house.
The downstairs portion of the building was quite ordinary—with the exception of Professor Whitburn's
study, which was simply the working room of a very eccentric man.
Harry had quickly become accustomed to the routine of the place. He had met the other member of the
group—Marsh—and had found him to be quite as unusual as Crawford and Stokes. In fact, Marsh was
more unusual.
He was a pale, gawky fellow, more than six feet tall, who walked with a pronounced stoop, as though
accustomed to ceilings that were too low for him.
Each man seemed to have certain duties to perform, which were his own particular business. There must
be some tasks that they shared in common, for occasionally Harry saw two together; but usually they
were alone.
Crawford handled the cooking, and the men helped themselves to the food. Professor Whitburn seemed
to eat very little, and Crawford attended to his meager wants.
Harry's work proved to be the accumulation of knowledge. Professor Whitburn had supplied him with
numerous textbooks on engineering, and had marked certain passages which he proposed that Harry
should read.
The motor boat was seldom used. Sometimes Crawford operated it; sometimes Stokes. One or the
other went to get supplies or mail. The former appeared to be Crawford's job; the latter was the duty of
Stokes.
Wandering about the island, between his studies, Harry found it to be of small acreage, and thickly
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.'
