Several days passed without incident, and so far as Green or Forrester
were concerned, no progress had been made. Each day Green went to his
post in the pergola and lolled in an easy chair while consuming
Forrester's cigars at an alarming rate. With the lake rippling at his
feet, birds calling in the trees around him, and gentle breezes
tempering the increasing heat of advancing summer, Green was in
paradise. The monotonous hours of his watch were relieved by occasional
visits from William, the chauffeur, and flirtations with the maids.
Forrester, on the other hand, existed in a state of feverish but
profitless activity. He secured several books on criminology and studied
them conscientiously in the quiet of the library; he spent hours in the
woods watching the tree or spying upon the negress, Lucy. He could not
free himself from the idea that this eerie colored woman was in some way
connected with the mystery, although Green scoffed at its possibility.
"You're wastin' time on that Jamaica nigger woman," counseled Green.
"That type can't stand prosperity. If she had her fingers on any o' them
dollars, she wouldn't be rustin' away in the woods. I'd risk a bet that
she's just hidin' from her past."
Once Forrester called on Mary Sturtevant during this quiescent interval,
and twice met her at social functions to which both had been invited. On
these latter occasions the girl had eluded all his efforts to be alone
with her. In fact, Forrester had a feeling that she purposely avoided
any appearance of more than a mere acquaintance with him.
He was not deceived by these eventless days. Surmising that the "Friends
of the Poor" were holding off some act of retaliation merely to lull him
into a sense of false security and thus take him off his guard,
Forrester maintained a constant watchfulness of everything about him.
This caution at times may have made him appear churlish; in such
instances as a refusal to accept assistance from passing motorists when
he had trouble with his car on the road.
Then, on Saturday, one week after the enigmatical happenings at the oak
tree, the case once more presented itself with weird and baffling
additions. Toward noon, Humphrey telephoned that he had important
information and would come out to "Woodmere" after business hours.
Forrester extended him an invitation to dinner, coupled with an
admonition against mentioning a word regarding the matter before his
mother and sister. So it was not until after dinner, when Forrester had
summoned Green and the three men had shut themselves in the library,
that Humphrey disclosed his startling information.
Forrester placed cigars on the library table, inviting the others to
help themselves, while he filled and lighted his pipe. "Now," he said,
"what is it?"
"The detectives have caught the Italians!" divulged Humphrey.
"Always them _Italians_," sneered Green. "Well, what then?"
"Yes," requested Forrester, "tell us the whole story--right from the
start."
"It begins with the photo I made last Saturday," began Humphrey. "I took
the negative and a print to the detective bureau as I promised, and
turned them over to Cahill and O'Connor. It was a wonder, too; take it
from me! At the moment the flash went off both the detectives and the
two Italians looked straight at the camera. O'Connor immediately spotted
one of the men as Dominick Campanelli, a suspect the police have taken
in half a dozen times but never could actually fasten anything on. That
picture of mine settled him! I showed the detective bureau this time
that it was worth while letting reporters on the inside of their cases."
"Leave out the interpolations," interrupted Forrester. "Green and I want
the facts that concern us."
"Oh, you gotta let them reporters blow off a little steam," declared
Green.
Humphrey glared at Green. "You detectives haven't any extra steam to
blow off," he retorted. "Well, as I was about to say, Cahill and
O'Connor started out to hunt for those two men in the photo. They picked
up Campanelli out in Hammond on Thursday. He had a man with him named
Luigi Licansi, who turned out to be the man that drove their car. The
detectives kept this capture quiet until, on Friday, along in the
afternoon, they found the other man in the picture--Frank
Tanuzzio--hanging around the very garage where the car with the bullet
holes was discovered. Cahill considered that a conclusive piece of
evidence.
"At the detective bureau the men were sullen and refused to talk. The
detectives put them through the third-degree all night without results.
This morning the men were taken to the office of the State's Attorney.
When he informed them that they were to be charged with being members of
the 'Friends of the Poor,' and would probably pay the penalty for the
murders committed by that band of money-gougers, these Italians were
scared stiff and immediately offered to make a full confession."
"You mean," exclaimed Forrester, "that these men were not really the
'Friends of the Poor,' as the detectives had supposed?"
"I should say not!" returned Humphrey. "Just low-brow
_intruders_--common thieves. It was simply a case of one crook trying to
steal from another. And I want to tell you that when the facts are made
public they'll be mighty lucky to be safe in jail."
"What've I been tellin' you, Mr. Forrester," cried Green. "Thank God,
them _Italians_ will be off our minds now."
"Yes," admitted Humphrey, "you guessed right for once, Green. I've seen
their signed confession. I telephoned here as soon as I left the
Criminal Court building."
"What did they say in the confession?" questioned Forrester.
"Of course, I can't remember the exact words, but the facts are about
like this: Reading in the newspapers that people were placing large sums
of money in that oak tree, they figured that it would be easy to slip up
some night and steal the money before the other fellows could get it. It
was just a question of knowing what night the money would be there. When
they heard of your case, Mr. Forrester, these Italians decided that
their opportunity had come and watched you night and day to find out
when you placed the money in the tree. That _was_ their car which
followed you through the fog that night. Reading my article, stating
that you intended placing the money in the tree last Saturday, they made
sure of the time by telephoning you Friday night."
"One telephone call accounted for," murmured Forrester.
"I frustrated the detectives' capture," continued Humphrey, "by setting
off the flashlight for my photo. It startled and blinded the detectives,
so they tell me, allowing these fellows an opportunity to get away."
"Did they get my dummy package?" inquired Forrester.
"I think not," replied Humphrey. "The Italians claim not to have taken
anything from the tree at any time."
Forrester stretched out his feet before him, thrust his hands deep into
his trousers pockets and smiled at the two men.
"That settles all doubt about the 'Friends of the Poor,'" he said. "They
not only remain unknown, but probably secured my dummy package and know
that I have fooled them. Gentlemen, kindly omit flowers."
"Ah! but here's the biggest surprise of all," exclaimed Humphrey, as he
jumped out of his chair, and taking a large envelope from the table
where he had laid it on entering the library, drew forth a photograph.
Green and Forrester also rose and approached the library table while
Humphrey was arranging the photograph where the lamplight would fall
full upon it.
"A camera is a wonderful thing," commented Humphrey. "Astronomers
discover stars with it that are not visible to the eye, even through a
powerful telescope; and spiritualists claim to have secured photos of
specters or ghosts or whatever they call the things that visit them. I
can believe it after seeing this photo."
"You ain't got a picture o' them ghosts, have you?" queried Green,
memories of a certain gruesome night only too clearly recalled.
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," returned Humphrey, non-committally,
but obviously amused at Green's apprehension. "_That's_ what I'm going
to let you folks decide. There!" he added, placing a finger on the
photograph as the others bent over it. "See that black spot back of the
tree? That is the shadow thrown by the tree trunk when my flashlight
went off. Naturally, anything in that shadow would not photograph well.
If you look carefully, however, you can make out what appears to be a
man standing a short distance back of the tree. It looks like a
silhouette, and may be only my imagination. That is why I want your
opinions."
First Forrester and then Green studied the photograph.
"Well?" inquired Humphrey, at length.
"I believe you are right," acceded Forrester. "A man was evidently
hiding behind the oak while we were there."
"I can go you one better!" asserted Green, positively. "Remember, Mr.
Forrester, the man's silhouette I saw on the Prentices' lawn that
night--the man who--"
"Yes--yes," interrupted Forrester, quickly, fearing that Green was about
to mention the girl before Humphrey.
"_That looks like the same silhouette!_"
"And now," cried Humphrey, "I want to show you something that is even
more puzzling. Do you happen to have a magnifying glass, Mr. Forrester?"
"Yes," said Forrester, opening the drawer in the table and taking out a
large reading glass.
"Hold the glass over the opening in the tree," instructed Humphrey. "Do
you see anything?"
Forrester adjusted the glass to different distances, while he examined
this part of the photograph.
"Yes," he agreed, after a time, "there seems to be a thin black object
inside the opening. It may be my package."
"No," protested Humphrey. "This looks like a black rod with a bright or
white spot near the end. Can you make it out, now that I have explained
it?"
"Yes," acknowledged Forrester, "but I cannot even make a guess at what
it can be."
"I'll bet it's a hand!" groaned Green. "I've seen it before!"