Harry repressed an exclamation of greeting. So Duncan was the messenger! That was why Fellows had wanted to see him.
Harry said nothing. He completed his purchase, and left the store. He turned to the right; and walked up a path that led away from the road. Bruce Duncan joined him a few minutes later.
“What’s the dope?” asked Bruce.
“Rather meager,” whispered Harry. “Four men on the island, besides myself. Old Professor Whitburn — he’s strange enough. But the others are tough babies.”
He had been thinking over his information, and now he gave Bruce a terse account of all that had transpired.
He prefaced his remarks of last night’s events by explaining that the natives believed the island to be haunted. This brought a snort from Duncan; but as Harry told of the weird beings that had flitted to the tower, and ended with a vivid description of the apparition that had risen from the lake, Bruce whistled in surprise.
“I wouldn’t believe that junk, Harry,” he said, “if it came from any one but you. It’s the craziest story I’ve ever heard — and the strangest. I can’t figure what’s going on over there.
“Maybe I’ll have a chance to watch from a distance. Not to-night, though, because I have to cut out for Hartford.”
“Just how do you enter in, Bruce?” asked Harry. He knew that Duncan was not an agent of The Shadow, although the young man had once served in that capacity.
“Well,” explained Bruce, “I’ve been let in on a few things, and have been told to keep my mouth shut — for my own good. So I’m helping out.