The Red Menace s-4

by Maxwell Grant

  wooded; yet precisely the sort of island one might expect to find in a Connecticut lake.

  There was no chance to obtain the radio equipment that he had in his car. Harry decided to wait, and

  save the radio as a later advantage, if he should happen to need it.

  In the daytime, Death Island was quiet and pleasant; but, strangely enough, it was avoided by the

  loud-crying birds that seemed to be plentiful on the main land. Outside of the men who had accepted this

  isle as their residence, Professor Whitburn's cat seemed to be the only living thing on Death Island.

  This fact was hardly significant; yet it fitted in with the ominous name of the place.

  Harry had noticed that the house was equipped with a towerlike third floor. There was a bolted door on

  the second story that appeared to be an entrance to the tower.

  It seemed to be the only part of the house that held a semblance of mystery—unless the basement, which

  was reached through a door in the kitchen, might hold some unknown secret.

  Harry's observations were confined chiefly to the men with whom he was associated.

  He had already formed a definite impression of Professor Whitburn. He had talked with the old man

  several times, and classed him as a genius who preferred to work undisturbed.

  But the other three were difficult to analyze. Harry was with them during meals, and he did his best to

  formulate opinions regarding them.

  None of them impressed Harry. They all seemed undesirable: Marsh, less than the others. The

  stoop-shouldered man had an expressionless face, but he did not appear to be a troublemaker.

  Stokes, whose twisted features made one unconsciously prejudiced against him, seemed to possess a

  native cleverness. At the same time, he had traits of agreeability that showed themselves on rare

  occasions.

  Crawford, with his heavy, unkempt beard, was more repulsive in daylight than at night; and Harry made

  no effort whatever to become friendly with him.

  These men reminded Harry of volcanoes—hard, unyielding and rugged. He wondered what they would

  be like if aroused to action.

  He believed that any one of them could burst forth with a dangerous eruption. In fact, he realized that he

  had classed them as he would enemies. Marsh—a man who would fight, but who could be outwitted.

  Stokes—a dangerous foe, who could combine power with cleverness. Crawford—a fellow who could

  plot, battle, and use any means to gain his ends.

  These mental observations had convinced Harry that the warning of the girl should not be forgotten.

  Danger lay here on Death Island.

  There were three men who could be dangerous if they chose. Yet they all seemed governed by the

  dynamic mind of Professor Whitburn. They discussed nothing among themselves. Each went to

  headquarters for instructions.

  Now another day was drawing to its close. Harry sat in the plainly furnished living room, and let his mind

  wander from the books before him. It was after six o'clock. Dinner would soon be ready.

  Marsh entered. He did not speak to Harry. He went across the room, and pushed aside a sliding panel in

  the wall. He revealed a radio set - something which Harry had not known was here.

  Marsh adjusted the dials, and listened for a few minutes to a New England station. Then, as though he

  had refreshed his mind sufficiently with entertainment, he turned off the switch, and closed the panel.

  Dinner was ready shortly after that. During the meal, Marsh made a few remarks, addressed chiefly to

  Stokes, who grunted brief replies. When the men had finished eating, it was dark outside. The night was

  cloudy, and a wind was gathering.

  Harry went back to his books. He concentrated a while; then his mind turned from his work, and he

  found it very boring, alone in the living room, which was dim, except in the one corner where he sat. He

  noted that it was nearly nine o'clock; and he sensed an immediate opportunity.

  Here was his chance to tune in on Station WNX. Now that he knew of the existence of the radio set, he

  might receive a message.

  THE idea was a good one. Harry opened the sliding panel, and obtained WNX just as a program was

  ending. The theme song of the nine-o'clock program came softly over the air. Harry kept the sound as

  low as possible.

  He listened intently to the words of the announcer. At first they were of no significance; then came a

  sentence which held an important meaning.

  "Once again I meet my radio audience," were the words of the announcer. "I introduce a man who will

  speak to you now; but who also has other things in store for you. He will be with us again, to-morrow

  night -"

  This portion of the sentence brought its all-important message. The emphasized words were few, but

  plain in meaning:

  "Meet man in store to-morrow night."

  The man must be the messenger through whom Harry could report. The store was unquestionably the

  general store in the village. But now another portion of the announcement carried additional information:

  "At least half of those who have written us during the past month have requested additional copies of our

  booklet: 'Nine Problems of Modern Business.'"

  "At half past nine."

  Harry added this to his mental notations.

  Suddenly the clatter of static drowned out the program. The noise became loud and whining. Harry

  moved the dials; the sound increased.

  Stokes suddenly entered the room; he hurried to the radio, and turned off the switch. Then he spoke,

  somewhat angrily.

  "Leave it off after this."

  Harry was annoyed by the man's abruptness. He was on the point of challenging the fellow's authority,

  when Stokes added a testy explanation.

  "No radio after eight o'clock. It disturbs Professor Whitburn. All right before then."

  Before Harry could reply, the man was gone. Harry went back to the table; then, still ill-disposed toward

  Stokes because of his undiplomatic manner, Harry laid his work aside, and strolled to the door that led

  outside.

  PROFESSOR WHITBURN had suggested that he remain in the room and work during the evening.

  There had been no direct order not to go outside.

  At that particular moment, Harry would not have worried about disobeying instructions. So he took the

  suggestion with reservations, and went out into the night.

  The wind was sighing through the trees. A slight drizzle had arrived; and the air was chilly. Nevertheless,

  Harry went down the path toward the lake. He stumbled a bit on the path; regained his footing; and

  looked back toward the house. The building was a shapeless mass of black.

  Even the tower was invisible in the night. But as Harry's eyes went upward, he saw something that

  startled him. First a little twinkle; like a firefly. That itself was not astonishing; but it was followed by a

  truly uncanny phenomenon.

  A strange, ghostlike shape came flitting from the tower; it seemed to hover over the trees. Then the

  phantom form reappeared, like some grim spirit from the world beyond, seeking mortal prey.

  The weird form reached the spot where Harry knew the house must be. Then it disappeared.

  Harry watched intently. He began to feel a creepy sensation. Then he imagined that some one was in

  back of him. He turned, and his eyes were directed toward the lake.

  Off above the water he detected a twinkle—that same light that appeared like a firefly. It came

  ag
ain—closer. Then it seemed high above, as though rising before a downward swoop.

  Harry looked toward the house. Here it came! Another spirit form, a shape with spreading arms that

  bore the appearance of a living creature.

  Thoughts of ghosts and huge vampires dominated Harry's brain. The creatures were too large for bats;

  their visibility in the darkness gave them an eerie quality.

  Harry laughed, rather mirthlessly. The sound of his own laugh seemed melancholy. Then came the sigh of

  the wind, through the trees.

  But was it the sound of the wind? For with it came another soaring phantom, that seemed to flit toward

  the black tower. Its ghostlike arms were extended, as though reaching toward an unseen object. Like the

  others, it vanished in the gloom.

  Ghosts?

  Harry had always laughed away the thought. But here was grim reality. Silent, creepy, clutching creatures

  that floated with spectral motion.

  LITTLE wonder that strange tales had been carried to the village. The natives of this region were

  hard-headed individuals. They were not easily convinced by groundless reports.

  Harry realized that he should have listened more closely to the stories which he had heard.

  Death Island!

  Harry thought of the massacred whites; of the murdered man who had died in that house. Was it because

  of those events that these monstrous creatures had chosen this place as their habitation?

  Again, Harry gazed toward the lake. He strained his eyes, watching for distant twinkles that might

  presage the approach of another trio of fantastic, glowing shapes.

  Then came the most weird apparition of all.

  Before Harry's transfixed eyes, a weird form shot upward from the lake. Luminous in the darkness, the

  figure emerged from the waters, spreading its arms as it reached the air.

  For an instant, it seemed to unfold itself for flight; then it wavered, and dove sidewise, disappearing as

  mysteriously as it had come.

  Harry remembered the story of the man who had seen that very same event. This last appearance of a

  ghostlike form was unnerving.

  Harry knew that he must return to the house; but his knees seemed weak as he started up the path; and

  maddened instinct told him to look behind, lest some grotesque image might arise and fall upon him.

  He sincerely wished that he might be anywhere in the world but Death Island. He had been warned of

  danger; but he had expected it to come in physical form—not in the person of an apparition.

  Never before in his life had he seen the demonstration of an apparent occult force. Even now, he could

  not believe that his eyes had performed their proper functions. Yet those unhuman forms had held a

  realism which could not be forgotten.

  Groping for an explanation, Harry's mind seized upon vain theories. Reason told him that there must be a

  natural cause for what he had seen.

  Had Professor Whitburn developed some new form of science? Perhaps - but what could it be?

  Did ghosts exist, and had the white-haired old man found some way of attracting them?

  Harry tried to make light of this absurd thought. He entered the house, and found himself alone in the

  living room. He sat in the corner with his books, and sought to control his mind with tangible, material

  ideas.

  Yet as he resumed his study of the books before him, perplexity kept creeping to his brain. Whatever the

  cause of the strange events might be, it was certain that Death Island was a place of fantastic happenings.

  For Harry had seen the ghosts of Death Island!

  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
<
br />   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