"Well!" murmured Forrester, thoughtfully. It was strange that a young woman should take such an interest in this tree, associated as it was with mystery, menace and the blood of victims. "You'd better look out for her," he added. "Some of these bad men may get her."
"Say, Boss, what yo' mean bad men?"
Forrester looked his surprise.
"Why," he explained, "the bad men who make people put money in this tree and then come and get it out."
"Dat ain't no men, Boss!"
"No men!" repeated Forrester.
"No, Boss. Jes' hants!"
"What nonsense are you talking now?" queried Forrester.
"Dat ain't no nonsense, suh. Dere ain't nobody aroun' yere, 'ceptin' maybe dat bad niggah woman dat libes back in dem woods, dat would go neah dis tree in de night time."
This was growing interesting, decided Forrester. He could not remember having heard Prentice, the detectives, or anyone, refer to these uncanny surroundings. Possibly they had heard of them, but had scoffed at the idea. Perhaps, then, that had been one of the reasons why so little progress had been made. Forrester meant to get at the bottom of all this talk.