“Yeah,” he answered. “You mean the old professor. He lives on Death Island.”
“Death Island?” Harry’s question showed surprise.
“That’s the name of the place,” said the storekeeper tersely. “You can’t drive out to the island, though. The professor has a telephone. Call him up, if you want. He has a motor boat on the island.”
Harry went to the telephone. It was an obsolete contrivance, with a handle on the side, to ring for the operator. It took him several minutes to obtain the connection with Professor Whitburn’s house.
A gruff voice answered.
“I’d like to speak to Professor Whitburn,” said Harry.
“Professor is busy,” came the reply. “Who is calling him?”
“My name is Harry Vincent — “
“Oh, you’re the man he’s expecting. Where are you now?”
“Down in the village.”