The Red Menace

CHAPTER XX THE MESSENGER

MORNING came as a relief to Harry Vincent’s troubled mind. He had stayed late at his work; yet he had found it difficult to go to sleep. Tired though he was, he could not push away disturbing thoughts.

All during the night the creaking of the old house, and the whistling of the wind amid the trees were annoying. To his imagination they had seemed as tokens of some spectral forces.

He had been unable to dismiss the thoughts of long, eager phantoms, approaching through the darkness.

But with dawn, Death Island had lost its gloom. It was a beautiful day. Harry rested a while after the sun had risen; then came downstairs to find the others were finishing their breakfast.

While he ate alone, Harry tried to summarize his facts.

First: a messenger was due that night. That, at least was tangible.

Second: one could not use the radio here after eight o’clock. Why?

He remembered that static had disturbed the program; yet he had no idea what the cause might have been.

Some mystery lay in the tower of this house. Beings — or whatever they were — emerged from the lake and came to the tower.

The tower demanded investigation. Yet Harry knew that he must proceed with utmost caution. For Professor Whitburn had told him emphatically that he must not go anywhere in the house without specific instructions. That definitely eliminated the tower.

Now, as he considered everything in the sober light of day, Harry wondered what had happened in the house while he had been outside, watching the strange events.

Had his absence been noted?

That was quite probable. He had stepped out merely for a breath of air. He had been gone at least half an hour. Any one of the three men might have entered the living room while he had been gone.

Harry had not noted the time at which the phenomena had occurred; but he knew that it must have been considerably after nine o’clock. Probably along about ten thirty.

If these spectral forms would appear again to-night, Harry would be able to see them when returning to the island. For he had determined to find some excuse to keep that nine-thirty appointment with the messenger.

After breakfast, Harry took a short stroll down to the lake. There he looked out and tried to figure the spot from which the phantom form had arisen.

He picked a place for observation; he sighted carefully beyond the dock. Then he turned and looked up at the tower.

It was apparently a single room, shaped square, with a small lookout window in each wall. Certainly a good place for observations.

As Harry turned to walk closer to the lake, he saw Marsh standing on the dock. The man turned away suddenly.

He had seen Harry’s actions. That was evident. But the man said nothing when Harry approached. He had come to make repairs on the dock; and a few minutes later, Crawford arrived from the house.

The bearded man stepped into the motor boat, and started for the mainland.

HARRY went back to the living room. He had been there only a few minutes, when he heard the buzzer four times. It was his signal to meet Professor Whitburn. Answering the summons, Harry knocked at the door of the study; then entered.

Stokes was in the room with the professor.

Professor Whitburn pointed to a chair; Harry sat down to await instructions.

“How is the work coming?” questioned the old man.

“Slowly,” replied Harry.

“Very good,” responded the professor warmly. “That’s an excellent sign. I did not expect that you would take much interest in textbooks that had no apparent purpose. You are a man who likes active duties. You will begin them soon.”

The old man was about to turn away, when Harry interrupted.

He was sorry that Stokes was in the room. Ordinarily, Professor Whitburn spoke with each man individually. To-day his instructions had been so slight that he had evidently not bothered to dismiss Stokes.

Yet Harry knew that it was essential to take advantage of this opportunity, if he wished to go ashore that night.

“Professor Whitburn,” said Harry, “I think it will be necessary for me to run down to the town of Lake Marrinack.”

“Why?” questioned the old man sharply.

“On account of my car,” explained Harry. “I left it at the garage there. I had expected to make other arrangements. Since I shall be here for three months, at least, I think it would be wise for me to make some definite agreement with the garage man.”

“Can Stokes attend to it when he goes for the mail?”

“Hardly, sir. I have the licenses, and the title; I think it would be best for me, as owner, to attend to the matter myself.”

“Very well. You can go with Stokes this afternoon.”

“There’s just one objection,” replied Harry. “The garage owner is not there during the day. He does not arrive until after eight or nine o’clock. I believe that shortly after nine would be the best time to see him.”

“All right. Stokes will take you over to Harvey’s Wharf when you wish to go. You can walk down to the village — there is a short cut, I believe. Isn’t that so, Stokes?”

Harry’s gaze turned toward the man with the twisted face. Stokes grunted an affirmative reply. His eyes were fixed on Harry; yet his features betrayed no suspicion.

The professor made a notation on a pad:

“Vincent out at nine o’clock,” he muttered. Then, speaking aloud, he said to Harry:

“Did I remind you, Vincent, that I would like you to stay in the house after eight o’clock, unless you notify me beforehand?”

“Very well, sir. I didn’t know that.”

“Ah!” The professor’s exclamation showed the quickness of his mind. “Did you go out last night, Vincent?”

“Yes,” answered Harry promptly. “I walked down to the lake to obtain a breath of air. It was chilly out; I did not remain there long.”

“I see,” replied the professor. “Notify me in the future, Vincent. We have certain rules here which every one obeys. I have told you some of them.

“One is to remain quiet after eight o’clock; for I often do important work in the evening. No radio. No going out. Each man must be on hand — except, of course, when he notifies me and receives my permission to be away.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Let me remind you,” said the professor, “that you must be careful in this house. I have chemicals and mechanical appliances which are dangerous.

“Doors that are locked are kept that way with a purpose. Those that are unlocked may have been left open through negligence.

“If anything occurs that seems to demand investigation, notify me before you proceed. You will learn everything by degrees. So be patient.”

WITH this admonition, the old man dropped the subject, and immediately became engrossed in his work.

Harry threw a hasty look in the direction of Stokes. He wondered if the man had suspected the extent of his visit outdoors, last night.

Professor Whitburn had given the matter no special consideration. He had not questioned if Harry had seen anything unusual. But perhaps Stokes was thinking on the subject.

The man was looking at Harry, but his twisted face showed nothing. Whatever Stokes might have in mind was not revealed to Harry Vincent.

Taking the books that the professor had pointed out, Harry left the study.

When six o’clock arrived, he tuned in on Station WNX; but no message came to-night. This was his last opportunity to listen in; for the taboo on the radio began at eight.

During dinner, Harry reminded Stokes that he was going to the village. He suggested that they leave shortly before nine o’clock. Stokes gruffly replied that that suited him.

The brief exchange of conversation made no visible impression on Marsh; but Harry was sure that Crawford had made note of it.

The bearded man was a difficult fellow to analyze. Harry still regarded him as the real menace on Death Island — if the menace there was a human one.

At ten minutes of nine, Stokes entered the living room. Harry looked up from his book. The man poked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating that the motor boat was ready.

As they neared the dock, Harry took advantage of the fact that Stokes was ahead of him. He shot a quick glance toward the tower. It was visible in the pale light of the sky — a strange, boxlike addition to the top of the oddly-shaped house.

Harry could barely discern the windows. There was no illumination in the tower.

Harry stumbled against a stone. When he regained his footing, he found Stokes looking at him. The man’s face could scarcely be seen in the darkness beneath the trees.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Stokes did not speak unpleasantly; yet there was something in his tone that made Harry suspect that the man had caught the reason for the stumble.

THEY entered the motor boat. Across the lake they chugged, swinging in front of the formidable cliff that loomed like a grisly skull.

The resemblance was hard to observe at night. Harry looked back at the cliff as they shot along through the water. Death Island was merely a shapeless mass that became indistinguishable as they neared Harvey’s Wharf.

Stokes handed Harry his flashlight, when they had docked. Then he gave definite instructions for reaching the village.

“Go right,” he said gruffly. “Walk along the little path. When it meets the side road, turn left. That will take you to the crossroads at the village. Much shorter than going by the road through the woods.”

“How long will it take me?” asked Harry.

“Five or six minutes.”

“It’s pretty near nine thirty now. Suppose I get back at ten thirty.”

“All right then,” agreed Stokes. “Make it ten thirty, or a little after. I may go back to the island. If I’m not here, wait for me.”

Harry went along the path. It was only quarter past nine. He had purposely declared it to be nine thirty in order to gain more time. He did not hear the motor boat begin to chug. Perhaps Stokes had decided to wait, after all.

Harry went directly to the garage. The proprietor was there, and he began to discuss the matter of the car. Then suddenly Harry excused himself.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” he said. “You’ll be here a while, won’t you?”

“Until midnight,” replied the garage man, “and if you’re late, I’ll wait for you a while.”

There were a few persons in the general store. Harry did not look at any of them. He went to the cigar counter; and while he was making a purchase, some one approached him.

“Can you tell me the exact time?” asked a voice.

Harry glanced at his watch without looking at the questioner.

“Nine thirty-two,” he said.

He saw the other man’s hands, as the fellow removed his watch and set it, placing the hands so that they indicated nine thirty-seven.

There was something about the man’s actions that Harry recognized. He looked up quickly, and found himself gazing into the face of Bruce Duncan.

Harry repressed an exclamation of greeting. So Duncan was the messenger! That was why Fellows had wanted to see him.

Harry said nothing. He completed his purchase, and left the store. He turned to the right; and walked up a path that led away from the road. Bruce Duncan joined him a few minutes later.

“What’s the dope?” asked Bruce.

“Rather meager,” whispered Harry. “Four men on the island, besides myself. Old Professor Whitburn — he’s strange enough. But the others are tough babies.”

He had been thinking over his information, and now he gave Bruce a terse account of all that had transpired.

He prefaced his remarks of last night’s events by explaining that the natives believed the island to be haunted. This brought a snort from Duncan; but as Harry told of the weird beings that had flitted to the tower, and ended with a vivid description of the apparition that had risen from the lake, Bruce whistled in surprise.

“I wouldn’t believe that junk, Harry,” he said, “if it came from any one but you. It’s the craziest story I’ve ever heard — and the strangest. I can’t figure what’s going on over there.

“Maybe I’ll have a chance to watch from a distance. Not to-night, though, because I have to cut out for Hartford.”

“Just how do you enter in, Bruce?” asked Harry. He knew that Duncan was not an agent of The Shadow, although the young man had once served in that capacity.

“Well,” explained Bruce, “I’ve been let in on a few things, and have been told to keep my mouth shut — for my own good. So I’m helping out.

“I received a phone call from your friend Claude Fellows. I went to his office. He told me that I was in danger.”

“What sort of danger?”

“Something to do with those jewels that I got from Russia, the time you and The Shadow helped me. Some one has wised up to the fact that I have them. The result is that I’m under observation. So Fellows advised me to get out, and do it neatly. I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Bruce Duncan laughed.

“When there’s trouble, I like to be around,” he said. “Fellows insisted that I go away, and tell no one where I was. I said I had no place to go. He told me come back to see him later, which I did. Then he offered me a plan.”

“Which was — “

“To serve as a messenger. He said that you were in danger up here; that it wouldn’t do you any harm if I should be seen in the vicinity.

“I slid out of New York, and here I am. I was instructed to notify Fellows from Hartford, whether or not you kept the appointment. So I’m going back there to-night. Perhaps I’ll be over again.”

“I don’t see where you are in danger, Bruce,” said Harry slowly. “There’s no connection between the jewels and Professor Whitburn. There hasn’t been anything happen that indicates the jewels are involved.”

“Yes, there has,” whispered Bruce Duncan excitedly. “Something has happened; and I am the only man who knows it. I discovered it on my way up here; I’m going to notify Fellows when I report.”

Something in Duncan’s voice told Harry that an unusual discovery had been made. He listened intently for a further explanation.