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 letterhead of a New York hotel. Lamont Cranston read it at a glance.
I shall be unable to meet you at the club as I had hoped. I do not expect to be there until the end of the week. But I am at home to-night. If you choose to call, you are welcome. But remember -
The abrupt termination of the message was a reminder of the previous conversation, when Zuvor had mentioned the dangers which surrounded him. The note was signed “Richard Albion.”
Lamont Cranston left the Cobalt Club. He summoned a taxicab. He drove directly to the home of Prince Zuvor.
When he reached his destination, he stood looking at the house, from the street. He did not appear to notice a large sedan that was parked opposite the house. He went up the steps and rang the bell.
He was admitted by the Russian servant, who conducted him upstairs, as soon as he gave his name. He was ushered into the front room, where the wolfhound walked silently over to greet him.
Prince Zuvor appeared.
“This is a pleasure,” exclaimed the prince, in a tone of welcome. “I had not expected you to accept my invitation.”
Lamont Cranston rose leisurely, and grasped Prince Zuvor’s hand.
“You did not expect me?” he asked.
“I did not,” replied the prince. “You recall, of course, the dangers that I mentioned. I had supposed that you would rely on your better judgment, after you had considered the matter.
“This house is watched. Those thick curtains are evidence of that fact. They are not merely ornaments.”
Lamont Cranston shrugged his shoulders.
“The danger does not worry me,” he said. “I would even welcome a bit of danger. My life is one of leisure. It grows monotonous at times.”
Prince Zuvor looked toward the large dog that was standing by Cranston. He snapped his fingers as a command for the wolfhound to retire to the corner. Then his gaze became fixed upon the floor, and Cranston detected a look of surprise upon his face.
“What is it?” asked the millionaire.
“Nothing,” replied Zuvor, lifting his head. “I was perplexed for a moment, that was all. Your shadow — here on the floor. It seems grotesque, when I look at it.”
Lamont Cranston smiled as he sat down.