppose?" asked Forrester.
"About two years," she replied.
"Have you a husband?" he queried, glancing about the room as if heexpected to see a man in some corner.
"I did have," she said, "but he ran away soon after we moved in here."
"Too bad--too bad," sympathized Forrester, as he made some notes in hisbook. Then he added, "Now, what can you tell me about the goings-on atthis tree?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, frankly," said Forrester, "I haven't a very clear idea of what Ido want to know. You see, that's just what I came to you about. Ithought perhaps you could tell me something regarding what was going onhere. Have you ever seen any of the men who make use of that tree?"
"No," she declared, "and no one ever will."
"What do you mean by that?" queried Forrester.
"No men ever come near that tree--just ghosts. It's haunted!"
Forrester stared for a moment. It was curious how all these peopleagreed on that one point. He could understand how an ignorant coloredman could have his superstitions aroused, and he could see how a plainman like Green might be tricked; but it was hard to believe that thisapparently educated colored woman, living for two years within theshadow of the tree, could be fooled. This, he concluded, was suspiciouscircumstance number one, and as he glanced toward the snakes in theaquarium he strongly suspected that if she were willing, the negresscould give him some inside facts regarding the manifestations at thetree.
"What do you keep those snakes for?" he asked, suddenly.
"They're part of my religion," she returned.
"Don't you go to church?" inquired Forrester.
"Not the church these niggers around here go to," she sneered. "Iworship in my own way."
Forrester did not venture to question her further on this point, for hehad read enough regarding the Voodoo worship to know that they wereextremely reticent in describing their ceremonies. The possession of thesnakes suggested to Forrester that this woman might even be a priestessof the sect, because he remembered having read that only the priests andpriestesses were accustomed to using snakes in their ceremonies. Anotherthought came to Forrester at this moment, which gave him a decidedstart. Voodoo worshippers had been known to demand _human sacrifices_!Was he, after all, actually discovering clues which the detectives hadoverlooked?
"Well," he went on, again addressing the negress, "if there a
re ghostsinstead of men hanging around that tree, perhaps you can tell mesomething about what they do. I'm sure this is going to make a mostinteresting story for my paper."
"I have never seen anything," explained Lucy, "but sometimes when I comehome late at night I hear things."
"Such as--" suggested Forrester.
"Oh, groans and sighs--rattling chains--and sometimes the sound of abell."
This was positive confirmation of Green's story, and Forrester ponderedbefore asking his next question. He remembered Joshua's assertion thathe had plainly heard words, so he asked:
"Do you ever hear voices saying anything?"
"Nothing distinctly. Just sighs and groans and sounds like that, as ifsomebody were in trouble."
"You think, then," said Forrester, "that it is just some uneasy soulthat haunts that tree?"
"Yes," she replied.
"But," protested Forrester, "what could a ghost want with good UnitedStates money?"
"I don't know," replied Lucy. "In my worship I sometimes commune withthe spirits, but they have never told me how they could use money."
"Have you ever tried to commune with this ghost?" asked Forrester.
"No," replied Lucy. "I don't think it belongs to my people."
"Suppose I were to offer you a good sum of money to try to communicatewith it?" suggested Forrester.
"I don't need money," she replied.
"Don't you have to work for a living?"
"No."
"How do you manage to live then?"
"I don't need money to live. I can get on."
Forrester glanced around the room once more. The cookstove appeared tobe without a fire and there were no signs of food. He wondered.
Turning again to Lucy, Forrester said, "Strange about the ghost thathaunts that tree, Lucy. Did you ever hear of anyone being murderedaround here?"
"No," she replied. Then added, after a slight pause, as she rose andwalked toward the door, "Guess you have found out all I can tell you,Mister. You'd better go now--before my dog comes back."
The uncanny atmosphere of the place, the nearby snakes in their glassprison, and the weird conversation regarding ghosts and singular formsof worship, had given Forrester a very uncomfortable feeling. He knewnow why Green had temporarily lost his nerve, for he was quite willingto take the woman's undisguised hint about his own immediate departure.Slipping his notebook into his pocket and putting on his cap, Forresterthanked her for the interview and hurriedly passed through the door,which was slammed on his heels.
The Secret Toll Page 9
