  "Son," said Mrs. Forrester at breakfast Friday morning, "Josephine and I have changed our minds." "About what?" prompted Forrester. "We are moving out to 'Woodmere' late today instead of tomorrow morning. The Prentices are giving a dinner dance, the first of the summer season, Saturday evening. If we moved tomorrow we would be too tired and upset to attend. We do not want to disappoint the Prentices, especially as we understand the affair is given to introduce Miss Sturtevant." "Does she know the Prentices?" exclaimed Forrester. "Only through a letter of introduction, I believe," explained Mrs. Forrester. "Of course, you will be there, Bob, now that you know who will be the principal guest," laughed Josephine. "I haven't received an invitation," returned Forrester, gravely. "Oh, the affair is quite informal," declared Mrs. Forrester. "All the invitations were extended over the telephone, because it was only decided upon at the last moment. Mrs. Prentice told me to be sure to see that you came. She wants you to meet Miss Sturtevant." "Not realizing that Bob was such a forward young man and attended to his own introductions," interjected Josephine. "That was only an accidental meeting, Josephine," protested Mrs. Forrester. "They had no opportunity to get really acquainted." "I wonder?" said Josephine, with a side glance at Forrester. Then added, "Of course, Mrs. Prentice does not realize what a rival Miss Sturtevant will be for Diana." Forrester glared at Josephine. Until she had taken up his recent meeting with Mary Sturtevant, it had been her custom to tease him about Diana, Prentice's daughter. Josephine had professed to believe that a genuinely serious affair was developing, at least on Diana's part. "Josephine," remonstrated Mrs Forrester, "you must not make light of Bob's interest in Diana. I should be most pleased to see Bob select her as his life's partner. Miss Sturtevant is here only for a brief visit, and they have met but once; simply by chance. One cannot be so much attracted to a chance acquaintance as to one who has been a friend since childhood." "Very wisely spoken, Mother," approved Forrester, with a triumphant look at Josephine. "I am satisfied to await the developments of Saturday evening," returned Josephine, and finished her breakfast in silence, while his mother explained to Forrester the details of the day's plans. The knowledge that the solution of the case was now practically out of his hands left Forrester with a sensation of loss. Never before had he felt so thoroughly bereft of an object in life. He rather welcomed, therefore, the information that the household moving would take place on Friday instead of Saturday as originally planned. Throughout the morning he was busily engaged in assisting his mother and sister to pack, in the securing of a motor truck to carry their trunks and bags, and the various other little details connected with the removal of the household for the summer season. Shortly after luncheon his mother, sister and the servants left in the big car. It was a dark, gray day with low-hanging clouds and a chill wind blowing off the lake. As Forrester stood by the curb watching the car disappear down the street, he found that a light, misty rain was falling. The weather affected him strongly under the circumstances and he returned to the house with a feeling of depression. Forrester seemed to find something sinister about the deserted house. The closing of the front door behind him echoed through the lonely rooms, and the thud of his feet was uncannily loud as he passed down the hall to the library. Forrester laughed, shook himself and hunted up his pipe. "The truth is," he said, aloud, as the tobacco glowed under the match, "my nerves are getting ragged." In spite of the fact that the detectives had assured him that the solution of the mystery was close at hand Forrester could not fully convince himself that the matter was to be settled in so commonplace a way. The discoveries which he had made must surely possess some significance. It did not seem possible that a band of West Side Italians, far away from the oak tree on the North Shore, could be back of the so-called ghostly manifestations of which he had heard so many rumors, and which Green claimed to have actually witnessed. If these apparitions had no connection with the "Friends of the Poor," then what was their purpose? Busily engaged in his amateur detective work, and full of a certain confidence in his own ability, Forrester had half expected to solve, in a few days, a mystery that had baffled experienced detectives for a year. Now, with the final reckoning only one day away, he realized that he had made practically no progress, except, perhaps, to increase the scope of the mystery. Possibly the fact that he felt himself free to come and go in comparative safety until Saturday had blurred his view of the future. Here in the still, deserted house, however, the misgivings that had been dormant beneath his energetic efforts to solve the problem, now came to the surface. The partial doubt which he had felt the previous evening in respect to the detectives' theories, now reasserted itself with increased force. While his own theories were mere chimerical pictures, based upon a fanciful explanation of the peculiar facts he had unearthed, Forrester nevertheless had a feeling that they possessed more real substance than was apparent at the present time. Again Forrester laughed and tried to shift his thoughts to the seemingly more logical and matter of fact deductions of the detectives. During these meditations he had been pacing the library floor, several times refilling his pipe. Now he went to the fireplace and lit the gas logs in an effort to dispel the chilly, gloomy atmosphere that pervaded the room. He drew a chair up to the fireplace and sought more cheerful thoughts in recollections of Mary Sturtevant. This did not help. Aside from the girl's attractive personality, Forrester could not but realize that it was the faint element of mystery that seemed to surround her which had stimulated his curiosity and thrown a glamour about her such as no other girl of his acquaintance had ever possessed. Yet that very element of mystery was a disquieting feature. In spite of any arguments he might devise to ease his own mind, Forrester realized that if he were to tell the men at the detective bureau all the details of his acquaintance with Mary Sturtevant he would create a disagreeable stir. While the peculiar effect of her sudden appearance from nowhere had been partly offset by her letter of introduction to his mother, it still remained an odd coincidence that she should select a home so near the blackmailers' tree, and in addition take such a strong interest in the tree itself. And then there was the reprimand which Joshua intimated she had given him for talking about the tree to a stranger. Moreover, what object could a young woman of her undoubted social position have in leaving her family in the East and renting a big house in a Chicago suburb with only a paid companion? It was no use. In whatever direction he turned his thoughts Forrester's mind reverted to the mystery of the "Friends of the Poor." Glancing at his watch, he found that these thoughts and speculations had consumed a large part of the afternoon and he decided to get away from the dreary surroundings and gloomy inspirations of the empty house by going out to dinner. ———— The slight drizzle of the afternoon had increased to a heavy downpour of rain which beat loudly on the windows, while a strong east wind roared about the house. The inclemency of the weather increased the feeling of loneliness and isolation which had seized upon Forrester since the departure of his family. He sprang up, therefore, with a sensation of pleased anticipation when the door-bell rang, but paused immediately to reconsider his action. Most of his friends were already at their summer homes. It did not seem likely that even the few stragglers who might have remained in town would be out on a night like this. For the first time since the affair started Forrester felt like arming himself. He opened the drawer of the library table and took out a revolver which had lain there unused for many years, only to discover that it was unloaded, and as he could think of no place where he might find the necessary cartridges for it, the weapon was useless. He reasoned, however, that its appearance in his hand might in itself be a partial protection, so with the revolver apparently ready for instant use, Forrester went to the front door and opened it. No one was there, and the street lay apparently deserted in the driving rain. It was a strange incident and when Forrester returned to the library he wondered whether it was a wise step for him to remain alone in the house that night. He was still debating the question when a half-hour later the telephone bell rang. Picking up the receiver Forrester was relieved to recognize the voice of Prentice on the wire. "I called at your house a little while ago," apprised Prentice, "and was alarmed that the door-bell was not answered. After thinking it over I decided to phone you." "There is no one here but myself," replied Forrester. "The folks moved to 'Woodmere' today. I stayed in town because I have a little job to attend to in the morning. That must have been you who rang the bell about a half-hour ago. I did answer the bell—and was amazed when I found there was no one at the door." "You took a thundering long time to answer," said Prentice. "It seemed to me that I stood a long time in the rain. I am at the Drake hotel now. My car is handy and I will be over in a couple of minutes." "All right," replied Forrester, "I will be watching for you." Hanging up the receiver, Forrester went to one of the front windows and took up his promised watch. The car arrived promptly and Forrester opened the door. Prentice hung up his hat and raincoat in the hall and Forrester led the way to the library. "The house looks dark and dismal," commented Prentice, as he seated himself and drew out a cigar. "Why don't you turn on more lights?" "It did seem a bit lonesome before you came," admitted Forrester. "I don't believe more light would help. To me it would simply emphasize how large and deserted the house is at this moment. How do you happen to be in town on a night like this?" "We expected friends from Rockford," explained Prentice, "to stay with us over the week end. You know we are giving a dinner tomorrow evening." Forrester nodded. "I stayed in town to meet them," continued Prentice. "When they did not arrive and I found it was to be such a bad night, I decided to stay at the club, instead of going home. The time was dragging, for it seemed that practically everyone I knew had left town. Then I thought of you and concluded I would run up and pay you a little visit." "I am very glad you did," approved Forrester, "for I am willing to admit that I miss the family now that they have gone." At that moment the telephone bell rang sharply. "Looks like you were not going to be so lonely after all," observed Prentice. Forrester picked up the receiver. "Hello!" said a man's voice. "Is that you, Mr. Forrester?" "Yes," replied Forrester. "I want to get a little information," informed the voice. "I believe you expect to put some money into a certain tree tomorrow night." "Who are you?" demanded Forrester. "That is of no immediate importance," returned the voice. "What I wanted was to find out the exact time at which you intended to place the money in that tree." "I am not giving any information to strangers," snapped Forrester. "I am sorry," returned the voice in a conciliatory tone, "but I can't give you any particulars at this time. It is important, however, that I know at what hour you intend to visit the tree." "Better call up the detective bureau," retorted Forrester. "Good-by," and he hung up the receiver. Prentice was leaning toward Forrester with a puzzled expression on his face. "That was a peculiar conversation," he said. "May I ask what it was about?" "A man whose voice I did not recognize," explained Forrester, "was trying to find out at what hour I intended to place that extortion money in the tree tomorrow night. He wanted his information without giving me any." "Strange," murmured Prentice. "Perhaps it was a newspaper man—or a detective." "No need for them to disguise their identity," asserted Forrester. "I certainly have talked freely to all of them." Prentice sat in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, and Forrester was equally absorbed in trying to fathom the object of the person who had called him up. Their thoughts were interrupted by another clamorous ring on the telephone. Again a man's voice came over the wire when Forrester took up the receiver. This was a very different voice, however; coarse, with a slightly foreign accent, and rough in its address. "That you, Forrester?" asked the voice. "Yes," answered Forrester, gruffly. "What do you want?" "This is the 'Friends of the Poor'," came back over the wire. "'Friends of the Poor'!" repeated Forrester, astonished and Prentice sat up suddenly in his chair. "Yes," affirmed the voice. "We're tired of fooling around with you and we want to know something definite." "What do you wish to know?" inquired Forrester, less harshly. "We want to know the exact hour at which you will put the money in the tree tomorrow night." Forrester hesitated. He glanced at Prentice, who was leaning toward him, an interested listener, and reflected whether or not to ask his advice. Forrester's own impulse was to treat the man as he had the first caller. It occurred to him, however, that if this man really did represent the "Friends of the Poor," as he claimed, it would simplify matters for the detectives if a definite hour were arranged. He remembered Cahill's instructions to approach the tree at ten-thirty. "I had planned to go to the tree about ten-thirty," finally announced Forrester. "That's all right," said the voice. "Be sure you make it ten-thirty sharp—and no dicks, remember!" The wire suddenly became dead as the man at the other end hung up the receiver. Forrester hung up his own receiver and turned to Prentice. "What's this about the 'Friends of the Poor'?" exclaimed Prentice. "That man said he represented the 'Friends of the Poor'," replied Forrester. "He wanted me to give him the exact hour at which I would place the money in the tree." "That's a strange proceeding," muttered Prentice. "Strange?" queried Forrester. "That they should take the risk of calling you up on the phone," explained Prentice. "Things are getting rather hot for them," declared Forrester. "They realize it, and probably do not want to take a chance by staying near the tree for too long a period. The man warned me not to have any detectives at hand." "He did!" ejaculated Prentice. There followed a moment's silence while Prentice relit his cigar. "Tell me, Bob," he requested, at length, "have you made any definite plans about tomorrow night?" "Yes, I'm coming to your house for dinner for one thing," smiled Forrester. "You know what I mean," said Prentice, seriously. "You have trifled with this 'Friends of the Poor' matter long enough. What have you decided to do—are you going to pay the money or fight?" "Both," answered Forrester, laughing. He then explained to Prentice the major details of his own and the detectives' plans for Saturday night. "And you mean to say, Bob," gasped Prentice, "that these detectives have actually located the 'Friends of the Poor'?" "Not located them, exactly," returned Forrester, "but they have a very strong suspicion." "Against whom?" asked Prentice. "A band of Italians on the West Side," divulged Forrester. "They have secured what they claim to be certain evidence and expect to capture the men at the tree tomorrow night." Prentice smiled. "That's not the first time I've heard that police theory," he declared. "Still, there may be something to their idea, after all, in view of the telephone calls you received this evening. There should be interesting developments tomorrow night. But, Bob," he added, "take my advice and leave this matter entirely in the detectives' hands. Don't fail in your part of the matter. Place your money in the tree at the hour you agreed upon and then get away as quickly as you can." "You take the matter too seriously," objected Forrester. "And you don't realize how serious the affair is, Bob," asserted Prentice. "The claims of these detectives have given you too much confidence. Even if they do capture some men tomorrow night, there may be others of the band who will seek revenge. I cannot urge you too strongly to place that money in the tree and assure your own safety. The history of the case—" Prentice was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell once more. He paused, with an astonished look on his face, and Forrester laughed. "Unquestionably my busy night," said Forrester, as he picked up the receiver. Forrester's face also expressed amazement, as he listened, and he placed one hand over the transmitter while he remarked in an aside to Prentice, "A woman's voice this time!" Then, speaking into the telephone, he said, "Yes, this is Mr. Forrester." "I want to get some information," said the woman's voice, "that is vitally important to you. I must know at what hour you will place the money in the tree tomorrow night." "Who are you?" inquired Forrester. "I cannot tell you that now," replied the voice, "but let me assure you that I am absolutely friendly to you. It is chiefly in your interest that I want this information." "But," protested Forrester, "it is a matter in which I cannot be too free in furnishing information to strangers." "I know," admitted the voice, "but you'll have to trust me for the present." "Are you a lady reporter?" asked Forrester. "No." "Are you securing the information for a reporter?" "No." "Are you connected in any way with a newspaper?" "No." "Are you a lady detective then?" and Forrester could not restrain a slight laugh. "It is useless for you to ask questions," declared the voice. "I am asking information—not giving it." "But favors beget favors," protested Forrester. "You are not doing me a favor," returned the woman. "This is in your own interest." "Well, then, if you insist," acceded Forrester, "I will take the risk and inform you that I expect to visit the tree at ten-thirty tomorrow night." "Thank you," was the reply, and the receiver was hastily hung up. "I don't understand these telephone calls at all," said Prentice. "What do you make of them, Bob?" "I fancy your first idea was correct," returned Forrester. "It is my opinion that these thick-headed detectives have talked too freely to the newspaper reporters about their new plan, and that we are simply going to have a convention of the press at the tree tomorrow night." Prentice laughed heartily. "Perhaps you are right, Bob," he agreed. "If I had not had such a trying experience with these people myself, I should have liked to be a spectator, too. As it is, I imagine it will be safer to keep out of the way. And now," he added, rising, "I believe I would better go. I want to drive out early in the morning, and you, too, should have a good night's sleep." Forrester accompanied Prentice to the door and stood until he saw the car disappear in the rain and mist. Then he returned to the library. The windows still rattled under the lash of the wind and rain, and somewhere far up in the house he heard a door slam. "I don't think I'll do much sleeping tonight," thought Forrester, and crossing to the library table, lifted the lid of his humidor to get a cigar. He paused with a startled exclamation, for there before him lay a small square of brown wrapping paper. On it he recognized the crude skull and rough hand-printing of the "Friends of the Poor." The words stood out clearly in the light shed by the lamp on the table. He read:
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