He realized that Bruce Duncan had clearly summed up the situation. Arlette must be a factor in the events which had transpired. Her presence at the Pink Rat had been no accident. Her acquaintance with Bruce Duncan; her mysterious phone call -
“You’re right, Bruce,” admitted Harry thoughtfully. “She’s in it; but somehow, I trust her.”
“While I’m staying clear of her,” replied Duncan. “Maybe she fell for you, Harry. At the same time, take my advice, and be careful.”
Harry suddenly realized that they had been talking for a long time. Their meeting had served its purpose. It was not wise to remain here longer.
“When will I see you again?” he asked Bruce.
“I don’t know. You will be notified, I suppose — just as you were before.”
“Don’t forget to mention the radio in your report, then. That is important. I can’t listen to WNX after eight o’clock.”
Harry left his friend, and went cautiously back to the store. He did not enter the building; instead, he went across the road to the garage, and talked with the proprietor. He made arrangements for his car to be kept there until further notice. Then he started back to the wharf.
There was no sign of the motor boat. Evidently Stokes had returned to Death Island. It was not yet half past ten. But as Harry stood on the wharf, he heard the chugging of the motor — and the boat suddenly appeared around a point in the lake.
If Stokes was coming from the island, he had chosen a roundabout way. Harry thought quickly; then ducked back into the woods. He had a hunch that Stokes had docked the boat farther down the lake and had visited the village.
Waiting until the boat had pulled up at Harvey’s Wharf, Harry advanced along the path, whistling as he approached. He noticed the boat, and clambered aboard, without even greeting the man who was at the helm.
That seemed to suit Stokes. He gave no sign of welcome. He piloted the boat directly back to Death Island. Harry handed him the flashlight, with the single word: “Thanks.”
DEATH ISLAND was black and silent as the boat approached. No twinkling lights to-night; no phantom shapes. There was no sign that anything out of the ordinary existed in that tract of land that loomed from the center of Lake Marrinack.
Stokes went in to Professor Whitburn’s study, when they had reached the house. Harry took it that he was reporting their return.
After a half hour of reading, Harry decided to go to bed. He went upstairs, and as he passed, he noted that the door that led to the tower was ajar.
Harry’s room was under a corner of the tower. He had been conscious of that fact the night before. It had troubled him; yet it had indicated nothing. But to-night, he seemed to detect a faint tapping on the ceiling of his room. It continued intermittently; then stopped.
The sound was peculiar, yet methodical. The taps came in rhythmic beats. They could not be made by any one working, for they changed their rhythm too often.
Finally the sound ceased. Five minutes passed. It began again; then stopped. Another interval, of perhaps five minutes. Again a short series of taps.
This was enough for Harry. He had felt that the tower demanded investigation. Now he was sure of it. The door that stood ajar was a temptation.
Opening his door, Harry stepped into the darkness of the hallway. He slipped silently along, until he found the door of the tower. It was still ajar.
Wearing soft slippers, Harry crept up the stairs. He moved with the utmost caution; the creaky stairs groaned very slightly.
The stairway was a winding one. As Harry turned a bend, he noted a faint light from the room above. The light was so insignificant that it could not be observable outside.
His steps becoming slower, Harry reached the top. There he could discern the objects in the room; for faint moonlight penetrated the apartment, through a skylight.
Each corner of the room accommodated a black machine. These metal contrivances, which seemed fitted to the wall, were hardly distinguishable.
But in the center of the room was an object which immediately attracted Harry’s attention, especially as it accounted for the dim light which he had just noticed.
Standing on a pedestal was a huge globe of bright metal, that reflected the moonbeams. The massive sphere had a highly polished surface, and it fascinated Harry’s eyes.
He stood looking at it in wonderment.
What could its purpose be?
The big machines in the corner indicated material inventions; but the shining globe brought thoughts of the supernatural. Harry had heard that bright objects, particularly spheres, of crystal or polished metal, could be used to induce hypnosis.
Was this huge ball the object that had attracted those spectral forms to the tower of the house on Death Island?
HARRY’S tense mind was too strained to reject the theory. Fantastic though it seemed, he was ready to believe it. For as he looked at the bright metal, he felt a strange influence creep over him.
He seemed to forget where he was; to have no further thought of his surroundings. He was in a dream world, and his imagination wandered.
There was no repetition of the tapping. Harry had forgotten it. His brain was centered on the shining sphere. He stepped a few paces closer. He wondered what would happen if he stayed here looking at the mystic globe.
For an instant, he was tempted to go away. Yet the lure held him. Again he moved closer. The great ball, flashing its sparkling light, was almost within his reach.
Harry hesitated as he slowly extended his arms. He wanted to touch that brilliant surface — to learn if it were really simple metal.
But before his fingers had reached the silver globe, Harry was jerked suddenly backward. His arms were pinned behind him. He was twisted to the floor by a powerful man who had caught him unawares. A hand was clapped to his mouth.
The young man had no chance against his captor. He had been taken totally unawares; and his mind had been so occupied with other thoughts that he did not realize what had happened.
It seemed like the fraction of a second to Harry Vincent. One instant he was reaching for the shining sphere; the next, he was lying on his back, staring upward into a bearded face.
Crawford was the man who had trapped him. Harry had no opportunity to fight or to make an outcry. He sensed that he was in great danger; yet he was helpless. His captor had been too swift and thorough in his work.
Crawford, his mind had told him, was the one man to avoid. Yet Harry had failed to rely upon his better judgment.
Harry made one last effort to struggle. The bearded man tightened his grip, and Harry winced with pain. Then Crawford leaned forward, and spoke in a low, whispering voice.
CHAPTER XXII
THE SECRET OF THE TOWER
“LIE still,” hissed the bearded man. “Make no effort to move, or — “
The threat was implied. Harry lay motionless.
“Listen,” continued Crawford. “Listen carefully, and obey. Do as I tell you, or it will mean your death. Do you understand?”
Harry tried to nod, notwithstanding the fact that one of the bearded man’s hands was pressed over his face.
“Go back to your room,” came the whispered command. “Go so quietly that none can hear. Leave the door ajar. Wait there until I come.”
The instructions were amazing. Was his captor going to release him? This thought came as an unexpected hope to Harry Vincent.
“Do you understand?”
The huge hand was lifted from Harry’s mouth.
“Yes,” whispered Harry, in response.
“Will you obey my orders if I release you?”
“Yes,” was Harry’s reply.
“Then go.”
Crawford arose, but stood hovering above, ready for immediate action if Harry should change his mind. But the mere fact of his release impressed Harry.