it
goes. Then you may know where I am.'
The secret-service man slipped from the room. Harry dressed hurriedly, his mind in chaos.
It was the third night since the episode in the tower room. He had talked with Marquette during the
interim.
They had agreed that trouble might begin at any time; but they had expected it on the island. Yet here
were Stokes and Marsh planning to leave.
What did it mean?
Professor Whitburn had announced that he would not require the services of any one during the evening.
He had important work to do in his study. His four assistants were off duty.
Stokes and Marsh—the two secret enemies—were taking advantage of the opportunity; but Harry could
not guess their purpose.
When he came downstairs, the living room was deserted. The men had gone; Marquette had followed
them; at least, so Harry supposed.
But he was wrong; he heard a noise outside, and had barely time to slip back to the stairs.
Harry stole softly to his room, and crawled into the bed. He listened intently. He heard a slight sound in
the hallway. He figured it was either Stokes or Marsh; coming up to see if he was asleep.
Harry breathed a trifle heavily; just sufficiently so that the sound could reach the ears of the unseen
listener. He fancied that he heard footsteps steal away down the hall.
A SUDDEN desire for action prompted Harry. He moved across the floor to the window. The sash was
already open; silently, he went through.
There was a roof beneath, to one side a narrow projection that extended from the doorway which the
men must use to leave the house. Harry clung there, and a moment later he heard Stokes and Marsh
come outside. They stood directly beneath him.
'He's asleep.' Harry could make out the words spoken by Marsh. 'No need to worry about him.'
'All right,' replied Stokes, in an audible whisper. 'Let's go.'
The men started toward the path. Harry heard Marsh question Stokes, and he caught the reply:
'Let him stay there. We won't bother him unless he makes trouble.'
A slight laugh came from Marsh.
Harry wondered about the last remark. He wondered while he still clung to the roof; he wondered while
he was dropping to the ground.
As he started along the path, far behind the others, the import of the words suddenly dawned upon him.
Stokes and Marsh knew that Marquette—or Crawford, as they knew him—was hiding in the motor
boat!
The sacks had been left there purposely. They must have detected Marquette during the afternoon. They
let him listen in during the evening; they were taking Marquette away from the island. That was their only
scheme.
Harry hurried toward the dock. He was unable to prepare a plan. There would be risk in attempting to
warn Marquette. It was too late now. Harry realized that as he neared the shore of the lake.
Marsh and Stokes had pushed the boat away from the wharf, and had paddled it a hundred yards. The
motor was chugging slowly when Harry arrived.
Sitting near the dock, Harry puzzled over the situation. Gradually, he evolved a theory.
Some one was coming to the island to-night. That could be the only solution; for any activities directed
against Professor Whitburn must necessarily take place here.
Stokes and Marsh had evidently intended to be present. Then the difficulty had arisen. They had
attracted the attention of the man they called Crawford.
They knew that he would be alert and watchful. To attack him might injure their plans. So they had
chosen the simple course of luring him away by this expedition in the motor boat.
Harry noted that the boat had headed up the lake, and that it was moving quite slowly. It would require
more than an hour for them to reach the head of the lake; there they might linger a while, as though
attending to some secret business.
One thing was certain: if Marquette tried to surprise them, he would run into trouble; for they knew of his
presence. Harry hoped that Marquette would keep in hiding.
It was up to Harry to handle the situation on Death Island. Stokes and Marsh had ignored him in their
plans. They believed that he was asleep.
They had no suspicion that he had been in communication with the fellow they knew as Crawford.
Everything was set for the arrival of the third party.
Marquette had put himself in a ridiculous position; at the same time, Stokes and Marsh had made a grave
mistake.
Their confederate was coming with the assurance that he had to deal with none but Professor
Whitburn—an old man, absent-mindedly engrossed in his work. Instead, this unknown arrival would
encounter Harry Vincent—aroused and ready for action.
HARRY turned to the path toward the house. He had gone only a few steps when he stopped to
consider.
There was no good landing place on Death Island, except this spot near the dock. The person who was
coming must necessarily choose this place. Here, in the darkness, Harry could wait, and surprise the
intruder.
Choosing a shadowy spot beneath a tree, Harry sat down, and listened. A few minutes went by; he
began to be doubtful. Then he was sure that he had heard a slight sound on the lake.
He listened, and the noise occurred again. Some one was coming in a canoe. Despite the paddler's care,
slight splashes had been made.
The sound was not repeated, and Harry fancied that he had been mistaken. Then came a grating sound,
not more than a few rods distant. The canoe had been beached on the pebbled water front; but it was
invisible in the darkness.
Harry waited expectantly. At last he detected a light footfall; and in another moment, a figure was
silhouetted against the clearing toward the dock.
Before Harry had time to observe it carefully, the person was gone. Then came slight sounds from the
path. Harry rose, and followed softly.
It was a tense experience, in the darkness of the path. Harry knew that he was following some one who
was not more than twenty feet in advance. Yet that person was moving stealthily, and he was forced to
do likewise. At times he sensed that the other had stopped to listen. He did the same.
They were nearing the house now. The slope of the path had ended. Harry had neared a very slight bend,
and he was sure that the other person would have stopped because of the proximity of the house.
Abandoning caution, he leaped forward, and came upon a person in the darkness. His approach had
been heard; his enemy had tried to slip away from the path, but too late. Harry seized the person quickly,
fearing a revolver shot.
To his surprise, there was no resistance. His opponent collapsed, and was instantly overpowered.
He thought for a second that he was being duped; that the other was pretending unconsciousness. He
drew his flashlight from his pocket, and turned the light on the form that lay helpless before him.
The beam of the flashlight showed the face of Arlette DeLand!
CHAPTER XXVII. INTO THE SNARE
