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.'
