"Guess so," said Harry.
"Could you see it from the upper road, coming from Herkimer?"
"Was just looking at it," answered Harry, stopping the car.
"Must be the old house on the island," said the man.
"Anybody live there?" asked Harry.
"No," was the reply. "The owner died a year ago, and the place has been closed up since.
Some old beds in there. Maybe some tramps were living in the place. Those bums often start fires, drat 'em!" Harry drove on, and as they rode, he spoke to the man beside him.
"My names Harry Vincent," he said. "Yours?"
"Stuart Bruxton. Thanks for pulling me out of that mess."
"Forget that part of it," Harry interposed. "What I want to know is how you got into it."