CHAPTER X--CROSSED THEORIES
The long drive into the city from the North Shore delayed Forrester sothat he did not reach the Nevins' home until the funeral services hadended, and though he joined the cortege which followed the remains ofthe banker to the cemetery he did not have an opportunity to speak tohis mother about the letter which the girl had entrusted to him. Atdinner, however, he passed the letter across the table to his motherwith the remark:
"There's a note I was requested to bring to you--and in which I am verymuch interested."
Mrs. Forrester withdrew the letter from its envelope, adjusted herglasses and glanced at the writing. Hastily she turned to the signatureand exclaimed, "Why, it's from Helen!" Then, turning to Josephine,added, "You remember Mrs. Lewis, my dear. Her husband was appointed tothe vice-presidency of a New York bank about two years ago. She wrote tome several times and then our correspondence gradually dropped off. Iwas thinking of her only recently, and wondering how she was getting onin New York."
"We remember her perfectly, Mother," broke in Forrester, impatiently."We want to know what the letter says."
"We!" echoed Josephine, surprised. "I'm sure I'm not especiallyinterested."
Mrs. Forrester glanced through the note. "It is a letter ofintroduction," she explained, looking over her glasses at Forrester."How odd! Helen asks me to do what I can to make Miss Mary Sturtevant'sstay in Chicago a pleasant one. Strange that she did not write medirectly."
"Oh," breathed Josephine, smiling wisely at Forrester.
"Does she say who Miss Sturtevant is?" queried Forrester.
"The daughter of some very dear friends of Helen's. The Sturtevants arean old New York family, she says. I'm quite sure that I have heard ofthem."
"May I be permitted to inquire," said Josephine, roguishly, "how Mr.Robert Forrester came to be the bearer of this note, and wherefromsprings his intense interest?"
Forrester colored, then frowned severely upon his sister.
"I met the young lady through an accident this morning. When she learnedwho I was she asked me to bring this letter to you. She had intendedpresenting it in person, but learned after arriving that we would not bemoving to 'Woodmere' for some days."
"My! What a simple and straightforward explanation," smiled Josephine."Why not tell us _all_ about it, Bob?"
Forrester scowled at his sister, and sipped from his water glass to gaintime to collect his thoughts. He was not sure at this time just how muchhe ought to tell. He set the glass down and briefly related how his carhad frightened the girl's horse, leaving it to be assumed that she hadat that time given him the letter.
"What an extraordinary coincidence!" exclaimed Mrs. Forrester. At thatmoment her attention was distracted by a question from the maid, andJosephine, leaning toward Forrester, whispered, "Some time I want tohear the _whole_ story, Bob. It's so romantic!"
Happily for Forrester's peace of mind the conversation drifted to otherthings, and as soon as dinner was over he hurried to his favorite cornerin the library. He wanted to think, not alone of Mary Sturtevant and hervague connection with the mystery, but of the negress, Lucy, and theperplexing new aspect she had given to the case. There seemed noapparent alliance between the two, yet both were strangely, thoughobscurely, associated with it. Forrester had no sooner lighted his pipe,however, when the door-bell rang, and a moment later a servant announcedthat two men wished to see him. For an instant he was startled, yet itdid not seem likely that the "Friends of the Poor" would approach him inthis open way.
"Did they give any names?" he asked.
"No, just said they were from the police department, sir," was thereply.
"Oh!" exclaimed Forrester, relieved. "Send them in."
Two heavily built men entered the room. They were strikingly alike intheir general appearance; tall, broad shouldered, with big feet, largehands, and smooth-shaven, plump, ruddy faces. Forrester thought as helooked at them that there was small wonder so many criminals escaped.The average city detective was a type! Easily recognized and thereforereadily avoided.
"Is this Mr. Forrester?" inquired one of the men.
"Yes," answered Forrester, as he rose from his chair.
"Well," continued the man, "my name's Cahill, and this is my partner,Detective Sergeant O'Connor. We come from the detective bureau."
"I'm glad to know you both," returned Forrester, smiling. "Sit down,please," and he indicated nearby chairs. The two detectives seatedthemselves and Forrester passed the humidor before returning to hischair. The three men puffed their cigars in silence for a time, thedetectives evidently enjoying the flavor and aroma of Forrester'sexcellent cigars, while he awaited the explanation of their visit.
"We came to see you about this 'Friends of the Poor' matter," beganCahill, who appeared to be the spokesman for the pair. "My partner andme are working on the case."
"Making any progress?" inquired Forrester, fully convinced in his ownmind, however, that they were not.
"Well, we are, and we arn't," answered Cahill. "You see, O'Connor and mewere in the police auto the other night--the night you tipped us off.We're both some shots, and we felt pretty sure we had hit that car wewere chasing. So we've been scouting around the West Side garageslooking for a car with bullet holes."
"Why the West Side?" questioned Forrester, inwardly amused as he thoughtof Humphrey's arraignment of the detectives' methods.
Cahill smiled wisely at O'Connor, and O'Connor smiled significantly backat his partner.
"You see," explained Cahill, "we know crooks' ways pretty well. Whenanything gets pulled off we can tell from the method used just aboutwhere to look for our men. We have felt pretty sure all the time thatthis was some Black Hand bunch from the Dago settlement on the WestSide. It's the same line of approach. The only difference is thatthey're operating a little higher up than usual, and choking the guysoff quietly with some kind of gas, instead of filling them full of leadfrom a sawed-off shotgun. The idea's the same, only they're getting alittle more ambitious--that's all."
"And about the car," prompted Forrester, still amused at the trend ofthe detectives' theories.
"That's just the point," continued Cahill. "Today we located a car withhalf a dozen bullet holes in the back in a garage out on Grand Avenue.Grand Avenue, you know, is full of Dagos all the way from the river. Thegarage man said it was left there late Tuesday night by three youngItalians. Now, do you get the idea?"
Forrester did, and he was astounded at the news.
"You mean," he queried, "that you ascribe this whole affair to some WestSide Black Hand band, and that this car proves your theory?"
"Sure thing!" assented Cahill. "O'Connor and me have been working onthis case for months. Sometimes we thought we had a clue, and then againwe didn't. We have suspected Black Handers from the first, but wecouldn't exactly get a line on them. That tip you gave us Tuesday nightstarted things right. Now we know where we're at. There's threedetectives in overalls in that garage right now, and if those guys comeback for their car the whole thing'll be cleared up in a jiffy."
"What makes you think that this is the car you wanted?" persistedForrester, still doubting the correctness of the detectives' theories.
"Headquarters has no report of any other car being shot at by thepolice. And this car was left late _Tuesday_ night. Get the idea?"
Forrester pulled reflectively at his cigar. He was overwhelmed. Thesuspicions he had entertained regarding the weird negress, the girl onthe horse and her colored servant, were knocked flat. The half-formedtheories he had been building up around them were completely shattered.The growing pride he had felt in his own detective talents was crushed,and the discoveries in which he had exulted were rendered valueless.After all, the hard-headed, plodding, unimaginative city detectives knewtheir business best. There was really no mystery or romance to crime; noclever men pitting their brains against those of astute detectives. Thecriminal class was nothing more than the police claimed it to be--just astunted, unnatural, evil-smelling plant,
with its roots buried deep inthe sordid, filthy dives and foreign settlements of the West Side.Forrester was disappointed; deeply disappointed. In spite of the danger,worry and uncertainty, the thing had gotten into his blood during thelast few days. It had fired his imagination, stirred his latentenergies, and awakened his brain. And now the whole elaborate structurewhich had been slowly building up toward the skies collapsed in onemoment to reveal nothing save a few murderous thugs concealed in thecellar.
Forrester heaved a sigh.
"Relieved, eh?" chuckled Cahill. "Thought the police were no good, andthat you had to kiss ten thousand bucks good-by?"
Forrester laughed. Now the humor of the situation struck him. Green'slong study of the problem, his careful tabulation of information andsecretly developed theories, were in the same class with Humphrey'ssuggested scientific solution, and Forrester's own investigations andconjectures. No wonder the Chief of Detectives had said, "Novices onlyhamper us."
"No," explained Forrester, in answer to Cahill's comment, "I hadn'texactly lost faith in the police. But I will say this: I have recentlymade some peculiar and interesting discoveries on my own account, andnow you have practically knocked the foundation from under them withyour very matter of fact solution of the mystery."
"We ain't solved it yet, remember," objected Cahill. "We've simply got aline on the right people, and in due time we'll get our hands on them.We may still have to ask you to help us. That's what we dropped in forthis evening."
"What do you want me to do?" asked Forrester.
"Well, you see it's this way," explained Cahill. "If those Dagos comeback to the garage between now and Saturday, we'll have them. But ifthey get wise that we found the car, they may chuck it and steal anotherone. In that case we'll sure get them at the oak tree up there on theNorth Shore Saturday night. What we want you to do is to put that moneyin the tree at the time we tell you to, so that we will be ready."
"But nobody has ever succeeded in locating these people at the tree,"protested Forrester.
"I know," admitted Cahill, grinning, "but O'Connor and me have workedout a plan. We figure that in the past these guys have been able to slipin between the detectives on watch. You see, it's pretty dark in thosewoods at night. Our plan is going to put a stop to that. It's like this:
"We're going to put a peg in the ground on each side of the tree, backand front. O'Connor will be on one side and me on the other. There'll bea string from each peg running to O'Connor, and the same thing on theother side to me. We'll hold these strings, one in each hand. Now, thatcompletely surrounds the tree, so that anyone approaching will kick intoa string. We'll know from the hand the string's in just what directionto look for them in the dark. O'Connor's strings will be A and B, andmine will be C and D. Get the idea?
"If O'Connor feels a tug, he'll yell A or B at me. If I get a feel onone of my strings I'll holler C or D. Get me? Then we'll both make arush at just the right spot. Believe me, Mr. Forrester, we got them thistime. No sneaking up between detectives _next_ Saturday night."
"The idea sounds very good, Cahill," agreed Forrester. "Perhaps it willwork. If I don't hear from you in the meantime, what hour do you wish meto approach the tree on Saturday night?"
"We've fixed on ten-thirty, if that is convenient for you, Mr.Forrester," answered Cahill.
"That suits me," declared Forrester.
"And now, we'll be going," announced Cahill, rising. "Thanks for thecigar. As fine a smoke as I've had in a long time."
"Bang up," murmured O'Connor.
"Take another along," suggested Forrester, accepting the hint.
The two detectives each carefully selected another cigar, and thenForrester went with them to the door.
"What will you do if the ghosts supposed to haunt that tree shouldappear?" inquired Forrester.
"You don't believe that stuff, do you, Mr. Forrester?" asked Cahill,scornfully.
"Well, several people, unknown to one another, have agreed on thedetails."
Cahill smiled. "Maybe so," he said, "but don't forget that O'Connor andme can shoot, Mr. Forrester. We can lay out any ghost that everghosted."
"You certainly have my best wishes for your success," said Forrester.
"Don't worry any more," assured Cahill, as he passed out. "The policehave got this gang dead to rights _this_ time. Saturday night will endit!"
The Secret Toll Page 10
