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.