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.