The Secret Toll

CHAPTER I – THE TOLL IS EXACTED

"I'm damned if I give up a cent! I'll die first!"

"You very likely will. Others have. To refuse these people is the first step toward suicide."

"But are the police so impotent that a gang like this one can operate unmolested right under their very noses?"

"The police are efficient in ordinary cases. These people, however, operate mysteriously. So far, the police have been helpless."

The two men who thus discussed a criminal clique which was extorting money from prominent and wealthy citizens were seated in an exclusive Michigan Avenue club. From their deeply upholstered leather chairs they looked out across the busy street, with its hundreds of automobiles and strolling pedestrians, to the green lawns and leafing trees of Grant Park, awakened into renewed life by the soft breezes and warm sunshine of early June.

To the first speaker, Robert Forrester, lately returned from army service in Europe, and familiar with the privations, struggles and horrors of the great war, it seemed ridiculous that a band of criminals could endanger life in the heart of this bustling, crowded, well-policed city. Yet the threat was in his hand, and his older and presumably wiser companion assured him that they could make good the threat.

Robert Forrester was a young man of thirty – tall, dark and broad shouldered; his face deeply tanned by long army service. As a member of an old and wealthy family, of which he was the sole male survivor and head, Forrester might have followed the path selected by many of his boyhood chums and spent his life in the pursuit of pleasure or more or less indifferent occupations. He had chosen, however, to become a civil engineer; was graduated with honors, and had taken active part in the completion of several big railroad projects before the great war.

When the United States entered the war he at once enlisted and went to France as an army engineer. He had been home now for several months and was planning to resume work in his profession at the first opportunity. The financial and business condition of the country did not favor large construction work at this time, so he was still lingering in Chicago, spending much of his time at the club, where he could keep in close touch with some of the far-sighted and influential men who planned and made possible the big undertakings which would give him the opportunity he sought.

His companion and confidant of the moment, Frederick Prentice, was past middle age. The possessor of large, inherited wealth, he was totally unlike the younger and more energetic man. He had never entered business, and the only times he ever condescended to visit a business office were occasioned by infrequent plunges into speculation through a broker friend, or the necessity of calling on his lawyer.

In his easy-going, well-financed existence he had had few problems or worries. To Prentice the easiest way out was the logical course.

Forrester knew this as well as any man, and was therefore little inclined to heed the well-meant advice which Prentice was giving him – to yield without a murmur to the outrageous and exorbitant demand that had been made upon him.

The young man opened the clenched hand in which he had crushed the warning message when making his vehement declaration. He smoothed out the offending paper on his knee and glared at it – reading again the words that enraged him more each time he studied them. The message was crudely hand-printed on a square of ordinary wrapping paper such as can be found in any store. At the top was the rough drawing of a human skull. Forrester read the words aloud.

"On the other side," declared Forrester, "we lived and tramped and fought with spies and informers at our elbows. Enemy agents, ready to turn a dastardly trick at any moment, were on every hand. Though conditions were just ripe for them, sooner or later we spotted them – practically every one. Do you mean to tell me that here, in a peaceful, law-abiding city, with trained police and intelligent detectives, we can't run down a blackmailing crew like this one?"

"That is exactly what has happened," said Prentice.

"And you want me to believe that every one of the victims has given up without a fight; that no real effort has been made to apprehend these desperadoes?"

"My, no!" exclaimed Prentice. "Several of the men threatened went to the police. The police put their best men on the case for weeks, but so far as I know, they never discovered a worth while clue."

"What happened to those men who resisted?" inquired Forrester.

"They either finally acceded to the demands, or were found dead. That is why I warned you to pay and say nothing. Remember, Bob, you have been away for a long period, while I have stayed on right here in the city a greater part of the time. I know exactly what has transpired in this matter; I speak from actual experience."

"Experience?" questioned Forrester, noting something significant in the stress which Prentice laid on his last words.

"Young man," said Prentice, shaking a finger at Forrester, "you may have had wider experience with some angles to life than I have had. On the other hand, I possess the calmer judgment that comes with advancing years. And I know more about this situation than you do. I advise you to draw ten thousand dollars from that ample bank account of yours, put it in that tree before midnight Saturday, and consider yourself lucky to get off so easily."

"I'll not do it!" declared Forrester.

Prentice extended his hand. "Let me see that paper, Bob," he requested. The paper was handed over and Prentice studied it carefully.

"Yes," commented Prentice, slowly, as he handed back the message. "It is unquestionably from the same people. That is a duplicate of the warning which I received."

"Did you get one, too?" exclaimed Forrester.

"A year ago – just about this time," divulged Prentice. "In fact, so far as I know, I was the first man upon whom the demand was made. When I went to the police about it, they claimed that it was the first time anything of the kind had come to their attention."

"Tell me about it, Prentice," urged Forrester.

"I will," agreed Prentice. "After you have heard my experience, you will realize more fully why I have told you to pay and say nothing.

"As I said before, it was just about this time last year that a duplicate of that notice was fastened to my front door with a knife. A maid found it when she went to bring in the morning paper, and presented it to me at the breakfast table. I had much the same feeling that you have regarding it; although I did not take it quite so seriously. As a matter of fact, I regarded it as a joke, until a few days later a second warning came in the mail.

"I had, of course, destroyed the first warning, but the second I took to the police, and laid the matter before them. They arranged with me to try to trap these people. The night that my time expired I took a dummy package and placed it in that tree. The police kept watch in the woods all night without seeing or hearing anyone. In the morning, they found the package still in the tree, but attached to it was a note stating that these people were not to be fooled, and allowing me three days in which to pay or take the consequences.

"For two weeks after that the police watched the tree, and a detective accompanied me whereever I went. There was no attack upon me, and the police assured me that it was undoubtedly the practical joke of some friend. They withdrew my detective guard and I thought the matter had ended.

"A few days later, however, as I was returning home along the North Shore in my car one night, a figure leaped upon each running board. They wore long black hoods with nothing save their eyes visible through openings cut in the hoods. These men pointed revolvers at me and ordered me to stop. They said that they represented the 'Friends of the Poor,' and told me that the time had come to pay the penalty for not complying with their demands. You can imagine my state of mind. I saw that the matter was really serious, and not a practical joke after all. I told them that I had thought it a joke and pleaded with them. They finally allowed me to go upon my promising to place the money in the tree the following evening.

"After drawing the money from the bank, I informed the police about my adventure, and they arranged to watch the tree again that night. I placed the money in the tree, and although five detectives remained all night only a little distance away, they heard and saw nothing. In the morning the money was gone!

"During last summer several other wealthy men received demands for money. So far as I have knowledge of the matter, they either paid the money, or were later found dead. With the first fall of snow the activities of this band ceased. A detective, detailed to the case, told me he thought they had stopped operations because of the snow. When they approached the tree, he explained, they would naturally leave tracks in the snow, in that way giving some hint to the police. I was inclined to believe, on the other hand, that they had obtained all the money they wished; or else had concluded that the police were aroused to such an extent that it would be dangerous to keep on. This notice to you, however, seems to indicate that the detective with the snow-theory was pretty nearly right. Probably this warning to you is the beginning of another war to be waged upon the wealthy men of the city this summer."

"Your story is certainly interesting, Prentice," said Forrester, "but something really ought to be done. If these men are allowed to prey upon wealth in this mysterious way, there is no limit to the harm which they may accomplish. Why, just think of it! Unmolested, they might become bolder and bolder, and by steadily levying this secret toll, practically ruin every wealthy man in Chicago."

"Well," returned Prentice, "probably sooner or later the police will get them. So far as I am concerned, however, I would pay over the money at any time rather than have another experience such as the one I described to you. If you want to hire detectives, Bob, or stir up the police as I did, do so, by all means, but in the meantime take my advice and pay the money."

At this moment an attendant approached, informing Forrester that he was wanted on the telephone. Excusing himself to Prentice, Forrester went to the telephone to find that his mother was calling him.

"Son," she said, "Mr. Nevins has met with a serious accident. Josephine and I are going over to see Mrs. Nevins. She has just telephoned, asking us to call and stay with her the rest of the day; so we shall not be home to dinner. I wanted you to know so you would not worry about us."

"All right, Mother," replied Forrester. "I'll phone the house later and if Charlie is going to be in this evening I'll run over and bring you home. Good-bye."

The Nevins family and his own had been close friends for years. This friendship was about to be turned into relationship through the recently announced engagement of Forrester's sister, Josephine, to Charles Nevins, the banker's son.

Forrester hung up the receiver and returned to the lounging room to rejoin Prentice. As he crossed the room he saw that Prentice was reading one of the sensational evening papers, for even from a distance Forrester could read the glaring headlines:

Prentice held the paper out for Forrester to see when the young man joined him, with the remark, "Evidently you did not get the first warning of the season, Bob, as I thought. Here's a man who received a notice two weeks ago, and assumed the same attitude that you did this afternoon toward this mysterious band."

"Who was he?"

"George Nevins, the banker!"

"George Nevins!" repeated Forrester, aghast at the news.

"Yes, old George Nevins – the tightest man in Chicago. I'll wager hefought as hard as any one could, but see what happened!" Prentice paused a moment, then added, impressively, "Do you still want to fight?"

"Harder than ever now!" asserted Forrester.

This was bringing it very close to home. Forrester wanted to be alone to think it over, so he gave his telephone call as an excuse, and took leave of Prentice.

"'Failure to comply means death!'" quoted Prentice, warningly, as Forrester turned to go.

CHAPTER II – "FRIENDS OF THE POOR"

On leaving the club, Forrester strolled slowly and thoughtfully north along Michigan Avenue. The knowledge that old Mr. Nevins had met his death at the hands of the same people who now threatened him, impressed Forrester with the seriousness of the situation. Always a fighter, his army training had developed this side of his nature to a point where it was practically impossible for him to accede to an unjust demand without a struggle.

It was Tuesday. Forrester reflected that he had but four days in which to freely carry out any plan which he might decide upon. In view of Prentice's experience, and the startling death of Mr. Nevins, there was no question that after midnight Saturday every move Forrester made would be attended with danger.

Immersed in these thoughts, Forrester suddenly found himself in front of the public library building at Washington Street. It reminded him that the city detective bureau was on La Salle Street at about this point. In spite of the apparent non-success of the police, he decided that his first duty would be to report to them the demand just made upon him. A few minutes later Forrester entered the detective bureau and sent in his card to the Chief of Detectives. After being admitted to the Chief's office Forrester laid the message from the "Friends of the Poor" before the head of the detective bureau, with the remark:

"I'm next! What shall I do about it?"

"Mr. Forrester," said the Chief, after only a hasty glance at the notice, which showed his familiarity with the subject, "sorry as I am to say it, the Department has made little progress in this matter. We have a half-dozen detectives working on the case right now. Detective Sergeants Cahill and O'Connor have given it special study. They have been working among the West Side joints for some time, and today they reported to me that they think they have a line on some of these men. Nothing definite, understand, but it is the first suggestion of a clue which we have had.

"The probabilities are that between now and Saturday you will not be bothered. After Saturday, however, if we have made no further progress, I suggest that you stay off the streets at night, and that during the day you select only the main thoroughfares for going about the city. If you have any friends in the North Shore suburbs, and you probably have, I recommend that you do not visit them for the present. If you wish it, I will put a police guard at your home."

"I don't want to be coddled," objected Forrester. "I'm an ex-service man and I think that I can take care of myself."

"You needn't be ashamed to take precautions in a case like this," explained the Chief. "This gang is both dangerous and clever. If Mr. Nevins, whose death has just been reported, had allowed me to give him a police guard, as I wished, he would probably be alive today. You are really helping the police when you allow us to give you a police guard, for if these fellows show themselves in any way, our man is there ready to act. If anything happens to you when no one is around, then we are simply confronted with another mystery and have much of our work to do over again."

"That's very logical reasoning, Chief," agreed Forrester, "and I thank you for the offer. But I would not have a moment's peace of mind with a detective or a policeman hanging around my heels. I am perfectly willing to take my chance. In fact, I did not come to you for protection, but simply to talk this matter over with you, and see if something definite cannot be done to eradicate these criminals. I am doubly interested, not only because I have received this notice, but from the fact that my sister is engaged to Mr. Nevins' son, thus practically bringing his death right into our family. It is the principle of the thing which I want to fight – and if there is anything I can do to help, outside of having a detective trailing me around, I want to do it."

"Well, of course," replied the Chief, "we cannot force a police guard upon you, but outside of that there is really nothing that you could do. It takes both experience and a special kind of ability to carry on detective work. To be perfectly frank with you, novices only hamper us. All I can say is, leave this notice with us and we will do what we can in the matter."

"No," returned Forrester, "I don't want to leave this notice. I want to keep it for my own use. My mind is fully made up to take an active part in this hunt myself. I should appreciate it if you will tell your men about me and explain that if they find me doing mysterious things in out-of-the-way places, not to mistake me for one of the criminals. If I find out anything, or have any suspicions, I will let you know."

"All right," laughed the Chief. "Play around if you want to, but for the love of Mike, don't get under our feet." The Chief and Forrester exchanged friendly good-byes and the young man passed out into La Salle Street.

Forrester reflected that Prentice was right. While the detective chief had maintained an encouraging attitude, it was clear that this was merely to "save the face" of the Department so far as it was possible. Between the lines of the Chief's words Forrester had read the helpless and hopeless position in which the police were placed. It seemed like pure egoism for him to attempt to accomplish something in which experienced detectives had failed, yet Forrester felt that he should make some effort to solve the mystery behind this menace. After all, he reasoned, could the solution to this problem be so much more difficult than many of the engineering problems which he had attacked and mastered.

It now occurred to him that he had not thought to ask Prentice if any private detective agencies had ever been put on the case. So far as his present knowledge of the matter went the problem had been left entirely in the hands of the police, and yet he knew that in many instances private agencies had been successful where the police had failed. Forrester decided, therefore, that his next step would be to consult with one of these agencies. He went to a nearby cigar store and consulted the classified telephone directory. Under the heading of "Detectives" he found a long list of agencies and independent operatives. Several famous names stood out in this list, but Forrester fancied that these big agencies would merely put an ordinary operative on the case, while he felt that the matter needed the attention of a bigger man. Obviously, by going to a smaller agency, it would be easier to get the head of the agency to do the work. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, Forrester's eye caught a small advertisement in the center of the page.

Forrester decided to call on Mr. Green.

He found "Green's National Detective Agency" to consist of two small rooms. In the outer room he was met by a woman of uncertain age and colorless personality who immediately ushered him into Mr. Green's office. Green was a large, strongly built man with thin black hair, carefully brushed over a bald spot, and a bristling black mustache. The detective was in his shirt sleeves, a half-burned, unlit cigar gripped in the corner of his mouth, and a well-polished badge gleaming on the left breast of his unbuttoned waistcoat.

"How-do," he said, rising to greet Forrester, and added, "Have a chair," pushing one in the direction of Forrester with his foot.

The two men sat down and after Green had shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth, he inquired, "What can I do for you?"

"Ever hear of the 'Friends of the Poor'?" inquired Forrester, going straight to the point.

Green sat up in his chair with a jerk.

"You been gettin' one o' them notices?" he asked.

Forrester took out the warning message and laid it on Green's desk. The detective's eyes sparkled as he leaned over and closely examined it.

"Gee!" he exclaimed, at length. "I've just been dyin' to get onto this case. So you're one o' them rich guys they're after, eh?"

"I gather from what you say, Mr. Green, that you know something about the matter," said Forrester.

"Do I?" cried Green. "I'll show you how I've been followin' that thing up." He reached into a drawer of his desk, drew out a folder and opened it before him. Forrester saw that it contained newspaper clippings and various hand-written notes.

"I'll tell you, Mister," said Green, "I've been followin' this here case right from the start. I've got some theories, too, that I ain't been tellin' to nobody. I've just been itchin' to get busy on it, but you know us guys have to make a livin' – we can't work on a case for nothin'."

"Well," informed Forrester, "I'm going to give you a chance to see what you can do." Forrester was not wholly taken with Green's personality, but the man certainly seemed to know something about the case, and the fact that he already had theories was a hopeful sign. "There's the notice," continued Forrester, "which I received in the mail this morning. It gives me until Saturday at midnight to pay over the money or take the consequences. Now, I'd rather present you with the ten thousand dollars than give up to these people."

Green bounced in his chair.

"Do you mean that?" he gasped.

"Certainly," answered Forrester. "You bring these men to justice and the ten thousand is yours. In the meantime, I'll pay you your regular fees and expenses."

Green ran a finger around inside of his collar and stared at Forrester for a minute or two. It was quite evident that he was thoroughly stunned at the offer which had just been made to him. Then, realizing that he was making a poor showing before an important client, he straightened up in his chair and assumed the dignified attitude which he thought in keeping with his profession and the handling of such a momentous case.

"I'm glad to see that you have such a complete record there," commented Forrester. "I'm anxious to get the full details and history of this affair."

Green laid his dead cigar on the edge of the desk and pulled his chair closer, clearing his throat as he did so.

"The case o' the 'Friends o' the Poor'," he announced, "first became known to the public about this time a year ago. Here we have the matter o' one Frederick Prentice." Green picked up the first clipping.

"Yes, I know all about that case," interrupted Forrester. "Prentice is an old friend of mine."

"Ah – h – h!" breathed Green, looking much impressed as he laid the clipping and a few others aside. "Maybe you knew this guy, too – Booth Warren, the banker?"

"Yes, I knew him very well," returned Forrester.

"Ah – h – h!" sighed Green, expressively. Never before had he floated into such an environment of millionaires.

"But," added Forrester, "I don't know the details of his case. In fact, I had not heard of his death."

Green cleared his throat once more.

"Booth Warren," he explained, referring to his notes and clippings, "was vice-president o' the La Salle National Bank. In July o' last year this criminal organization demanded twenty-five thousand dollars, which he refused to pay, placin' the matter in the hands o' the police." At this mention of the police Green gave Forrester a ponderous wink. Then he continued, "After ignorin' three notices, Warren was found by the roadside one mornin' just beyond Evanston. The police surgeon o' the Evanston Police Department could find no signs o' violence, or any evidence as to how the man had been killed. He said he would diagnoose the case as one o' – " Green paused a moment over the pronunciation of the word – "asphyxia."