'The present always interests me more than the future,' replied Harry.
'Good! Then you shall work for me,' said the professor. 'But wait— there is one more point. Your work
will involve danger. Will you assume it at your own risk?'
'Certainly.'
'The reason that I ask,' said Professor Whitburn, in warning tones, 'is because two men have died in my
service. They suffered because of their own carelessness. I was able to prove that fact.
'I regret that they died. They were valuable men. But my work must go on— it is more important than
human life, although I have never demanded a sacrifice.'
'I am willing,' answered Harry.
The professor rummaged in the drawer of the desk. He brought out a typewritten sheet of paper, and
passed it across to Harry.
The document proved to be an agreement, stating that the undersigned contracted to work for Professor
Whitburn, and assumed all responsibility for any accidents that might befall in the course of his labors.
While Harry was reading the paper, the professor pressed a buzzer once; then twice. Just as Harry had
completed his perusal of the agreement, two men entered the room. They were the same men whom
Harry had seen before.
Professor Whitburn pointed to Harry, and then to the man with the beard.
'Vincent,' he said, 'this is Crawford.'
The bearded man nodded.
'Vincent, this is Stokes.'
Without further ado, he handed a pen across the desk. Harry took it and signed the document. Stokes
and Crawford applied their names as witnesses.
'Have you eaten dinner?' questioned the professor.
'No, sir,' replied Harry.
'Crawford will cook you something. Go with him. He will introduce you to Marsh—my other man.
'We have no formalities here, Vincent. If you wish to see me, knock at the outer door; then enter. If I do
not hear you, that is my mistake.
'The buzzer on my desk can be heard in all parts of the house even a short distance outside. Four is your
signal.'
He turned to the side of the desk, and made a note on a pad.
'Crawford, one; Stokes, two; Marsh, three; Vincent, four,' he muttered.
The professor again faced Harry.
'Do not leave the island without my permission,' he stated. 'That is important. Answer every summons
promptly. Is there anything else?'
'What are the salary arrangements?' questioned Harry.
'Ah! I had forgotten,' answered the old man. 'Your first term of service will be three months. After that,
you may expect an advance. Will two hundred dollars a month be satisfactory? Remember, you have no
living expenses here.'
'Two hundred a month will be quite satisfactory,' replied Harry.
'Very good,' said the professor, with his peculiar smile. 'I want you to be satisfied. So your salary will be
two hundred and fifty, instead of two hundred.'
Professor Whitburn was busy with his papers. He had become totally oblivious to Harry's presence;
Crawford tapped Harry on the shoulder, and pointed significantly toward the door, showing that the
interview was ended.
Rising, he followed the other two men from the room. As he left, Harry glanced back. The old professor
was still engrossed in his work.
CHAPTER XVII. A VISIT TO PRINCE ZUVOR
LAMONT CRANSTON strolled into the Cobalt Club, and took his place in a comfortable chair. He
looked about him, as though expecting to see some one. Then he languidly tapped a cigarette on a gold
case, and leaned back in his chair.
A week had passed since Lamont Cranston's chat with Prince Zuvor— the Russian who called himself
Richard Albion. During that week, Cranston had been at the Cobalt Club infrequently; and then only for
short stays. On his last visit, he had left a brief note for Richard Albion.
'Telephone, sir,' said an attendant, who approached the chair where Lamont Cranston was seated.
The millionaire arose slowly, and went to the private telephone room. He displayed no enthusiasm
whatever. Even when he answered the phone, in a place free from observation, he acted in a most
disinterested manner.
'This is Burbank,' came a voice over the wire. 'Shall I talk to you now?'
'Everything all right at your end?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Go ahead then.'
'I have been watching Volovick -'
'Never mind the name, Burbank.'
'All right, sir. I have been watching the man. I have talked with him. I have learned nothing of importance
except one very small detail.'
'Which is -'
'When he opened his wallet to take out some money, he pulled out a yellow card. It was a blank card; I
saw both sides of it. But he put it away so quickly that I thought it might have some significance.'
'A yellow card, Burbank? Are you sure it was not a white one?'
'Positive, sir. I thought it was white for a moment; but when he held it in his hand, I noted that it was
yellow. A pale yellow— almost white.'
'Where is the man now?'
'At the Pink Rat. He has been drinking a great deal.'
'All right, Burbank. Let him stay there. Go off duty. I'll let you know when you are needed.'
Lamont Cranston sat in thought for a few minutes after he had hung up the receiver. Then he smiled.
'A yellow card,' he murmured. 'Yellow—almost white. Volovick has been drinking. Rather a bad
practice if he is engaged in active work.'
He drew a pad from his pocket, and wrote:
Black—A meeting to-night.
Gray—Meeting: do not come if in danger.
White—Work ended. No more meetings.
He paused momentarily; then added:
Yellow—No work or meetings until specially notified.
LAMONT CRANSTON laughed. The matter of Volovick had troubled him during the past few days.
Now he understood that the man was temporarily inactive.
The millionaire left the telephone room. When he arrived in the lobby of the club, the doorman accosted
him.
'Note just came for you, Mr. Cranston.'
Mr. Cranston opened the envelope and read the message. It was from Prince Zuvor. It bore the
