"Woodmere," the Forresters' summer estate, lay between Sheridan Road and the lake. The house, a long, two-storied building of white stucco, with green shutters and a green tile roof, looked much smaller than it really was because of the many great trees that towered above it. On the lake side a wide, paved terrace extended the length of the house. A short stretch of lawn spread from the terrace to the edge of the little bluff that dropped down to a sandy beach. On the edge of this bluff stood a vine-clad pergola, furnished with comfortable willow chairs. Here, on warm summer days, Forrester liked to sit with his pipe, and the ladies brought their reading and fancy work. From the pergola one had a wonderful view up and down the shore line, while the great lake stretched as far as the eye could see. Even during the sultry days of midsummer this spot was sure to pick up a cooling breeze.

Large ornamental gateways stood at the north and south ends, and from these a wide driveway swung in a crescent shape up to the front door. A branch drive turned off at the south side of the house and passing the end of the terrace wound through a mass of shrubbery to the garage.

Shortly after noon on Saturday Forrester turned his car in at the south gateway and drove to the garage. The doors stood wide open, and William, the family chauffeur, who was working on the big car, came out to take charge of Forrester's roadster.

"I'm glad to see you arrived safe, sir," William greeted Forrester. "The ladies were a bit worried at your staying alone in the town house last night. Stormed dreadful here, sir."

"It was a bad night, William," agreed Forrester. "But that's just the sort of night to make one sleep soundly. Did that man, Green, arrive?"

"A few minutes ago, sir. He's up in his room now."

"I'll go up," said Forrester, and entering a door at the side of the garage, climbed to the chauffeur's quarters. Green had been given a cozy room overlooking the lake and Forrester found him in the midst of his unpacking.

"Gee!" exclaimed Green, on sighting Forrester, "I hope that mystery ain't solved all summer. I sure like this here room."

"The mystery will be solved tonight, I believe, Green."

"What!" gasped Green. "Who's got the dope? Not them city dicks?"

"You guessed it. Drop that work for awhile, and I'll tell you the whole story. Here, have a fresh cigar," offered Forrester, catching sight of a cold and much-chewed cigar end in the corner of Green's mouth.

The two men sat down near the window and lighted their cigars.

"An amazing lot of things have happened since I saw you on Thursday, Green," began Forrester. "For a time I thought I was getting on the actual trail—then the city detectives called Thursday night and told a plausible story that knocked all the props from under my theories; and yours, too, for the matter of that."

"Huh!" scoffed Green.

"I know how you feel," assented Forrester. "I wondered myself, until an incident occurred Friday night which half convinced me they were right. Now, let me tell you the whole story, and then we will talk it over. One thing I want to impress upon you, however. Some things I am about to tell you, especially about a certain young lady, are to be kept absolutely quiet—no matter what happens."

"That's part o' my business," assured Green. "A detective don't get nowhere if he talks too much."

"I'll take that as a valuable hint," laughed Forrester.

He then related the occurrences of the last two days; his meeting with Mary Sturtevant, his visit to Lucy, the call from Cahill and O'Connor, their theories and plans, the mystifying telephone calls, and finally the startling discovery of the notice in his humidor.

"And now," Forrester concluded, "I want your opinion on all these facts. Forget your natural animosity to the city detectives, Green, and consider their clues and theories in the light of cold reason."

Green shifted his chair so that he could rest his feet on the window sill, relighted his cigar which had gone out while Forrester talked, and smoked for a while in silence.

"Look here," he said, at length. "You remember my theory and arguments that these here 'Friends o' the Poor' lived near that tree?"

"Yes," replied Forrester, "and that newspaper fellow, Humphrey, had something of the same idea. I half agreed with both of you after my discoveries."

"All right," continued Green, "I'll bet you a week's pay them Italians out there on the West Side—miles away—are just plain auto bandits. They're pullin' some game o' their own, and most likely never even heard o' the 'Friends o' the Poor.' Them city dicks is coverin' up their poor work by misleadin' you. Get me?"

"But the telephone calls," protested Forrester. "Especially the man's voice with the foreign accent!"

"Bunk!" sneered Green. "Reporters, most likely, tryin' to get next to your plans. See here," he added, dropping his feet to the floor and shifting his chair to face Forrester, "I bet there's so many o' them reporter guys around that tree tonight that the 'Friends o' the Poor' can't get near it!"

"And that notice—unaccountably slipped into my cigar humidor while I sat in the library. How do you place that?"

"That's the only real thing that happened," maintained Green. "But it ain't any way mysterious, though they tried to scare you into thinkin' it was. Them guys just crawled through a window while you was out to dinner. It was there all the evenin'—only you didn't happen to want a cigar till late, that's all. Did you find any open or unlocked windows?"

"Not on the first floor. I discovered a second floor window open after hearing a door slam."

"Any floor would suit them guys," asserted Green. "Take it from me, Mr. Forrester; you and me's nearer the solution o' this thing than them city bulls. We're right on the ground now, and we're goin' to locate somethin'. Let them detective guys play around with their Italians. They'll never get 'em near that tree—never on your life!"

The library at "Woodmere" faced the terrace, upon which a row of French windows opened. Forrester sat by the big center table that evening, idly turning the pages of a book. Heavy footsteps clattered along the terrace, and a moment later Green entered at one of the windows.

"I was waiting for you," Forrester greeted him, rising as he spoke. "My mother and sister have just left. Now, one last word of instruction, Green. You're to stick close to the windows of the drawing room over there at the Prentices'. After dinner I will walk to one of the windows with Miss Sturtevant. Take a good look at her. While I'm away try and keep an eye on her. If she slips out, trail her! That's your job for tonight."

"Count on me," assured Green. "Is that the money?" he asked, indicating a long flat package on the table.

"That's the package I'm going to put in the tree."

Green picked up the package and weighed it in his hand while his eyes sparkled. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "Twenty-five thousand bucks!"

"No," laughed Forrester, "only a few ounces of paper!"

"Goin' to fool 'em, eh?" grinned the detective.

"That's what I hope to do. I made a very open and noisy visit to my bank this morning, and remained for some time in the president's private office. The idea was to give anyone who might be watching the impression that I was drawing the money from the bank. What actually happened, however, was that I explained my plans to the president, and he instructed a clerk to make up this dummy package."

Forrester took the package from Green and slipped it into an inner pocket. "Come," he said, and led the way out to his car.

"Am I too late to ask for the first dance?" inquired Forrester, as he approached Mary Sturtevant after dinner.

"I'm sorry," she replied, smiling, "but you were very late in arriving. A New Yorker seems to be popular in Chicago."

"Depends greatly upon the New Yorker," returned Forrester.

"You haven't changed a bit since Thursday, have you?" cried the girl. "How many dances do you wish?" and she extended her card.

"I'm afraid," declared Forrester, a doleful note creeping into his voice as he glanced over the card, "that I shall have to forego any. I must leave before you have completed this long list of engagements."

"Oh, of course," she exclaimed. "I had forgotten. You have a most important engagement yourself at ten-thirty."

Forrester looked at her sharply.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Miss Sturtevant looked surprised.

"Why, you told me—and it has been in all the papers."

"Not the exact hour," returned Forrester, his eyes still observing her keenly.

"Oh," she murmured, flushing, "wasn't it? Well, then, I must have heard it somewhere."

"Over the telephone, perhaps," suggested Forrester.

"One hears gossip in so many ways, it is hard to remember the source," she returned, easily. "If you won't have time to dance, we can at least chat until the dancing starts. Let's look for a quiet corner."

It was an opportunity which Forrester welcomed. He guided her carelessly toward one of the large windows that opened out on the lawn. The musicians, concealed among palms and flowers at the other end of the room, were playing a tender little air—one that seemed to throw a mantle of romance about them. Forrester looked down at the girl in silence. It seemed hard to believe that she could in any way be linked with the abominable men who had committed so many murders, and now, threatened his own life. Yet her actions had been strange, and her slip of a few minutes before seemed inexplicable. In spite of his misgivings Forrester longed for the girl. Love at first sight had always seemed a mere trick of the novelist to Forrester. As he stood there beside Mary Sturtevant he knew that in his case at least it was a fact! Whoever or whatever she was, he wanted her! If she had made a mistake—well, then he would save her from herself.

"I thought we came here to chat," and she smiled mischievously up at him.

"I think we have been chatting," he returned, and added, "with our minds."

Once more Mary Sturtevant flushed slightly. "You could never guess what I was thinking," she declared, watching him with a peculiar smile.

"I wish I could," he replied, earnestly. "It might solve my greatest problem."

"Sometimes you say such strange things," she asserted. Then, as the music for the first dance started up, she added, extending her hand impulsively, "There, I must go. I wish you the best of luck tonight."

Her last words struck him as ominous. How often he had heard a similar phrase on French battlefields just before a futile sortie. He seized her hand, held it a trifle too long, perhaps, and murmured, lamely, "Thank you."

Then, as she was swept away by her first dancing partner, Forrester slipped through the window to the lawn. After that few minutes of delightful nearness to her he did not want to dance. To hold another girl to him now would seem like sacrilege. He was glad that he had neglected to place his name on any dance cards.

"She's some girl, ain't she, Mr. Forrester?" whispered a gruff voice at his side, and romance fled at the sight of the prosaic Green.

The thought that this rough man was to spy upon the girl who had just left his side was revolting to Forrester in his present mood. He had the comforting feeling, however, that it was for her own good. If she had entangled herself in some way with these people he would save her!

"That's the girl you must keep an eye on, Green. And," instructed Forrester, "see that she is protected also. If anything happens to her tonight you'll have to answer to me."

"I getcha," assented Green. "You don't want them bulls to beat you to a capture."

"What's the plot?" called a cheerful voice, and the two men turned quickly to find Prentice close at hand.

"I thought you were dancing by this time," said Forrester.

"Haven't danced for years," returned Prentice. "I came out to have a quiet smoke, and just spotted you fellows with your heads together."

"This is my body-guard, Detective Green," stated Forrester.

"Looks like an able-bodied protector," laughed Prentice. "But I suppose you won't need him after tonight." Then he added, throwing his cigarette away, "Think I'll go in. You'll be back, won't you, Bob?"

"I hope to return if all goes well."

"Remember my advice—get away from the tree if there is going to be a battle. See you later," and Prentice strolled in through the window Forrester had recently left.

"Ten o'clock!" exclaimed Green, consulting his watch. "Gee, you swells eat late. Better start, hadn't you?"

"I think I will," decided Forrester. "There's just about time to walk over, instead of using the car."

Green watched Forrester until he disappeared in the darkness, then strolled over to a large tree which commanded a view of all the windows on that side of the house. If any other person contemplated leaving the dance Green was sure they would try to slip out of one of these windows, selecting that way as the one least likely to attract attention. In the deep shadow under the tree the detective appeared a part of the trunk against which he leaned.

Presently, though no sound had reached Green, he saw a man's figure appear in silhouette against the lighted window which faced him; a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a sack suit and a cap. Green knew from his dress that he was not one of the guests. While the man might be only a chauffeur, or a neighbor's employee, Green decided to take no chances, and remained in motionless expectancy. His suspicions grew as he noted that the man did not attempt to peer in as a merely curious visitor would have done. Instead he remained where he had paused when Green first discovered him, standing in the same tense, motionless attitude as the detective. Either the man was keeping watch as Green was doing, or he was there to keep an appointment.

Green was enlightened in a few minutes. The music ceased and immediately afterward he saw Mary Sturtevant appear in the window. Glancing hastily about, probably to make sure that she was not observed, the girl quickly stepped through the window and into the shadow at one side. A low, peculiar whistle came from the man, and the girl instantly reappeared as she approached him. Green could not hear their greeting, but they turned and moved toward his place of concealment, evidently seeking the shadow of the tree for a conference. Green cautiously moved around the tree, placing its massive trunk between himself and the approaching couple. They came so near that Green dared not look around the trunk at them. He stood with his back pressed against the tree and listened.

"And now, tell me how matters stand tonight," requested the man, evidently ending a report of his own.

"No one has left the room except Mr. Forrester," replied Mary Sturtevant. "He started for the tree a few minutes ago."

"Take anyone with him?"

"I'm not sure. He arrived with that private detective and he may have taken him along."

"Very likely," assented the man. "And there will be city detectives there, too, that I know. It will be very difficult for anybody to approach that tree tonight. It may spoil our plans."

"Mr. Forrester's case certainly seems to be attracting more attention than the others," commented the girl.

"That's because he is putting up a real fight. To tell you the truth, I have my doubts about the package of money he is putting in the tree tonight. It probably isn't worth the danger involved to get it."

"Do you think he will take the risk? Surely he knows that punishment would be certain."

"I think it will take a lot to scare that chap. He will probably still be fighting after we have listed other victims. I must hurry now if I am to get there on time. I'll phone you after you get home."

"Yes, do; I shall be worried until I hear from you," urged the girl.

Green waited a moment before cautiously peering around the tree trunk. The man had disappeared as quietly as he had come, and Mary Sturtevant was just passing back into the house through the window.

"Gee!" muttered Green. "I've got the dope now. I'm wastin' time here—me for the tree!"

He started off at a run.

By going north along the road on which the Prentice estate was located, Forrester could reach the western end of Jasper lane. He began his journey at a brisk pace. The night was clear but dark, the white strip of roadway being barely distinguishable. Forrester knew the way well, however, and arrived at the lane without further adventure than the keeping out of the way of occasional motors that flashed by. As the headlights of these cars threw his figure into prominence against the background of the night he thought with amusement of the wonder of the occupants at seeing a hatless man in evening clothes straying along a deserted road.

Forrester did not make any effort to conceal himself as he approached the great oak. Both the detectives and the emissaries of the "Friends of the Poor" would be expecting him. For the time being at least he had nothing to fear, and it would be well for all those who might be watching to know definitely when the package was deposited.

He paused for a moment in front of the tree and listened. Nothing was to be seen, and there was no sound save the distant wail of a locomotive whistle and the faint rustling of leaves overhead. Cautiously picking his way through the darkness so as not to disturb the detectives' strings if they were in place, Forrester reached the tree, found the opening and placed the package in it. Then he carefully returned to the road and walked noisily along it for a short distance. Suddenly he leaped aside and paused. When he was assured that everything remained quiet he crept silently back in the direction of the tree, but on the opposite side of the road, and close to the woods. He had slightly lost his bearings during these maneuvers in the darkness, and had difficulty in again locating the tree. By glancing toward the sky from time to time he finally saw the huge bulk of the oak against the stars. Feeling around for an opening in the underbrush directly opposite the tree, Forrester moved back a little way from the road and waited.

As the minutes slipped by without incident, Forrester grew restless. The necessity of remaining absolutely motionless to prevent making any noise cramped his muscles, and the continued silence in the impenetrable darkness grated upon his nerves. He had expected action of some kind, yet it almost seemed now as if he were doomed to disappointment. He remembered that on other occasions detectives had waited there throughout the night, only to discover in the morning that their quarry had come and gone. Was this about to happen once more? Had the package over which he and the detectives were watching already been removed? It hardly seemed possible, in view of the precautions which the detectives had taken. He had a feeling, too, that somewhere in that silent darkness, others beside the detectives and himself were concealed. He did not hear a sound, however, outside of the occasional stirring of the leaves as a gentle breeze passed through the woods.

Suddenly, far down the lane, Forrester heard a slight creak that seemed to him like the application of the brake on an automobile. Listening intently, he felt sure that he could also hear the soft purr of an idling engine. At last they must be coming!

Strain his ears as he might, however, Forrester could detect no other sound. If anyone were approaching the tree it was with a catlike tread that no human ear could hear.

Then, in a moment, everything changed. There was a short, sharp exclamation, followed by stifled oaths and the rush of feet. Forrester could tell from the rustling of leaves on the ground and the cracking of twigs that a struggle was taking place. He longed to rush forward and help, yet reason told him that it was better to leave the matter in the hands of the detectives until they were sure of their men. The next moment the darkness was scattered by two electric pocket lamps and Forrester recognized Cahill and O'Connor standing halfway between the road and the tree, each with a man in his grasp.

Forrester darted across the road, but at the same moment there came a blinding flash of light that blotted out everything about him. This was followed by shouts and oaths and several pistol shots. The flash had lasted for only a second, but the intensity of the light, followed by utter darkness, left Forrester practically blinded, and he stood helpless in the road.

He did not know which way to turn, or what had happened, until an electric pocket lamp once more spread its rays across the road. Forrester then saw that the man who held it remained alone in front of the tree, and he hurried over to join him.

"What happened?" cried Forrester.

"That's what I'd like to know," growled the man, who proved to be Cahill.

Just then another pocket lamp flashed out. It was held by O'Connor, who now approached from the roadway and joined them.

"No use," groaned O'Connor, "they got away. I stood no chance chasin' an automobile."

"What do you know about that?" muttered Cahill. "Those Dagos right in our hands! Then that flash went off and blinded us, and piff—they were gone!"

"That'll make some picture!" came a gleeful exclamation, and Humphrey appeared within the circle of light cast by the pocket lamps.

"Picture, hell!" bellowed Cahill. "They got away!"

Humphrey stared around with a bewildered air. "Why," he exclaimed, "when you turned on your lights I thought you had them fast. I decided that was the time to set off my flash light and shoot a picture of you in the very act of capturing your prisoners."

"Bright idea, young fellow," snorted Cahill, "but in one second you killed a whole year's detective work!"

At this moment a wheezing sound was heard in the road. All turned in that direction and saw Green come staggering up, out of breath and almost speechless with his exertions.

"Did—you—get—him?" gasped Green, with an effort.

"Don't see any strangers hanging around, do you?" sneered Cahill.

"Well—the—man—started—for—the tree," declared Green, "and I—followed him." He gave a gulp and partly recovered his breath. "Just as I turned in—from the main road—down here—I heard the rumpus—and I thought you had got the man."

"THE man?" exclaimed Cahill. "What are you talking about?"

"Why—I was keepin' watch at a house—up the road here—for Mr. Forrester. I heard a man arrangin' to come down to the tree—to get the package."

"Well, he split into two by the time he got here," sneered Cahill. "You've been looking through last year's almanac, partner."

Forrester took the puffing Green by the arm and pushed him to one side. "If you know anything," he whispered, "keep it to yourself. We'll talk it over later."

"Look here," said O'Connor, suddenly, turning to Humphrey, "What you goin' to do with that picture you took?"

"Put it in the paper tomorrow," answered Humphrey, triumphantly. "A big headline across the top will read: 'Friends of the Poor' caught while trying to collect their secret toll."

"Don't do it!" commanded O'Connor. "They ain't caught yet. Keep it quiet about that picture. Give the negative to us. We'll have the faces enlarged. Perhaps we can pick up these Dagos from their photos."

"I get you," assented Humphrey. "I see I spoiled the game all right; and I'll do all I can to help you. I'll have that negative over at the detective bureau first thing in the morning."

"O'Connor don't talk much," observed Cahill, "but when he does, he says something. You get that picture to us quick, young fellow, and we'll close this thing up with a bang! There's no question about who the 'Friends of the Poor' are now."

"Did those fellows get my package?" inquired Forrester.

"Not on your life!" returned Cahill. "They never got near enough to the tree for that."

"Then," said Forrester, turning to Green, "you would better get that package and we'll take it back with us. It may come in handy some other time."

Green went to the tree and inserted his hand in the opening. He felt carefully around, then withdrew his arm and turned to face the others. In the dim light of the pocket lamps they saw that his eyes were staring wildly.

"It's gone!" he cried.