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"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."
Green thumbed over his clippings.
"Then followed three cases where the guys lost their nerve and paid up. I guess you're chiefly interested in the guys that got killed, though," added Green, turning to Forrester.
"Yes, I think so," answered Forrester. "I want to know just what happens to a man who turns these people down."
"Well, he gets his– that's all I can say," replied Green, emphatically. "That is," he added, realizing his slip, "unless he comes to me."
"Then it is to be expected that I shall escape?" said Forrester, smiling.
"I said I had some theories, Mister," returned Green, assuming a wise expression. "I ain't tellin' all I know, but you can bet your life I'll be on the job between now and midnight Saturday.
"The next case o' a death," Green resumed, taking up another clipping, "is that of James Ingraham, capitalist and director of the Cook County Trust Company. He was ordered to pay fifteen thousand dollars, and ignored the demand – except for reportin' it as usual to the police. Ingraham was found sittin' under a tree in Lincoln Park early one evenin', and the hospital they took him to, and where he died, reported that all the symptoms showed that he had been – asphyxiated.
"In the early fall, two more guys was threatened and decided to pay up.
"Now," concluded Green, closing the folder and leaning back in his chair, "I want you to notice two things strikin' me as funny. These here guys apparently knock off in the winter time. Another thing is that the poor devils that get took off is always – asphyxiated."
"But," protested Forrester, "how could they be asphyxiated when the bodies are always found out in the open air? I thought that a person must be shut up in a closed room to be asphyxiated."
"Ah-ha!" cried Green. "Now you've got the idea! These fellows have a headquarters somewhere. After they kill a guy they bring him out in an automobile and throw him alongside the road somewhere. The thing to be done now is to locate their headquarters. That's what little Benny is goin' to do!"
"How do you propose to find that out?" inquired Forrester.
"Watch the tree and follow 'em!" replied Green, decisively.
"That sounds all right," objected Forrester, "but the police have been watching that tree for months without getting sight or sound of anyone."
"Leave it to me," assured Green, with a wide sweep of his hand. "I know things these here city dicks never think about. Now, Mister – Mister – , by the way, you ain't told me your name yet."
Forrester handed his card to Green.
"Now, Mr. Forrester," continued Green, as he glanced at the card, "take my advice and don't let nobody bunco you into any strange place. And I wouldn't take no rides in strange automobiles, either. I'll let you hear from me in a couple o' days. In the meantime you can count on findin' me around that tree o' nights. I kinda got an idea that there tree's a mighty busy place these nights. The 'Friends o' the Poor' seem to be makin' a big drive right now. I suppose you heard about the banker, Nevins, today?"
"Yes," said Forrester, rising to go. "I shall probably have full details of that shortly. My sister is engaged to Mr. Nevins' son."
"Ah-h-h!" sighed Green again, as his new client passed out of the door.
CHAPTER III – ENGINEERING-CRIMINOLOGY
Although the yearly hegira from town to suburb was well on, the Forresters had delayed their departure and were still residing in the town house on Bellevue Place. To a man of Forrester's active disposition Bellevue Place meant a comparatively easy walk from the downtown section. Moreover, in the present troubled condition of his mind, the exercise would be conducive to clearer thinking, so he started out with the intention of walking home. As he was crossing the Michigan Avenue bridge over the Chicago River, a motor car slowed up by the curb and Forrester heard someone call to him. Glancing around, he saw that it was Prentice.
"On your way home?" inquired Prentice.
Forrester answered in the affirmative.
"Then jump in with me," said Prentice.
"Thanks," returned Forrester, "but I had decided to walk home."
"Better change your mind," urged Prentice. "It's a fairly long walk, and I should like your company. Remember that after you leave me I have a long and lonesome drive."
"You are out on the North Shore now, are you?" queried Forrester, as he climbed into the car.
"Yes," answered Prentice. "We closed the town house on the first. I'm surprised that your folks are still in the city."
"We hope to leave soon. The decorators are still busy at our place. We gave 'Woodmere' a good overhauling this spring. I should think you would rather take the train than have such a long drive when you are alone."
"I very seldom use the train," explained Prentice. "You know that time is of no great value to me, and I enjoy the motor ride. The cool lake air and the scent of the woods are really very refreshing after being in the hot city – and certainly preferable to the gas, smoke and cinders that are inseparable from the train.
"By the way," continued Prentice, after a pause, "have you done anything further about that message we were discussing today?"
"Yes," replied Forrester. "I have taken very definite action since I left you."
"Drawn the money from the bank, I suppose."
"I certainly did not!" declared Forrester. "I went first to the police, and then engaged a private detective agency to look into the matter."
"What did the police say?" inquired Prentice.
"Oh, I guess it was the same old stuff," admitted Forrester. "Although they did say that they believed they had a clue at last."
"Well, I hope it is a better clue than some of the others they have pretended to discover. It is certainly time they did something. And what is your private detective going to do?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid," said Forrester. "He proposes to keep his eye on this mysterious oak, which I believe is just what all the detectives have done so far without results."
"Exactly," agreed Prentice. "But it is the first time, I think, that anyone has employed a private detective. Perhaps he will be more successful than the police. Well, here you are," he added, as he swung the car to the curb and stopped.
"Thank you for the lift," said Forrester, as he stepped out. "I'll let you know how my private detective gets on."
"Yes, do," urged Prentice. "I should certainly like to get some revenge for the money those people took from me. I suppose I shall see you at the club as usual tomorrow."
"No," returned Forrester, "between now and Saturday I am going to be very busy on this 'Friends of the Poor' matter. I don't intend to let any grass grow under my feet in running them to earth." Then he added, laughing, "However, after Saturday I may have to hang around the club for protection."
"If I can be of any help, don't fail to call upon me," offered Prentice. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye!" called Forrester, as the car shot off up the drive.
Forrester was glad that his mother and sister were not at home. His mind was concentrated on the peculiar situation in which he now found himself, and he felt little inclination to talk. His mother certainly would have noticed his preoccupation and guessed that something was wrong. It would have been difficult to keep up the pretense of having nothing on his mind. At this time he did not intend to tell his family anything about the warning he had received, for it would worry them unnecessarily, especially after the fate which had overtaken Mr. Nevins.
After dinner Forrester went to the library, hunted up his pipe and sat down to think. He had just settled back in his chair when he heard the door-bell, and a minute later a maid announced that a reporter from theTimes wished to see him. Forrester hesitated as he ran the matter over in his mind. He disliked publicity and this call certainly meant publicity. On the other hand, he was seeking all the information and help which he could get, and it was a well-known fact that newspaper reporters frequently solved mysteries which baffled the police. Forrester decided, therefore, that he really had little to lose and perhaps much to gain by allowing the reporter to interview him, so he instructed the maid to send the man in.
The young man entered the library briskly, giving a quick and comprehensive glance around the room before addressing Forrester.
"Mr. Forrester?" he inquired.
"Yes," replied Forrester, affably. "Take this chair and make yourself at home."
As the young man sat down, Forrester turned back the lid of a humidor and pushed it along the library table.
"Gee!" said the young man, selecting a cigar. "You seem glad to see me. I don't always get a greeting like this."
"Well," explained Forrester, smiling, "I'm in deep trouble and you, as a newspaper man, may prove to be a friend in need."
The young man visibly expanded as he remarked, "That's right! We newspaper men can be a lot of help sometimes. If there is anything I can do, say the word. My name's Humphrey."
"I'm very glad to know you," said Forrester. "Now, may I inquire how you happened to call on me?"
"Sure thing," returned Humphrey. "You see, our police reporter informed us that you had been to the detective bureau today – that you had received one of those notices from the 'Friends of the Poor.' Owing to the death of a prominent man like Mr. Nevins, which is attributed to these people, our paper is going to run a special feature article tomorrow morning, reviewing the whole history of this affair. Naturally, we want to know all the details of each case, and what every one connected with it has to say. As you seem to be the latest victim, we are interested in the particulars of your case, and your personal views regarding it."
"I am afraid," declared Forrester, "that the details of one case correspond very closely to those of any other case. I have merely received a warning to put ten thousand dollars in a certain tree by midnight Saturday or take the consequences."
"You're quite right," agreed Humphrey. "The method in each case is the same. But the outcome is not always the same. What do you propose doing in the matter?"
"Well, for one thing," asserted Forrester, "I do not intend to pay!"
"That's the stuff!" approved Humphrey. "If everyone would fight, we'd soon put those fellows out of business. But," he added, leaning confidentially toward Forrester, "how do you propose to fight them?"
"That," said Forrester, "is a question I have not entirely settled as yet. As you know, I went to the detective bureau this afternoon."
"Poof!" grunted Humphrey, leaning back and flicking the ashes from his cigar.
"And I have also engaged a private detective," added Forrester.
"Who?" queried Humphrey.
"A man named Green – Benjamin F. Green."
"There are detectives – and there are detectives," commented Humphrey. "Green falls in the first class."
"I think I get your meaning," smiled Forrester, "and I am inclined to agree with you. That, in fact, is the great problem which confronts me now – how to get a good detective at work on the case. Any suggestions, Mr. Humphrey?"
"I'm a better knocker than I am a suggester," explained Humphrey. "I can tell you the faults of detectives as easily as I could run over my A-B-Cs. I'll admit, though, that there are some good ones. Sooner or later one of them will get on this case and solve it. I wouldn't care to take the responsibility of recommending anyone."
"I know you came here for an interview, Mr. Humphrey," said Forrester, "and I realize how dangerous it is to tell all your plans to a man who is seeking news. But on the other hand, I have a very high opinion of the ability and cleverness of newspaper men. That is why I am going to take you into my confidence."
"I'm enjoying it," assured Humphrey, selecting and lighting another cigar.
"The fact is," announced Forrester, "I am thinking of becoming a detective in this matter myself. The question is, can I do it – have I the ability to be a detective?"
"Why not?" queried Humphrey.
"Well, what, in your opinion, makes a good detective?"
"Brains!" shot back Humphrey. "Look here, Mr. Forrester. As a reporter I can scent the biggest story ever scooped up by a Chicago newspaper. A rich man, in the face of dangerous threats, turning detective and running down a criminal band which has defied the best efforts of the police department. All I ask is that you give me the dope first!"
"Then I may count on you to keep my plans quiet and give me a certain amount of assistance?" questioned Forrester.
"You bet!" exclaimed Humphrey. "To tell you the truth, you've actually got me going. I can see real possibilities to the idea. Now, look here, Mr Forrester; my paper assigned the 'Friends of the Poor' story to me the first time the matter came up. They have kept me at it since because I was familiar with the details. I don't pretend to have any detective instincts, but just my share of common sense, and I have thought the whole matter over pretty carefully. The police, of course, would laugh at any theories from me, but you, perhaps, might like to hear my ideas on the subject."
"Go ahead," urged Forrester.
"In my opinion," Humphrey explained, "the police have fallen down so far on this case because they are sticking too close to the rules. The average city detective becomes familiar with the ways of the average thug-type of criminal. Give him an ordinary murder, burglary, or blackmailing case and he knows just about where to go to get his hands on the people he wants. But when a different class of criminal begins to operate, the average detective cannot see the new conditions. He goes floundering along the same old lines and lets real clues slip through his fingers."
Humphrey paused to relight his cigar.
"Go on," again urged Forrester. "I am learning something."
"Now," continued Humphrey, "the crooks that compose the 'Friends of the Poor' have been operating for about one year. In that time they have received various sums running from ten thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars. I venture to say that in one year's time they have taken in pretty close to two hundred thousand dollars! Now, I ask you, Mr. Forrester; if you were taking in that amount of money, where would you have your hangout? In some West Side saloon or tenement, or in a high class neighborhood – perhaps even in some fine hotel? Do you get my thought, Mr. Forrester?"
"I think I do," said Forrester.
"All right, then," went on Humphrey. "I happen to know what the police are doing in this matter. They are dividing their time between watching an old oak up on the North Shore, and rummaging around West Side dives. Somewhere, in between, our men sit laughing at them!"
"I am strongly inclined to believe you are right, Mr. Humphrey," assented Forrester. "But the important question is: How are we going to locate that place which lies in between?"
"That's where you come in," maintained Humphrey. "That's where your money, social position, training and brains are going to enable you to give the ordinary detectives the go-by. When you mentioned becoming a detective, an idea hit me with an awful wallop. Now, Mr. Forrester, you're an engineer."
"How did you know that?" queried Forrester.
"We usually look up a man before we interview him. We know all about you."
"I see," smiled Forrester. "Well, then, as an engineer how am I going to solve this problem in crime?"
"By triangulation!" exclaimed Humphrey.
Forrester laughed. "Now you have got me guessing, Mr. Humphrey. As a civil engineer I have used triangulation in my surveying work on many occasions, but how I can apply it to a criminal problem is beyond me."
"Well," explained Humphrey, "the first thing to do in a criminal case is to take a good survey of the problem and the ground it covers – just as you do when you build a bridge, a dam, or open up a mine. The higher type of criminal investigator usually falls back upon his study and knowledge of criminology, which is a broader and more scientific development of the ordinary facts with which the city detective starts to work. What I am going to suggest to you is a new branch of criminology. For want of a better name at this time we'll call it Engineering-Criminology. I am not an engineer myself, and what I know about surveying and triangulation could be put into a thimble, but I think I know enough to give you an idea of what I mean.
"As I said before, the detectives are wallowing around in the mire of the lower West Side – they are in the valley, so to speak. Now, if you, as an engineer, were about to survey a certain unknown and inaccessible territory, you'd go up on the nearest high hill and pick out two other prominent points in the landscape, so as to form a triangle. Then you'd take sights, or whatever you would call it, from one point to another. A little figuring would give you the exact distance from one point to another, and a lot of information about the lay of the land in between. Am I not right?"
"You've put it very roughly, but I think I can see what you are driving at," returned Forrester.
"Continue the idea a little further, Mr. Forrester," went on Humphrey. "If you were making a mine survey you would first lay out your boundaries, tunnels and so on, on the surface, wouldn't you?"
