"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!"