"Couldn't you arrange the drink first, Mr. Forrester?" pleaded Green.
"No," returned Forrester, "I'd have to take you up to our country house, 'Woodmere', to get that for you, and I'm afraid you couldn't stand the trip until you get this trouble off your mind. Come on, pull yourself together and tell me what has happened."
"I hate to repeat it, Mr. Forrester. God knows, I don't even like to think about it!"
"You make me curious, Green. I'll bet you have got a clue—for it begins to look like you'd had a real fight with those men."
Forrester glanced down at Green's dusty clothes.
"Men?" snorted Green. "There ain't no men!"
Forrester gave a startled exclamation and looked at Green in amazement for a moment. The reply was curiously like that which the negro had made to him the day before.
"Mr. Forrester," continued Green, "I've been doin' police and detective work for twenty years. I ain't afraid o' no man livin'. Just show me a bunch o' tough mugs and I'll jump right in and clean 'em up. But I'm damned if I'll ever sit out in the woods at night again with rustlin' leaves, bodiless voices and burnin' hands! No, sir—never again! You don't want no detective to solve this case, Mr. Forrester—you want a spiritualist, or somethin' like that!"
"Look here, Green!" exclaimed Forrester. "You're too old and experienced a man—you've got too much common sense—to believe in stuff like that. Who has been telling you all these things?"
"Tellin' me?" gasped Green. "My God! I seen 'em myself, with my own eyes; heard 'em with my own ears. Nobody don't have to tell me nothin'. I seen it!"