room.
After a few paces, he was tempted to open one of the doors and look about; but he desisted, and it was
well that he did, for at that moment the man with the twisted face suddenly reappeared.
HE approached Harry, and pointed to the nearest door. Harry took this as a signal to enter. He stepped
forward alone.
The door opened into a small hallway. There was a door opposite. It was ajar, and rays of light were
visible.
Harry pushed the door open, and stepped into a lighted room. Then he stood still in astonishment at his
surroundings.
The room was in great disorder. One wall was a huge bookcase, but the shelves were only half filled.
The missing volumes were piled about the room; some on chairs and tables; others on the floor, which
was also strewn with papers.
Among the books were glass jars, and bits of mechanism. A shelf in the corner was piled with bottles and
tubes of varicolored liquids.
A large tiger cat sat upon a window sill, nestled in the midst of papers. The animal seemed to have
chosen that place as the only vacant spot.
In the midst of this chaos, behind a desk that was completely covered with books, papers, and odd
contrivances, sat the strangest looking man whom Harry Vincent had ever encountered.
He was old, stooped, and thin. His hair was a mass of untrimmed white. He wore a huge white mustache,
with long drooping ends.
He was muttering to himself as he wrote upon a sheet of paper which lay upon an opened book. He
seemed totally unconscious of Harry's arrival.
The objects in the room were interesting; and Harry took advantage of the man's preoccupation to study
his surroundings. Everywhere he looked he saw something which seemed to no apparent purpose.
He forgot all about the man at the desk for a few minutes. When his eyes returned to that spot, the
white-haired individual was staring at him with a strange, fixed gaze.
Harry uttered a slight exclamation; then bowed to the old man.
'You are Professor Whitburn?' he questioned.
'Yes,' replied the old man, in a raspy voice. 'What is your name?'
'Harry Vincent.'
'Ah, yes. I had forgotten it. You are the new man. Sit down. I would like to talk to you.'
Harry carefully removed books and papers from the nearest chair, and deposited them upon a table. He
drew the chair to the side of the desk, directly opposite Professor Whitburn.
The desk lamp shone upon the old man's features. Harry seemed to detect an unusual gleam in the
professor's eyes.
'I chose you after much consideration,' said Professor Whitburn, in a slow voice. His tones were almost
accusing. 'You studied engineering, did you not?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did you put your learning into practical experience?'
'Not very long, sir. I had an opportunity in another business. I must confess that my technical training is
no longer what it used to be.'
'Good!' asserted Professor Whitburn. 'Good!'
Harry was surprised at the man's tone of approval. He had imagined that his inactivity in engineering
would have been to his disadvantage.
'Training!' exclaimed Professor Whitburn. 'Bah! There is only one real training experience, and that must
be of the right sort, mind you. Not the kind of experience that most young men get. I am glad you have
had little of it.'
He brought his thin fists up from beneath the desk, and thomped them simultaneously upon the wood in
front of him.
'Young men tell me what to do!' he said, in apparent fury. 'I have had them tell me what to do! They
think that their parrot learning is knowledge! They find out differently, when they have worked with me! I
demand more than a few simple facts tucked away up here!'
He tapped his forehead as he spoke. Then he became quiet, and looked intently at Harry. The old man's
hands went beneath the desk.
His eyes became wild and staring; then suddenly he whipped out an automatic revolver and leveled it at
Harry. His lips broke forth with an insane laugh.
HARRY instinctively raised himself from his chair. But he caught himself as he was about to leap
forward. His better judgment dominated his mind.
While the professor still flourished the automatic, Harry settled back in his chair, and smiled indulgently.
Professor Whitburn thrust the gun in a desk drawer, without removing his eyes from Harry's
countenance. Then the old man's lips formed a sour smile.
'I have demonstrated my point,' said the professor, in his rasping voice. 'That is a test which I frequently
use. Some men jump at me, and I toss the gun aside. Others plead, or throw up their hands. A very few
behave as you have done.
'Young man, I observed every emotion that passed through your mind. First you were startled. Then
came the desire for action, coupled with fear—natural fear. Then reason withheld you. You thought you
were dealing with a lunatic; you sought to outwit me.'
He wagged a long, thin forefinger toward Harry.
'Study cannot teach a man to behave as you did,' he said. 'Your actions were the result of a mind that is
both quick and experienced.
'You knew how to encounter danger. Therefore you would be willing to face danger. You are the type of
man I need.'
The old man became silent. He was speculating upon something. Harry did not disturb his thoughts,
although he wondered what new surprise might be in store.
'This island is a strange place,' remarked Professor Whitburn. 'A strange place, with a bad reputation.
That is why I chose the place.
'I like to be alone—assisted only by those whom I have chosen to help me in my labors. In a place like
this, I am left alone.
'I am a man with great vision'—the professor's voice became less raspy, and his eyes seemed to glow in
reminiscence—'but few have been able to appreciate it. One man became interested in my plans; but I
would not work for him, until he made me financially independent.
'Even then, the desire for material gain dominated him. He constantly annoyed me, demanding action and
results. Now he is dead, for which I am truly sorry; but it has left me free to develop my work without
troublesome interruption.
'I have chosen rather unusual men to be here with me. They know how to keep silence. They do not
talk—even among themselves. They realize that reward lies in the future; but they devote their efforts to
the present. Are you willing to do the same?'
