He glanced around. There was no one to be seen. He moved back the panel. There was a flash and a tiny puff of smoke. Locke coughed once, clutched at his throat, and lay gasping on the floor.
Immediately the three men rushed out, carrying ropes and holding handkerchiefs to their nostrils. One ran to the window and threw it wide open, admitting gusts of air to clear away the fumes. The others began to bind Locke as De Luxe Dora appeared in the doorway and calmly directed operations.
On the roof of the apartment several moments later in the just-gathering dusk five figures might have been seen. Three men and a woman were conferring, while at their feet was a man tightly bound and unconscious.
In the background was a huge water-tank, with a ladder leading to its brim.
Suddenly the conspirators straightened up. They had come to a decision. The three men lifted the unconscious figure and bore it up the ladder. The tank was empty. One of the men jumped down into it, while the others lowered their victim after him. Then they passed down ropes.
There were two spouts at the bottom of the tank through which water was pumped. Also there were pipes running upward. To these pipes they tied Locke. Then the men climbed out and, as their last fiendish act, turned the water on.
With a sneer Dora turned and led the way down-stairs again.
"They'll find his body when they have to clean the tank again," she exclaimed.
At Brent Rock, during the absence of Locke, Eva had donned her street clothes, since it was nearing the hour of eight when she and Locke were due to be at the inventor's workshop to render the restitution. She went down-stairs and asked the butler about Locke. But the man replied that Mr. Locke had not yet returned.
Eva was very uneasy by this time, and, thinking to save time, was about to go down to the Graveyard of Genius to get the models of the two inventions, when Zita came down the hall carrying a fair sized package which she tried hard to conceal. Eva greeted her and continued down to the cellar, as Zita, with a sort of grim smile, left the house.
Eva came to the great door, pushed the secret spring, and in a moment was inside the gloomy place. She went directly to the spot where the two inventions had been kept. They were gone.
Alarmed, she rushed up-stairs.
Still Locke did not return. Nor did any word come from him. It was now very near to eight. Eva decided to go, for surely Locke would be there.
When Zita arrived at the inventor's, in her hands was still the mysterious package. She carried it gingerly, then raised it to her ear. From within it there came a faint ticking sound. What was it inside?
She looked at her wrist-watch. It was still some minutes before eight. She knocked at the inventor's door.
The inventor at once admitted her. It was a neat little workshop in which every detail had been thought out with care—the home, one might say, of a methodical workman.
The inventor manifested some surprise at seeing Zita, but politely asked her to enter, and offered her a chair. Zita declined and plainly showed her nervousness.
"Will you please give this package to Mr. Locke and Miss Brent when they come at eight?" she asked.
Winters agreed and accepted the package, looking quizzically at her as he did so, just as he had earlier in the day.
Zita, unable to control her curiosity, burst out with the question uppermost on her mind.
"Why do you look at me in such a strange manner?" she queried.
The inventor merely turned his gaze away and shrugged.
"Mr Balcom tells me that you know the secret of my birth," pressed Zita.
The inventor looked up quickly. "Who did Mr. Balcom say you were?" he asked.
"He told me that I was Brent's daughter," replied Zita, keenly watching the aged face.
"Balcom lied to you," hastened the inventor.
Already there was a ponderous tread on the stairs, but Winters did not seem to notice it.
"You are not Brent's daughter," he pursued, more slowly.
The door opened swiftly and an emissary stood framed there, a knife poised in his hand. Behind him stood the Automaton.
"You are—"
At that instant the inventor caught sight of the intruders. With a look of horror in his eyes he threw out his hands to protect himself, but he was too late. The knife whizzed through the air and a second later pierced his throat. He fell to the floor—dead.
At the moment when the emissary, followed by the Automaton, entered, Zita, watching her chance, managed to escape from the room, stumbled, and almost half-fell down the stairs.
Already, in the huge water-tank that stood on the roof of the apartment of Dora, Locke had revived as he felt the water and had found himself already half submerged, with the water rapidly pouring in. At first he could not grasp his terrible predicament, but before long the full horror of it burst on him and he struggled madly to free himself. Since his body was stretched at full length, it was impossible to use the ordinary tricks of which he was master. His arms were bound, and he well knew that to release one of them constituted his sole chance of escape.
He contracted his muscles and, inch by inch, he worked his right arm free. By this time the water had risen until he was fairly beneath its surface. Could he last long enough to free himself?
He worked frantically. Finally, with his lungs almost bursting, he managed to free the other arm, then the rope that bound his neck. To release his feet was, to him, child's play, and he stood up.
But the water had risen almost to the top of the tank before he was able to grasp its brim and draw himself out.
Once on the roof, there was only one thought in his mind. It was nearing eight o'clock, and if Eva kept the appointment at the inventor's he knew his adversaries well enough to be sure that they would take advantage of his absence.
He dashed down the stairs and out of the building. Dora and her evil band could wait. He must reach the inventor's shop. As the seconds sped, so increased his premonition that all would not be well there.
It was at the moment that Zita came flying down-stairs that Locke burst into the hallway to the inventor's.
Zita saw him. Above, she knew was the terrible Automaton and his bloodthirsty emissary. More horrible yet, she had her fears of the package that had been given her by Balcom to deliver.
"You must not go up there!" she cried, impulsively, flinging her arms about Locke's neck.
Locke tried to remove her arms as he questioned her. But Zita either would not or could not tell more. Instead she merely clung to him.
Thus it was that Eva, determined at keeping her appointment with the inventor at all costs, entered the hallway at just this unpropitious moment. To her it looked as if Locke and Zita were very familiar. Could it be that Quentin was such a cad? She could not deny the evidence of her eyes.
Indignantly she brushed past them and rushed up the stairs. Locke called after her, but she refused to heed him. He flung off the arms of Zita and dashed after her. But Eva was too quick for him. She opened the door to the inventor's and went in, slamming it behind her. The lock snapped. In an instant Eva saw what she had fled into. There was the Automaton, near him the emissary with the knife—and on the floor their victim in a pool of blood. She shrieked and tried to escape. But the lock had snapped. Besides, the emissary, now directed by the monster, blocked her retreat.
Outside, Locke pounded on the door, but could not open it. It was of stout oak and would take some moments to break down.
The emissary circled in one direction. Eva turned, and there was the Automaton advancing on her from the other side of the room.
On the table the clock-work bomb, delivered by Zita, whether with full knowledge or not, ticked out the last few seconds before its timing at precisely eight!
CHAPTER XIV
Eva flattened herself against the door at her back. She could feel and hear Locke pounding on the other side. She thought that she would die of sheer terror.
The Automaton raised his mighty fist, and Eva instinctively ducked under the monster's arm. There was an inner room. Could she reach it in time? Would the door be unlocked? At most she could only try.
The emissary tried to catch her, but she proved too quick for him. She reached the door. It opened, and she flew into the room, slamming and bolting it behind her.
Now she could hear the thunderous blows of the Automaton raining against the door. One huge fist of the monster crashed through the panel. Eva crouched down in a far corner and closed her eyes. At that instant the time bomb exploded and the house was rocked to its foundations.
Everything was demolished. One entire side of the house was blown out. The door leading to the workshop which a moment before Locke had been vainly striving to open crashed full upon him and felled him, half-stunned, to the floor.
The force of the explosion had dazed Eva. As for the Automaton and the emissary, they had both been blown through a gaping aperture in the wall to land in the garden beneath. Only Zita, in the lower hallway, was totally untouched by the catastrophe.
Locke, dazed, crawled from under the door and made his way into the demolished room in search of Eva, a cold fear gripping his heart. How could any living thing have lived after such an occurrence? But in another instant he saw her, as she half swooned and staggered into the room.
"Quentin!" she gasped.
He caught her in his arms. But the next moment she remembered what she had witnessed in the hallway below and she drew herself away from him.
"Go to the girl you really love," she scorned.
"The girl—I really love?" repeated Locke; then there ran through his mind what had happened, as though it had been ages ago.
He protested and tried to explain. But protestations and explanations only made matters worse, as usual. Had she not with her own eyes seen Locke in Zita's arms?
"Eva," he persisted, manlike, "I swear that she was only trying to save my life. I cannot help it if she—"
Locke saw that his defense was only making an innocent matter worse, and checked himself. His mind recalled that some one had once said that a jealous woman believes a man guilty until he proves himself innocent; when he has proved himself innocent she merely still suspects. Eva's manner was very constrained.
At that moment a policeman, followed by Zita, entered, and Zita, running up to Locke, cried, anxiously, "You're not hurt—are you?"
Locke answered in an annoyed negative.
The policeman now questioned them very closely and examined the dead inventor's body. Then he entered their names and addresses in his note-book.
Next the officer lead the entire group down to the garden. There the horribly injured emissary was trying miserably to crawl away.
The Automaton had totally disappeared.
Eva immediately ordered that the injured man be taken to Brent Rock in her car. Then she turned sharply to Zita.
"How did you come to be here?" she demanded.
Zita was startled and confused. It lasted only a minute. Then, her mind made up, she replied, defiantly:
"I came here to discover the secret of my birth. I have been told that I am Mr. Brent's daughter."
Eva was stricken dumb with astonishment at this startling claim, but Locke laughed outright.
"What nonsense!" he scoffed. "Eva, don't listen to it."
Zita glared at him and with a haughty nod to Eva swept out of the garden.
Eva was still frightfully indignant with Locke and insisted on going home alone. However, they arrived at Brent Rock at about the same time.
The emissary had been placed on a lounge in the library and a doctor was called. The case was quite hopeless and they merely hoped to obtain a confession before he passed away.
When Eva arrived she went directly to her father's room, but, as he was receiving every attention from a trained nurse and she could do nothing further to aid him, she returned to the library.
Locke, too, after changing his clothes, still wet from the water-tank on the top of the apartment, also went to the library.
At his entrance the doctor glanced at him in a manner to indicate that there was no hope of saving the man's life. Locke went over to examine him. He was struck by the sly rascality of the professional criminal, but he thought little of it at the time. He tried to question the emissary, but, except for a labored breathing, could extract no response.
There were voices in the hallway. For a moment the dying man showed some signs of returning consciousness. A crafty look came over his face. What was he contemplating?
The door opened and Balcom and his son Paul entered. Balcom walked jauntily, but with a suavity of manner that was always his. Paul looked at his best, except for the fact that he carried his left arm in a silken sling.
Balcom greeted them all, and at his voice the dying man actually showed a sort of agitation. A strong shudder seemed to pass through his body, then, like a spring suddenly uncoiled, he sat up.
He was fully conscious now and strove to rise to his feet. It was a tremendous effort, but he succeeded, and stood confronting Balcom, while the ominous light of hatred that gleamed from his eyes as they encountered those of Balcom made even that well-poised man recoil and shudder.
With the muscles of his face working convulsively the dying thug tried to speak. All those standing in the library realized that it was to accuse, to denouce.
However, the effort proved too great, and with a groan that was ghastly the man fell backward on the couch, dead.
Murdering brute that he had been, still to Eva and Locke he now represented nothing but a stricken human being, with a human soul, blackened and warped. But Balcom and Paul seemed to show unmistakable signs of joy and relief. It was so evident, Locke thought, that he turned to them.
"Your coming seemed to have an unfortunate effect," he hinted. "The man seemed to know one of you—at least."
"Nothing of the kind," retorted Balcom, nettled.
Locke turned to Paul and regarded his injured arm questioningly. Paul, however, never lost his accustomed aplomb.
"I was hurt in an automobile accident," he explained, though with what seemed to be a trifle of nervousness.
Locke turned to the doctor. He was rubbing his hands, and smiling, with great unction, an action very unbecoming, to say the least, in a medical man who had just lost a patient. Taken all in all, Locke felt he could now sense the web of conspiracy tightening around him. The cards were still in the hands of his enemies.
He determined to incur any risk, to leave no stone unturned in order to bring the criminal to justice, whoever he might be. One thing encouraged him. The events seemed to have mollified Eva. He made an almost imperceptible signal to Eva, who left the room to dress for the street.
Meanwhile Locke left the library and went to a private telephone that connected the garage to the house. He ordered the chauffeur to have a fast runabout ready for instant call. Then, at the other telephone, he notified the coroner's office of the death of the emissary.
By this time Balcom, Paul, and the doctor came out of the library, the doctor in high good humor, for had he not received a huge fee? He left in his car.
Balcom and Paul, however, were slower in going, and paced the hallway in earnest conversation. Once they came to a dead halt close to the stairway leading down to the Graveyard of Genius. They listened intently. Evidently they came to a decision on something, for they left the house very hurriedly.
Immediately Locke called for the runabout. Eva came running down-stairs and in a moment they took up the trail of the Balcom car.
It seemed as if they traveled for miles, and Locke was commencing to think that it was merely a wild-goose chase, when Balcom's car came to a halt in one of the lower quarters of the city, before a house that was apparently tenantless.
To avoid discovery, Locke backed his car around a corner, got out, and watched their movements from a safe distance.
He saw Balcom, senior, alight, but Paul did not leave the car. Locke was in some quandary what to do. To attempt to enter the house without Paul's seeing him and raising the alarm would, he realized, be impossible. Therefore he waited for nearly half an hour before his patience was rewarded by seeing Balcom come out of the house, jump into the car, and drive off hurriedly with Paul.
Locke walked to the house and looked closely over the exterior. It was little different from others in the same street. Then he walked thoughtfully back to Eva and they argued pro and con about the advisability of attempting to enter.
Locke insisted on entering alone, but Eva would not hear of it. Therefore, it was decided that they would go in together.
When Balcom had alighted from his car half an hour before he had merely stood for a moment in front of the door of the house when, mysteriously, the door had opened.
There was no one in sight. But he was so familiar with the house that it might have been his own. He descended a flight of stairs and stood before another door, where the same door-opening process was repeated.
Balcom entered a darkened room and for a moment seemed quite alone. Then from out the shadows, with a little half run, half lope, a strange figure of man came toward him.
He was in reality large of frame, but stooped and bent with age. An old frock-coat was wrapped about him. But the most remarkable things about the man were a pair of weirdly fascinating eyes with a mad glint in them and an enormous full beard, snow white, that fell almost to his waist.
At times the man talked rationally, in fact with the forcefulness of a great savant. Then, abruptly, he would leave off and the rest of his conversation was that of a babbling child. He was seldom at rest, scampering here and there, not unlike a bird-dog on a fresh scent. Seeking—always seeking—what?
Balcom grasped his arm in order to arrest his attention.
"Doctor Q," he addressed him, "you can have the revenge you have sought so long. Have you prepared everything?"
The old man chuckled and wagged his head in senile fashion. Balcom grabbed both his shoulders so that the old man was facing him, and shook him slightly.
"Your enemies are here," he emphasized. "Have you prepared for their reception?"
And then the haze beclouding the old man's brain seemed to pass away and his next moments were lucid.
"Ah, it's you, Balcom. You were just saying—"
Balcom explained that Locke and Eva had tracked him and on his departure would undoubtedly enter to investigate the place. Doctor Q, for such was his odd name, understood now, and an evil grimace distorted his wrinkled face.
"Let them come," he growled. "I am prepared. Why, I have even improved certain features of the Chair of Death."
He led Balcom into an inner room where many electric bulbs were dimly glowing. At their entrance two brutal-looking men straightened up from their task and saluted Balcom with great deference. Then they resumed their tasks as electricians.
"Want to see her work, sir?" one of the pair asked.
Stepping around a partition that separated the knife-switch from the room in which stood the electric chair, Balcom watched.
The chair was of practically the same construction as the chairs used in prisons for the supreme penalty, with electrodes to connect at the head, arms, and legs of the man to be electrocuted.
"Stand back, sir," called one of the men as he shot the switch home.
Instantly a snapping sound was heard as the current surged through, and the crackling sound such as the now familiar wireless makes as the long sparks leap from pole to pole. It was Force.
A satisfied look came into Balcom's eyes and he warmly congratulated the mad inventor, who followed him to the door and watched him as he mounted the stairs to depart with his son.
Soon after the departure Doctor Q went to a strange-looking instrument that seemed to have many of the characteristics of the periscope. He pulled a lever, a panel opened, and immediately the space directly in front of his street door was revealed to him. He stood there, watching intently, much as a spider watches for a fly.
Soon Locke and Eva showed in the panel above. He next pressed a button and saw the two enter. Then he went to a huge divan on the other side of the room and whipped off a covering that was concealing some gigantic thing beneath.
It was the Automaton, prostrate, at full length, without motion. At least it seemed so.
The madman glanced around, and then glided into an inner room from the larger one. He was just in time, for a moment later Locke and Eva entered.
They, too, glanced around fearfully. They saw the dread form of the Automaton and, although it did not move, Locke would have admitted he was ready to beat a retreat.
It was uncanny, weird. In the dim light the monster seemed to assume gigantic proportions. But he lay so still that their jangling nerves became quieted. They even approached him, Locke with automatic in hand in case the iron terror were shamming. But there was no sign of life—or whatever it was that animated this thing.
Locke, handing his gun to Eva, determined to investigate further. He went to the inner door and listened. But he could hear no sound. He turned the knob and entered. He was amazed at what he saw. But, as there was apparently no living thing about, he took courage and entered farther. He took note of the switches, saw the deadly chair, and was about to test the apparatus to see if it could be possible that a practical electric chair existed in the heart of a peaceful city, when he heard Eva shriek in heart-rending terror.
He rushed madly back to where he had left her. But as he passed through the door some one dealt him a blow on the head, and as though pole-axed he dropped to the floor.
After Locke had left her to go into the inner room Eva's fears revived and she wished to follow him. But she was ashamed to have him think her a coward. She forced herself to remain rooted to the spot.
Her eyes had followed Locke through the doorway and her ears were strained to hear the faintest sound from the other room. In her anxiety about Locke's safety she even forgot the Automaton, and, in turning the better to watch the doorway, she drew nearer to the divan upon which the monster lay.
It was this action that had brought her into peril. Slowly one of the monster's arms commenced to move, and before Eva could spring away she was enfolded in his deadly embrace. It was that that made her shriek madly, wildly, in utter terror.
Then she saw Locke running through the door to her, saw him struck from behind, and she fainted.
The Automaton, evidently thinking Eva dead, let her limp body slip to the floor. For a moment it towered over her, as though contemplating whether to trample on her or no. At this juncture an emissary distracted its attention and the terror left her lying there without further injury.
The Automaton now assumed command of Locke's electrocution.
Under its direction the emissaries picked up Locke's body and placed it in the electric chair. They slit his trousers so that the deadly electrodes might form a better contact with his flesh. His sleeves were rolled back for the same reason. Next the headpiece was firmly adjusted. Now all the straps were tightly clinched.
The Automaton waved his arm.
A man stepped to the switch.
CHAPTER XV
There was a moan from the front room. Eva was recovering from her faint. The Automaton indicated to the emissary at the switch to do nothing until he had found out what was going on.
Locke had, meanwhile, recovered consciousness and realized his awful position. Here was a situation which, on its face, seemed unescapable. Yet Locke would not give in.
Straining every effort, he tried to extricate himself before the deadly current could sever the thread of life. Seconds seemed ages. Still he tried.
With a mighty effort he strained every muscle of his gigantic chest and the very straps that held him groaned from the force of his muscular exertion. Even now the death-man was at the switch and it was barely a question of seconds or heart-beats between him and death.
With a quick twist of his giant shoulder he threw his whole weight against the chest strap and it parted. Lurching forward, he freed his head and neck from the cruel straps, which snapped and parted.
The death-man paused for a fraction of a second to see what caused the commotion in the chair. To that pause Locke owed his life. With a final supreme effort he threw himself on the floor just as the knife-switch swung into position and the wicked blue flame of death leaped across the head electrodes.
Once freed, he catapulted himself across the room and with a vicious upper-cut sent the emissary sprawling unconscious to the floor. Without a thought of himself he rushed into the next room where Eva now stood in panic, glued to the spot, in fear of the Frankenstein monster that would crush her in its grasp.
With murderous mien the thing crossed the room slowly, until only the table stood between her and destruction.
Like a wild animal Locke hurled himself into the room and with a master stroke of quick wit flung the heavy oaken table over at the monster. Then he seized Eva, and before the monster could turn in its tracks, half dragged, half carried her from the room.
In the hall further difficulty confronted Locke, for the place was well guarded. Several henchmen darted forth from dark corners of the murky place and would have intercepted him.
As the first approached, Locke, with a quick jiu-jitsu thrust, hurled him for a fall that would have broken the back of a less hardy man. The next one was just turning the top of the stairs, and Locke, quick to take advantage of the situation, adopted the only means of escape.
He seized the man bodily about the waist and, lifting him over his head, threw him upon his other oncoming foe. The result was that the two were flung down the stairs.
"Run!" he cried to Eva in a voice that was a command.
Without waiting he picked her up and carried her over the sprawling mass of legs and arms to safety below.
Once outside, he felt a little embarrassed at having the beautiful girl in his arms and he half murmured an apology as he placed her feet gently on the ground.
Life at Brent Rock was far from monotonous.
Like a great game of checkers, the various members of the establishment were being moved about, guided by some strange hand, it seemed.
Now one, then another seemed to gain the advantage, and as each strove for control of the vast fortune, the battle of wits surged back and forth.
Balcom was playing a game, it was plain. But to what extent? Sometimes it seemed as though Zita was his aide and would stop at nothing to succeed. Again it was that Zita played the game alone, still fostering her secret but hopeless love for Locke. Again it seemed as if Paul were playing the game, either alone or with some one else.
Just now it was apparent that Balcom and Zita, for their own ends, whatever might be the identity of the Automaton, planned a coup for themselves.
During one of Locke's absences Zita had secured access to his laboratory, and while looking around had discovered the dictagraph hidden in the desk drawer. Often Balcom and Zita, either together or alone, had taken advantage of the discovery.
It was at a time when both were using the mechanical eavesdropper on Locke and Eva in the library that Locke suddenly decided to return to the laboratory, without saying anything about it.
Zita's quick ear heard him down the hall.
"Quick!" she warned. "Some one is coming!"
She sprang toward the closet door, which stood ajar, and in an instant Balcom was with her. The two were concealed in the closet as the laboratory door opened and Locke entered.
Locke walked to his table of test-tubes and picked up one containing mercury. What prompted this action he did not know. Perhaps it was his fascination for the elusive metal. Perhaps it was some subconscious feeling. At any rate, he held it aloft and gazed at it in the light. As he did so a strange thing happened. Reflected in its surface on the glass, yet distorted like a convex mirror, he could see the door of the closet open just a crack and the evil faces of Balcom and Zita peer out.
He did not move nor did he in any way betray what he saw, but nonchalantly set the tube of precious metal down and pretended to seek something from the table. He turned slowly and retraced his steps to the library below, where he entered, holding his fingers to his lips in warning to Eva not to speak. He walked quickly over to a writing-desk, took a pencil, and began to write.
"Balcom and Zita are listening on the dictagraph. Pretend to quarrel with me."
Eva read in amazement as he wrote. Quickly she comprehended. Then they walked silently until they were almost under the chandelier which held the transmitter of the dictagraph.
"I have something I want to say to you, Mr. Locke," began Eva, with a wink and a smile at him, "and it grieves me to say it."
"What is it?" asked Locke, with distinct anxiety, winking back.
"I am afraid I shall have to dispense with your services," continued Eva, as she reached out her hand and gave Locke's a little squeeze.
Up-stairs, Balcom and Zita listened intently, their heads close together so that each could catch every word. Balcom was nodding with satisfaction. Each looked at the other as though they could hardly believe their ears.
"But I have tried to serve and protect you," protested Locke, as his face wreathed in smiles at Eva, who was carrying the deception off perfectly. Then he added, plaintively, "I am sorry that I have failed."
"Your protection has led me into danger," returned Eva, in her best voice to denote anger, "and your seeming interest is out of place—and, besides, Mr. Locke, Paul Balcom does not like your being here. You know he is the man I am to marry."
As she said this, Eva looked roguishly at him. Locke's face clouded a little, although he knew it was only in a joke.
"But, Miss Brent," he continued to protest, "I had hoped—"
"Not another word, Mr. Locke," interrupted Eva, as she edged very close to him and gazed into his eyes. "Please leave this house at once—I hate you!" And, not suiting the action to the word, she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze that told more than words what her true thoughts in the matter were.
Locke leaned over and was on the point of kissing her when she held up her hand and pointed to the receiver above in the chandelier as if it really had eyes as well as ears. He looked up and was forced to check a laugh lest it be heard by the listeners above.
In the laboratory, Balcom had heard enough. He turned to Zita, and with a hurried command told her to go down-stairs.
"Keep an eye on him and tell me where he goes," was the parting instruction of Balcom as the two separated on the stairs at the very time that Paul blustered in the front door.
"Morning, Governor," nodded Paul, as he gave his hat to the butler.
"A very good morning, Paul," emphasized Balcom, quite unctuously, as he went on to tell his son of the supposed quarrel between Eva and Locke which he had overheard.
A light of triumph came into Paul's eyes. Eva's happiness, even her life, meant nothing to him. She was merely a means to his own evil ends and he now felt sure that he held her in his grasp. Besides, in so far as such a selfish nature can care for another human being, Paul cared for De Luxe Dora. There was a fascination for him in her tigerish, unscrupulous nature that a good woman could never inspire.
And now, as he eagerly listened to his father, he visualized new motor-cars, a yacht, rivers of champagne, a life of mad gaiety with his favorite pals, men and women.
Locke, in the library, was laughing quietly with Eva over the success of the ruse. But there was, notwithstanding, an undercurrent of seriousness running through their thoughts. For, although they had scored against their adversaries in misleading them as to their intentions, both realized that Balcom was a tremendously clever man, astute and wise beyond the average in the ways of the world, and that the slightest lack of caution, the smallest flaw in the acting of the parts they had elected to play, would inevitably lose for them the advantage they had gained.
They went into the most minute details of the plans they had formulated, and they realized that in order to keep the wool pulled over Balcom's and Paul's eyes it was necessary that they separate, at least apparently, for a few days. Locke gave out that he was to seek evidence in the lower quarters of the city, while Eva was to play the game at home. It was to Eva that the more difficult role fell.
Locke bade her an affectionate farewell and left by a door opposite to the one leading to the main hallway, where the voices of Paul and his father were now audible.
Eva opened the hallway door and greeted Paul, feigning delight and chiding him for his long absence—which had not been even a day—intimating that there must be some woman in whom he was interested. She made a pretty show of jealousy.
Paul, wearing his vanity on his sleeve, was delighted and his eyes shone with satisfaction. He took a step forward and attempted to take Eva in his arms. But she evaded him playfully, while he pursued her. Finally she could bear no more. The game revolted her. She made the excuse that she must attend her father, and ran up-stairs.
So a day or two passed, days which were sheer torture to Eva. Paul called every day, bringing her little gifts, and it must be acknowledged that he showed exquisite taste.
They took long walks together. On horseback they cantered all over the country. Friends called, and it was at such times that Eva found her only relief from Paul's attentions. Many a rubber of bridge she played just to escape being alone with him.
CHAPTER XVI
At last, late one afternoon, the faithful old butler announced to Eva privately that Locke was on the wire and wished to speak to her.
Eva almost ran to the telephone, and her hand shook with sheer joy as she took the receiver.
"Yes, everything is moving along even more rapidly than I expected," replied Locke to her eager inquiry. "Whenever Paul leaves Brent Rock he goes directly to a miserable café and there I see him with a number of people of the underworld. He seems to have a great deal of influence over them. I'm sifting all the clues, and as soon as I unmask him I will send for you."
Eva gave him a brief outline of how she had fared in his absence and an account of her father's condition, which was now very bad. Everything the doctor had done seemed to be without effect.
Locke assured her that he hoped soon to lay hands on the antidote that would restore Brent to health and sanity, and begged Eva to be brave in the mean time.
When the conversation was over Eva felt certain that no one had overheard what she and Quentin had said. But she was mistaken, as she was to learn at her cost. For, far down in the bowels of the earth, in the den of the Automaton, an emissary had tapped in on the telephone wire and had heard every word.
Down-town, among the haunts of Paul, on the west side, was the Black Tom Café. Every attempt had been made to make the place bizarre. About the walls were palings that represented a back fence, along which crawled painted black cats in every conceivable state—a rather odd conceit for a cabaret.
Although the sun had not yet set, the electric lights were already agleam. On a raised platform three weary-eyed musicians were pounding and thumping out the latest Broadway hit.
There were not half a dozen people in the place, and these were obviously denizens of this quarter of the town. They were listless and weary, mere shells of human beings. And yet it was such as these that the slumming parties at night romantically dubbed bohemians.
They showed scant interest as De Luxe Dora, unaccompanied for once, swept into the place. Dora was gorgeously and flashily dressed and fairly scintillated with jewels. She seated herself not far from the door and ordered a cocktail. Then she whistled a bar of music suggestively to the piano-player, who immediately caught it, and the "orchestra" with a show of animation strummed out her suggestion. She sent over drinks for them and was rewarded with more song hits.
Jauntily now Paul came in. A couple of men roused themselves and slouched over to him. They held a whispered conversation, and Paul was insistent on some point. He evidently had his way, for the men slunk back to their places and, sprawling out, were in a moment as listless as before.
Paul nodded to Dora in greeting, but she turned her back. He gave a low whistle of astonishment and went over to her.
"Say, Dora, why the grouch?" he asked.
For a moment she disdained to answer and glared at him witheringly. Then she blurted out, "You're throwing me down for that baby face with the money!"
Paul gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't be silly," he laughed. "She'll be our meal-ticket."
He sat down, and over a couple more cocktails he had Dora quite mollified.
A few moments later Locke entered and slipped quickly into a chair, since he did not wish to be seen. In his hand he carried a newspaper which he now unfolded and held up in front of him so that it hid his face. Next he poked a hole through the center of the sheet so that he could see without being seen.
At this moment, seemingly in all earnestness, Paul and Dora resumed their quarrel, and Dora's strident voice echoed through the café.
"If you throw me down you'd better look out," she bawled.
Paul jumped up, and for a moment it looked as though he would strike her. But he changed his mind, cursed her, and finally stalked out of the café.
Locke folded his paper, paid his bill to the sleepy waiter, and started after Paul. At the entrance he stopped, thought a moment, and then went directly to Dora's table and sat down.
"Why, what are you doing here?" she gasped, in great surprise. "Don't you know that you may be killed?"
"It's a risk that I must run," replied Locke. "But tell me—you tried to kill me once—why?"
"Because I was a fool, controlled by my love for Paul Balcom—the beast! I hate him!"
Dora drank viciously, then, with jealous venom, leaned over to Locke, and asked, "If that girl, Eva Brent, finds out about him, will she throw him over?"
Locke played the game diplomatically, and apparently succeeded in further incensing Dora against her lover, for, suddenly she jumped up.
"Meet me here in an hour. I'll have everything arranged to spoil Paul Balcom's game," she whispered, as she swept out of the café with demi-mondaine majesty.
Locke was elated at the thought of having won so powerful an enemy to his side. But, had he heard Dora's remark to Paul as she met him around a convenient corner, his elation would have given way to caution.
Paul eagerly questioned her with a glance as she approached.
"Well, he fell for it," she announced, toughly, then added, "just as you fell for his dictagraph game with the girl."
There was just a bit of jealousy yet in the tone of Dora. She was not yet convinced of her complete triumph over Eva.
At the same time Locke left the café and entered a telephone-booth, from which he called up Eva.
"Come to the Black Tom immediately," he said. "Dora is now on our side and we'll learn the truth, she promises."
Eva at once started to get ready so that she would arrive at the time Locke had fixed, while he loitered in the neighborhood, waiting until the hour agreed upon with Dora was almost gone.
Dora was already waiting for him outside the place when he returned to the Black Tom.
"How is everything?" inquired Locke.
"All arranged. You'll get Paul right."
Just then a man slouched past.
"Follow that fellow," whispered Dora.
Locke nodded and did so.
The man proceeded into the café and Locke followed. But instead of sitting down in the main room the man passed through into an inner room. Locke followed. He looked about. It seemed to be a sort of storeroom, as nearly as he could make out.
His guide pressed a secret panel and, stepping through an aperture, beckoned Locke to follow. Locke drew his automatic and went ahead in the inky blackness that lay beyond the panel. The next moment the very floor under his feet seemed to give way. He felt himself thrown down bodily into a sort of subcellar.
Locke was immediately pounced upon by lurking emissaries who seized him after a terrific battle and held him firmly.
"Where's a rope?" growled one.
There was no answer as the men struggled. The question was repeated. Apparently one of them looked about.
"Use the wire," he growled.
The questioner gave a grunt of brutal satisfaction. There in this storeroom lay a huge roll of barbed wire. Coil after coil of this barbed wire was wound about Locke as he struggled, but ever more feebly, for with each coil now the barbs began to cut cruelly into his flesh.
Some one lighted a candle and by its light he saw many carboys of acid standing in a row.
Directly behind them, so that there could be no doubt of the horrible fate in store for him, stood the Automaton.
Already at the entrance to the Black Tom Café Eva's speedy runabout came to a stop. Dora was at the curb to meet her and was all winning smiles.
Instinctively Eva shrank from this overdressed woman. But it had been Locke's desire that she come to this place, and she decided to follow the woman, for would it not lead to the unmasking of Paul, whom she hated?
Once or twice on the descent into the café Eva hesitated, but was gently urged on by Dora.
Eva was utterly disgusted by the flotsam and jetsam in human guise that she found sprawling at the tables, but she decided to brave the place.
"Wait a moment and I'll get Mr. Locke," smiled Dora.
For a moment, the better to blot out the distasteful scene, Eva closed her eyes.
When she opened them again it was to look into the ferocious, bestial face of the giant emissary who, with fingers clutched like the talons of some foul bird, was reaching toward her to grasp her by the throat.
In the noisome cellar Locke lay as though fascinated by the dread form that confronted him, as well as by its more dreadful purpose.
The Automaton drew back its massive foot and deliberately kicked over one after another of the carboys.
A pungent odor at once permeated the cellar air as the acid ate into the floor.
Its purpose accomplished, the Automaton stalked toward Locke, and stood towering above him.
Would it crush out Locke's life under its ponderous heel? Or would it leave him to a death more horrible?
Like writhing serpents, the rivulets of seething, burning acid crept closer, closer.