“Tell me more about it,” he demanded at last. He was truly interested. If he was to escape from this island, wild and uninhabited as it appeared to be, he must at least know his way about.
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, Tom Howe, in his box-like laboratory, had revealed to Johnny Thompson’s astonished eyes a bit of scientific crime detection that for sheer cunning would have put any ancient astrologer or alchemist to shame.
Having spread the bed sheet taken from Red Rodger’s berth out on a small table, he had switched on a 200-watt lamp and had proceeded to examine it inch by inch as he slid it across the table.
“Not a mark,” Johnny commented, as the examination was completed.
“I’m not so sure,” Howe drawled. “A man stepped on that sheet, a very heavy man. He left a deep dent in the mattress and bedding. It’s hard to step on anything as clean as a sheet without leaving some sort of mark.
“Let’s see.” He drew the sheet endwise until the very center rested on the smooth top of the table. “It would be about there.”
He turned off the powerful light. At once the room was plunged in utter darkness.
Then, while Johnny waited as breathless as a child at his first picture show, a curious violet light pervaded the room.
“Look!” Tom Howe whispered, pointing to the center of the sheet.