Crushed beneath the weight of his secret knowledge of Mary Sturtevant's seemingly close connection with the infamous band of extortioners and murderers who were literally terrorizing the city, Forrester fell into a dull routine that held him back from making any progress in the case. That a girl of her delicate refinement, superior intelligence and appealing femininity should be involved with these men whose wanton butcheries were becoming more and more appalling, was a bewildering conundrum. Had anyone simply stated the case to Forrester, he would have ridiculed such a suggestion, yet step by step facts had accumulated rapidly from the day he first met her at the oak tree, culminating in the astounding situation at the dance. The facts were so glaringly against her then that he hardly dared review them.

At the time he put her handkerchief in his pocket he had had two objects in view; to save her from the possible consequences of the discovery of so definite a clue, and later to confront her with it and force a confession. He had a wild idea that once he knew the whole story he could persuade her to go away with him where the baleful hold these men apparently had on her could not follow. Remembering the coincidence of her leaving the room with young Melville, her absence when it was Forrester's turn to dance with her, and her untruthful statement regarding her parting with Melville, Forrester saw clearly that her activities in the affair were more than passive. Everything pointed to her as a daring accomplice.

Forrester decided that as she had repulsed all his efforts to induce her to leave, it would be better for him to stay away from her entirely and let her work out her destiny in her own wilful way. For this reason he refused all invitations, knowing that the wide acquaintance which her letters of introduction had gained for her would inevitably result in his meeting the girl at practically every place he went.

In spite of loud protests from Josephine, he had declined on this night to attend one of the largest affairs of the season and was sitting in the library with an open book laid face-down across his knee. After a short chat earlier in the evening, Green had retired to his station across the lawn and Forrester attempted to read. The printed words made little or no impression on his perturbed mind and at length he dropped the book. For over two hours he sat staring out through the open French windows, wholly lost in melancholy thoughts.

Suddenly Forrester was conscious that someone was looking at him through the open window. He started up in alarm just as Prentice strolled into the room.

"Hello!" greeted Prentice. "Did I startle you?"

"Rather," answered Forrester, as he dropped back into his chair. "How the deuce did you get in?"

Prentice raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's a strange question," he declared. "I just walked in, of course. Why do you look so astonished?"

"Well, you see," explained Forrester, "I have a detective stationed out there on the lawn. He is not supposed to allow anyone to slip in like that."

"He has probably dropped off to sleep," laughed Prentice. "Or perhaps, recognizing me, did not think it necessary to interfere. Are your folks at the dance tonight, Bob?"

"Yes, and I'm a little surprised that you are not there."

"A man of my age, Bob, gets surfeited with such affairs. My wife and daughter are there, however, and I promised to run up with the car and bring them home. In passing, it occurred to me that you might like to go along for the ride on such a warm night. It will give me an opportunity to chat with you, too. You know it has been a long time since we had a confidential talk over things."

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Prentice, but I had rather not go. I had quite a battle with Josephine over staying at home. If she found that I had actually come as far as the door after all, there would be high jinks. You know, I seem to be settling down terribly lately."

"You've taken too large and unaccustomed a burden on your shoulders, Bob. Better drop that 'Friends of the Poor' matter. Even the police are not getting anywhere."

"I would not have believed a few weeks ago that criminals could go so far without detection," said Forrester.

Prentice glanced around as though he feared being overheard. Then he addressed Forrester in a low tone. "I've changed my mind about the criminal side of this money drive. I am inclined to believe that it is something more—something of world-wide significance." Then added, in a louder voice, "Well, I must be going on. Good-night, Bob," and he passed out of the window.

Forrester listened to his steps fade away along the terrace and then sat pondering over Green's noninterference with Prentice's approach. It was unusual and peculiar. If the detective were getting careless he was of no further use. Happily, in this instance, it had been only Prentice, but might not one of his enemies come in on him just as easily?

Forrester jumped up and strode across the lawn to the pergola.

"Green!" he called, sharply.

The breeze whispering through the leaves and the splash of tiny wavelets on the beach below were the only sounds Forrester heard. He stepped into the pergola and struck a match. Green was in his chair, but huddled down in a loose and helpless bundle. Forrester shook him without result, though the man's labored breathing showed that he was not dead.

"My God!" cried Forrester. "I believe he has been attacked with the death mask!"

He ran part way to the garage before remembering that the chauffeur was with the car and waiting several miles away to bring Mrs. Forrester and Josephine home. Green must be gotten out of the way before they arrived. Returning to the pergola Forrester placed Green's inert form over his shoulder and carried the detective to his room over the garage. Laying the man carefully on the bed Forrester hurried to the house to telephone.

"Yes," said the doctor, a half-hour later, "I think he will live. We got him just in time. Peculiar thing, Mr. Forrester, how a man can be asphyxiated in the open air—yet this fellow shows every symptom of asphyxia."

"Please don't mention the matter at the house, doctor," requested Forrester. "My mother and sister might be unnecessarily alarmed over it."

"I understand," agreed the doctor. "Mum's the word." Then, turning to William, who had returned and stood in the room, he added, "Are you going to watch him?"

"My wife and I will take turns," replied William.

"Well, if there is a change that does not look favorable, telephone me at once. I'll be back in the morning. Good-night."

During the period of Green's convalescence Forrester emerged from his lethargy, passing to the other extreme. He became restless and uneasy. The doctor advised him against discussing any serious matters with Green, stating that the man had received a mental as well as a physical shock and that complete recovery could come only through both mental and bodily rest. Forrester remained away from Green, therefore, and finding himself unable to concentrate upon his reading or to focus his thoughts for any length of time, he spent many hours walking along North Shore roads, or discovering new bypaths through the woods.

On one of these occasions he found himself unexpectedly in the rear of Lucy's cottage. As he retained lingering suspicions of the Jamaica colored woman it seemed to Forrester an opportune time to pay her another visit. He walked around the end of the building through the neglected, weed-grown clearing to the door and knocked. No noisy dog greeted him this time, and in the quiet and gloomy woods the place seemed to exhale an atmosphere of insidious mystery. He knocked twice before Lucy opened the door and stood as he remembered her before—silent, distrustfully observant, her peculiar eyes with their oddly drooping lids vaguely suggestive of furtive evil.

"Good afternoon," Forrester greeted her, cheerfully.

"You here again?" and a scowl added to the forbidding aspect of her face.

"Yes; after more news," replied Forrester.

She smiled sneeringly, and Forrester suspected that she was now well aware that he was not connected with a newspaper.

"Well, what sort of news do you want this time?" she snapped.

An inspiration came to Forrester. Perhaps if aroused and angered she might let something slip. "Your opinion of the detectives and police," he answered.

The effect was contrary to his anticipations. She smiled, her face assuming a more cheerful expression than he had ever seen upon it.

"Stupid fools!" she said, briefly, emphasizing in two words of similar import, the depth of her contempt for the representatives of the law. It was a revelation to Forrester, which, more than anything else, influenced some of his subsequent actions.

"What has become of your dog?" he asked. "I missed his friendly reception."

Again her face glowered. "The police shot him," she answered. Then added, "I'm busy; you'd better run along," thus ending the interview abruptly as she had before.

"I think I will," assented Forrester. "Good-bye," and he walked away along the path that led by the tree, conscious that the inscrutable eyes of the negress were following him in speculation.

Forrester returned home, but instead of going directly into the house he strolled across the lawn to the pergola. There he sat down to smoke his pipe, and analyze his impressions of Lucy.

A golden glow from the late afternoon sun hung over the lake. Here and there a sailing craft with sun-gilded sails moved lazily along before the gentle offshore breeze. Birds chirped in the trees at his back, and humming insects hovered around him. Nature breathed peace and restfulness. Only man—and woman—created the turmoil and misery that disturbed life's predestined course. If only human beings would realize that when His work was done all that was needed had been accomplished, and cease their ineffectual attempts to check or alter the inevitable. Yet, while man continued to battle, man must also fight back.

Forrester's reveries were interrupted by the spluttering roar of a motor and he glanced toward the garage. William, seated in the big car, was tuning up his engine, while a man, pale, haggard and unsteady on his feet, trudged across the lawn toward the pergola. Forrester was surprised to see Green up and in action.

The detective entered and sank weakly into a chair near Forrester.

"What's up, Green?" cried Forrester. "I thought you were still confined to your bed."

"I'm goin' back to bed when I get home," replied Green. "I'm goin', Mr. Forrester; I'm through!"

"You mean you are going to leave me?" queried Forrester.

"Yes," assented Green. "I ain't got any wife or children, but I may have some day, and I don't want to disappoint 'em by being bumped off now. Besides, it ain't dignified for a detective to be gassed off while his back is turned—without a chance. If I have to die, I'm goin' to die fightin'. So I'm goin', Mr. Forrester. That's final."

"I'm sorry, Green," admitted Forrester, earnestly. "You have become almost like one of the family. You have been a help, too. Some of your ideas have been tip-top, and I may yet profit by hints you have given me. If I do, I'll not forget that bonus I promised you."

"I ain't worryin' about no bonus," returned Green, "but I am sort o' worryin' about you. Do you know what that day was that I nearly got took off?"

"Do you mean what day of the week or month?" inquired Forrester.

"That was the last day o' the ten days them guys give us! The only thing that saved you was probably the accidental droppin' in o' that friend o' yours, Prentice, that night. He must've come while they was operatin' on me. They've been gettin' closer and and closer, Mr. Forrester, but they're at the doorstep now!"

Green rose to go. Forrester jumped from his chair and shook the man's hand warmly.

"One last piece o' advice," whispered Green. "Watch the girl! Maybe she ain't an actual criminal, but somebody's got a good hold on her. What she knows about them people would most likely be an eye opener for you."