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.”
Harry was annoyed by the man’s abruptness. He was on the point of challenging the fellow’s authority, when Stokes added a testy explanation.
“No radio after eight o’clock. It disturbs Professor Whitburn. All right before then.”
Before Harry could reply, the man was gone. Harry went back to the table; then, still ill-disposed toward Stokes because of his undiplomatic manner, Harry laid his work aside, and strolled to the door that led outside.
PROFESSOR WHITBURN had suggested that he remain in the room and work during the evening. There had been no direct order not to go outside.
At that particular moment, Harry would not have worried about disobeying instructions. So he took the suggestion with reservations, and went out into the night.
The wind was sighing through the trees. A slight drizzle had arrived; and the air was chilly. Nevertheless, Harry went down the path toward the lake. He stumbled a bit on the path; regained his footing; and looked back toward the house. The building was a shapeless mass of black.
Even the tower was invisible in the night. But as Harry’s eyes went upward, he saw something that startled him. First a little twinkle; like a firefly. That itself was not astonishing; but it was followed by a truly uncanny phenomenon.
A strange, ghostlike shape came flitting from the tower; it seemed to hover over the trees. Then the phantom form reappeared, like some grim spirit from the world beyond, seeking mortal prey.
The weird form reached the spot where Harry knew the house must be. Then it disappeared.
Harry watched intently. He began to feel a creepy sensation. Then he imagined that some one was in back of him. He turned, and his eyes were directed toward the lake.
Off above the water he detected a twinkle — that same light that appeared like a firefly. It came again — closer. Then it seemed high above, as though rising before a downward swoop.
Harry looked toward the house. Here it came! Another spirit form, a shape with spreading arms that bore the appearance of a living creature.
Thoughts of ghosts and huge vampires dominated Harry’s brain. The creatures were too large for bats; their visibility in the darkness gave them an eerie quality.
Harry laughed, rather mirthlessly. The sound of his own laugh seemed melancholy. Then came the sigh of the wind, through the trees.
But was it the sound of the wind? For with it came another soaring phantom, that seemed to flit toward the black tower. Its ghostlike arms were extended, as though reaching toward an unseen object. Like the others, it vanished in the gloom.
Ghosts?
Harry had always laughed away the thought. But here was grim reality. Silent, creepy, clutching creatures that floated with spectral motion.
LITTLE wonder that strange tales had been carried to the village. The natives of this region were hard-headed individuals. They were not easily convinced by groundless reports.
Harry realized that he should have listened more closely to the stories which he had heard.
Death Island!
Harry thought of the massacred whites; of the murdered man who had died in that house. Was it because of those events that these monstrous creatures had chosen this place as their habitation?
Again, Harry gazed toward the lake. He strained his eyes, watching for distant twinkles that might presage the approach of another trio of fantastic, glowing shapes.
Then came the most weird apparition of all.
Before Harry’s transfixed eyes, a weird form shot upward from the lake. Luminous in the darkness, the figure emerged from the waters, spreading its arms as it reached the air.
For an instant, it seemed to unfold itself for flight; then it wavered, and dove sidewise, disappearing as mysteriously as it had come.
Harry remembered the story of the man who had seen that very same event. This last appearance of a ghostlike form was unnerving.
Harry knew that he must return to the house; but his knees seemed weak as he started up the path; and maddened instinct told him to look behind, lest some grotesque image might arise and fall upon him.
He sincerely wished that he might be anywhere in the world but Death Island. He had been warned of danger; but he had expected it to come in physical form — not in the person of an apparition.
Never before in his life had he seen the demonstration of an apparent occult force. Even now, he could not believe that his eyes had performed their proper functions. Yet those unhuman forms had held a realism which could not be forgotten.
Groping for an explanation, Harry’s mind seized upon vain theories. Reason told him that there must be a natural cause for what he had seen.
Had Professor Whitburn developed some new form of science? Perhaps — but what could it be?
Did ghosts exist, and had the white-haired old man found some way of attracting them?
Harry tried to make light of this absurd thought. He entered the house, and found himself alone in the living room. He sat in the corner with his books, and sought to control his mind with tangible, material ideas.
Yet as he resumed his study of the books before him, perplexity kept creeping to his brain. Whatever the cause of the strange events might be, it was certain that Death Island was a place of fantastic happenings.
For Harry had seen the ghosts of Death Island!
CHAPTER XX
THE MESSENGER
MORNING came as a relief to Harry Vincent’s troubled mind. He had stayed late at his work; yet he had found it difficult to go to sleep. Tired though he was, he could not push away disturbing thoughts.
All during the night the creaking of the old house, and the whistling of the wind amid the trees were annoying. To his imagination they had seemed as tokens of some spectral forces.
He had been unable to dismiss the thoughts of long, eager phantoms, approaching through the darkness.
But with dawn, Death Island had lost its gloom. It was a beautiful day. Harry rested a while after the sun had risen; then came downstairs to find the others were finishing their breakfast.
While he ate alone, Harry tried to summarize his facts.
First: a messenger was due that night. That, at least was tangible.
Second: one could not use the radio here after eight o’clock. Why?
He remembered that static had disturbed the program; yet he had no idea what the cause might have been.