'Looking for Bragg, sir,' replied Stephen. 'He called me from the lab a few minutes ago. He
said you wanted to see me.'
'I do. Have you a gun?'
'No, sir.'
'Open the lower drawer of the desk. You will find three revolvers. For yourself, Bragg and
Polmore. Have them ready.'
'Very well, sir.'
Stephen complied. Whitburn motioned for him to retain one gun after he had laid the three
weapons on the desk. Stephen started to pocket a revolver. Whitburn shook his head.
'Have it ready, Stephen,' he ordered, in a warning tone. 'Danger threatens.'
'Here?' questioned Stephen, anxiously. 'On Death Island?'
'Yes,' returned the professor, solemnly. 'But we shall be prepared for it. Four of us,
Stephen.'
With this admonition, old Whitburn again turned toward the closed door.
Automatic clutched firmly in his clawlike fist, the aged inventor awaited the arrival of Polmore
and Bragg.
With three henchmen at his bidding, Professor was ready to cope with the prowling enemies
who had entered his abode.
CHAPTER III. TO THE SHADOW
BLINK—blink—blink—
A light was flashing from the cliff at the head of Death Island. The intermittent rays of a
powerful electric torch were sending a coded message to the mainland.
Men were watching it from the darkness of the shore. Crouched near a small dock, they
were picking out the import of the message. An evil laugh sounded in the thickened night.
'Did you read it, Nuland?' came a question.
'Yes, chief,' was the growled reply. 'I got it.'
'Act, then,' came the order. 'Put the telephone line out of commission. Temporarily—as you
did before. Then summon the men from the cottage. Where is the boat?'
'Fifty yards down the shore, chief. Behind the big rock.'
'I shall meet you there. No hurry. We have ample time. Stealth is more important than haste.'
'You're right, chief.'
Nuland went away through the darkness. After the man's stumbling footsteps had receded,
another laugh sounded by the shore. Its tone had changed. Eric Hildrow was sneering in his
own fashion; not in the manner that he used in the character of Logan Collender.
The master plotter had arrived at the right time. Nuland, head of a crew stationed on the
mainland, had been awaiting this signal from Death Island. Word had come. The crew was
ready.
But Nuland, the lieutenant, was no longer in command. Hildrow, himself, was here to rule the
game.
WHILE Eric Hildrow kept his evil watch on Death Island, Professor Whitburn and Stephen
were still waiting in the study. Polmore had not yet returned; nor had Bragg put in an
appearance.
Whitburn, grim, was gazing steadily toward the door. Stephen's frank face showed anxiety.
Even Quex shared the tenseness. The big cat was restless. The animal had risen on the
window sill and was roaming tigerlike among the papers. When the cat paused and arched
its back, both Whitburn and Stephen noted the fact.
Then came hurried footsteps in the corridor. Some one rapped at the door. Whitburn
ordered the arrival to enter.
It was Polmore. The secretary was out of breath. He stared as he saw the guns that
Whitburn and Stephen were holding. Whitburn put a querulous question.
'Well?' demanded the professor. 'Where is Bragg?'
'Gone, sir,' returned Polmore. 'I looked upstairs for him, after I called Bragg. He was not
there. I went down to the dock. No sign of Bragg. He is gone.'
'How do you know that?'
'The little motor boat was missing, sir.'
Professor Whitburn bristled. He stared at Stephen, who solemnly shook his head. Then he
turned to Polmore. The secretary was ready with his answer before Whitburn put the
question that was in his mind.
'Bragg said nothing about leaving, sir,' declared Polmore. 'If he had asked for the night off, I
would have told you.'
'That is the rule,' declared Whitburn. 'No one has the right to leave this island without my
permission.'
'I always ask Mr. Polmore,' put in Stephen, 'and wait until he tells me that I have your
permission, professor. Bragg always did the same -'
'Not to-night,' interposed Polmore.
'That is evident,' stated Whitburn, testily. 'Well, there is one way to call Bragg to task. He
keeps his car at the little garage in Marrinack. I shall call there and find out when he left. Pick
up a revolver, Polmore.'
While the secretary was obeying the order, Professor Whitburn thrust his automatic in a
pocket of his smoking jacket. Stepping to the desk, the old man picked up the tilted
telephone. He clicked the hook. The line was dead.
'Out of order,' fumed the professor.
'Maybe some one has tampered with the line,' suggested Stephen, in an anxious tone.
'It has been out of order before,' declared Polmore. 'Always temporarily. Perhaps,
professor, it is merely an interrupted service.'
'Probably,' agreed Whitburn, in a dry tone. 'Nevertheless, the coincidence is unfortunate.
Gentlemen'- he paused to hang up the receiver and draw his automatic from his
pocket—'we are confronted by a most dangerous situation!
'Inasmuch as I can trust you both, I shall explain the menace that confronts us. I thought that I
could trust Bragg also. His disobedience of rules, however, may mean that he is a traitor. If
so, the danger is increased.
'Some time ago'- Whitburn stared steadily toward the door as he spoke—'I discussed
plans for a new submarine with Commander Joseph Dadren, a retired officer of the United
States Navy. The commander was working on a tremendous invention: a submarine that
would travel by almost automatic propulsion.
'As you know, I was engaged—a few years ago—in the development of torpedoes that
moved by chemical action. (Note: See Vol. I, No. 4, 'The Red Menace.') Commander
Dadren has been seeking to accomplish the same result on a larger scale. He studied the
principles that I had used with my torpedoes. He began where I had left off.'
THE professor paused to shake his shaggy head. The gesture was one that indicated
admiration for Commander Dadren's remarkable genius.
'The submarine,' declared the old inventor, 'has proven a success, despite my predictions
to the contrary. Commander Dadren evolved new principles that aided him in his
constructive effort. Nevertheless, he felt that he owed much to me; for my inventions had
given him the inspiration.
'Not only that; he seemed to desire my opinion on the results he achieved. Therefore, he
