"Perhaps," she answered, placing her foot in the stirrup and vaulting lightly into the saddle. She smiled down at him and then, with a wave of her hand, started at a gallop up the road.
Forrester stood a moment watching her retreating figure.
"Perhaps!" he repeated to himself. "How am I to take that? 'Perhaps' might mean anything—yes, or no, or maybe. Who the deuce can she be? I'll have to ask Josephine if she knows her."
Going back to his roadster Forrester resumed his journey. It was his intention to pay a call on the mysterious negress, so just before he reached the oak he drove his car well up on the side of the road and alighted. With Green's story in mind he glanced around to see if any evidences of the detective's adventure remained. Almost in front of the oak he discovered the battered remains of the spotlight, and in the gulley across the road he saw a corner of the small storage battery. This removed any doubt Forrester might have had that Green had actually been at the oak tree. In fact, it seemed highly probable that Green had really met with the mishaps he described. If the detective had not been dreaming or drinking then there were certainly many strange things going on here and perhaps some real clues to be unearthed.
Forrester stood in front of the oak for some minutes, deliberating. Then he approached it and plunged his arm into the opening as he had done the day before. In thinking the matter over it had occurred to him that the oak might be hollow and someone concealed within it. After feeling carefully around, however, and digging his fingers once more into the rotten wood, Forrester was convinced that this hollow in which the packages of money were placed, and which was little larger than a man's head, was the only opening in the tree. The rest of the great trunk appeared to be absolutely solid.
Just as Forrester withdrew his arm from the opening he heard a sound behind him that resembled several persons walking. He stood erect and turned swiftly; then paused, staring sheepishly, like a bad boy caught in the pantry. Before him was the girl on the horse. Her left hand, which grasped the reins, was resting on the front of the saddle, while her right hand was buried in the pocket of her coat. Surprised and disconcerted as he was, Forrester nevertheless noted the easy nonchalance of her attitude. This time, however, she did not smile but sat regarding him with the suggestion of a frown on her face.
"Putting it in or taking it out?" she inquired, lightly.
"I—I—don't know what you mean," stammered Forrester.
She slightly raised her eyebrows. "I presume, if I were to ask you the question, you would tell me you did not know that oak has a bad reputation."
By this time Forrester had recovered his poise, and his newly acquired detective instinct asserted itself. The girl was evidently regarding him with something approaching suspicion, and it aroused in him an answering feeling of distrust. In these surroundings his mind was working rapidly. He recalled the young lady of Joshua's story, and the woman of the night in Green's recital.