Towering above them all, he saw the gigantic form of the Automaton.
In the torture-chamber Locke was shackled hand and foot to the partition, while the noose of the garroting-machine was placed about his neck.
The Madagascan supervised this work, then waved the emissaries out of the room. They were alone there now, these two—the professional murderer and his victim.
With a sneer the Madagascan turned and went to the other side of the partition where the wheel was by which the noose was tightened, strangling the victim.
But the Strangler little knew with whom he had to deal, for already Locke was struggling at his shackles.
With almost incredible dexterity Locke succeeded in loosening them, one after the other, so that, as the Madagascan started to turn the wheel, Locke, with a marvelous effort, bracing his feet against the wall and grasping the staples to which the shackles had been attached, managed to pin-wheel his body around and around, as the Strangler turned the iron wheel that tightened the noose which was to stifle out his life.
Fortunately the Madagascan turned slowly, so that Locke managed to turn his body faster than the wheel was being turned, thus gaining on the noose and at each revolution loosening it a trifle.
Another quick turn of his body, the pressure against his neck had become less!
Yet another complete circle, and, tearing at the noose, he managed to get his head free.
It was the work of only an instant to dash around the partition and beat the Strangler to the floor. Another instant, and he had torn back the panel into the temple.
The sight that confronted him was sickening.
Two fiends were holding Eva close to the floor, while now from the fire god's eyes a blinding glare of flame blazed forth, the two rays converging and scorching the very ground as they traveled slowly nearer and nearer, in their fatal focus, to the helpless girl.
With a wild shout, Locke charged on them all.
Taken by surprise, the brutes holding Eva were easy to handle, for the others had gone.
Fortunately, the automatic which Eva had been carrying was lying, neglected, on the floor. Locke snatched it up and, shooting one of the thugs, managed to cower the other.
Half supporting Eva, he retreated through the torture-chamber into an outer room. There was no time to lose. Already the alarm had been spread to the other emissaries and Chinamen, and it was only a matter of seconds when all the murderous crew would again be piling after them.
Locke looked about in desperation. There was a window. He flung it open. Below, the air-shaft or court was blind. But there was a balcony by which he could reach an adjoining low roof. He had no idea where it might lead, but any unknown danger was preferable to the known dangers that threatened behind him.
Through the window he passed with Eva, and so across balconies and roofs until they came to a fire-escape, which they descended.
In another moment they were free of Chinatown.
Many a curious glance was cast at them, a young girl, well gowned, and a disheveled white man in Chinese garb.
Locke hailed a night-hawk cabman and they were soon speeding on their way back to safety and Brent Rock.
CHAPTER XXI
At the cove fishing-village, set on the extreme outskirts of the town, there stood an old fisherman's shack that was shunned by all the good folk of the city.
While there was nothing definite that could be said of the evil deeds of the inhabitants, there was much shaking of heads and wagging of tongues to the effect that all was not as it should be at the cove.
The owner of the old shack, Old Tom, was an ill-favored, taciturn man who would have naught to do with any of his neighbors, and asked only that they keep out of his path and leave him alone. He even evinced an aversion to dogs and to little children, driving them away from his shack whenever he found them near it.
The threat that "Old Tom will catch you" would make a cove fishing-village tractable at any time.
Old Tom rarely put to sea, and when he did it was more often than not after nightfall, a time when the good folk of the village were preparing for a night's rest.
It was stated by one old crony that often at night other men came to Old Tom's shack, that they entered slyly, and that well into the morning revelry, and often oaths and brawls, could be heard from within.
Some hinted that Old Tom was a smuggler; others, even, that he was a wrecker. True it was that often strange lights were seen to flicker outside the bar to the cove.
Also there had been wrecks, and often, in the morning, when the fishermen put out to a wreck, after a storm, it would be discovered that some one had been there before them, since valuable and readily portable parts of the wreck were frequently missing.
But while suspicion pointed to Old Tom and the strange men that frequented his place, proofs positive of a crime were invariably lacking, and so the village tolerated Old Tom's presence and predicted his bad end.
It was to this shack that there came very early one morning, before the break of day, a wounded man assisted by a woman. The woman gave a peculiar rap at the door. There was a quick scurry inside, as of fast-moving feet, then silence.
The woman rapped again, and this time with more force. After a moment a sash was raised and a querulous voice demanded what was wanted.
"It's De Luxe Dora and Paul Balcom, and he's wounded. Quick, open the door!"
There was a rush to open the door now and rough hands gently assisted the wounded man to a seat inside.
While Paul was not perhaps so dangerously wounded, yet it was easy to be seen that the wound was not to be trifled with, for the cut had been severe and the blood flowed copiously.
Dora, whatever her attitude toward others, had a true solicitude for Paul, and all the womanliness of her nature came to the surface as she tenderly bathed Paul's head and attempted to bind the wound with the rough bandages at hand.
There were several tough-looking men standing about, and from their ready sympathy, real or feigned, it was easy to be seen that these men, too, like the others of the underworld, stood ready to do Paul's slightest bidding, to guard him with their lives if need be.
What was this strange power that this man, scarcely more than a youth, wielded over these outlawed men?
"Quick!" exclaimed Dora. "Watch the window. We've probably been followed."
A grim-visaged man moved lumberingly over to the window and glued his head against the pane, straining his eyes as he peered out.
For a long time he did not move, while, with the others grouped around, Dora tried to stanch the flow of blood from Paul's injured head.
Suddenly the watcher at the window turned and shouted, "Man comin' up the lane!"
Instantly there was confusion within the shack. The men scattered in all directions, while one old hag, the only woman in the shack besides Dora, hobbled over to a stool and took up the mending of a huge net where she had left off.
Old Tom ambled over to Dora and for a moment they talked hurriedly. Finally Dora came to a decision, as she pointed to the old rickety stairway to an attic above.
"Carry him to the attic," she directed. "He can be well hidden there. As for the rest of you, remember, no one has come here to-night."
Two of the men lifted Paul, who, while not in an absolutely unconscious condition, was much too weak by this time from loss of blood to assist himself.
They carried him up the stairs and into an old, disused room to which Dora followed, and when the two men had descended the stairs she remained, alternately ministering to Paul and listening for what might happen below.
Paul and Dora had left the main room of the shack not a moment too soon. For barely had the two men who had carried Paul to the attic returned when a face was momentarily seen outside, while a pair of eyes peered into the room.
A moment later there was a peremptory knock at the door.
"Come in!" growled Old Tom.
With eyes that scanned every cranny and nook and searched every face, Locke stepped into the shack.
The men came forward a step, then halted. There was something in Locke's face that showed that he was in deadly earnest and not to be trifled with.
Locke looked from one to the other, then turned to Old Tom. "The wounded man who was brought here," he demanded, "where is he?"
"There 'ain't been no wounded man brought here," retorted Old Tom.
The men crowded a little closer, all denying vehemently that any one had entered.
At this instant a drop of blood fell on Locke's sleeve from the ceiling above. Quickly he checked the impulse to look up, although he was startled by it. He recovered himself on the instant and waited until under a pretext he could divert their attention to something else. Then he glanced hastily upward, as they looked in another direction. There, forming slowly, was another drop of blood, and it was about to fall.
Locke had gained his object. As surely as though he had been brought face to face with Paul, he knew that he was lying on the floor of the attic above.
Single-handed, against so many and in this shack, Locke realized that he could do nothing. He apologized gruffly for his intrusion, conveying the impression that he felt he had made a mistake, and backed his way to the door.
In an instant the door to the attic stairs was flung open and Dora rushed into the room.
"You fools!" she snarled at the surprised men who were just congratulating themselves on how they had put one over on Locke. "I tell you he's wise. He saw the blood. Look up above you. Now go get him."
But the fishermen had no desire for this outside work and hung back, while Dora raved at them.
From the ceiling, drop by drop, blood was falling, forming a little pool on the floor. Paul could not be moved now. They must make the best of it and be ready for any raid Locke might prepare.
At Brent Rock Eva was conversing with her lawyer. Matters had reached such a state in the affairs of International Patents that it was evident, even to her, that some drastic action must be taken, and at once.
In a corner of the room, coiled up in a big armchair, Zita was apparently reading a new magazine, but was, in reality, listening intently to every word that was being uttered.
Finally Eva and the lawyer were in full accord, and she accompanied the elderly attorney to the door. As they parted, Zita strained her ears to hear the last words. She did not get it all, but quite enough to tell her what they had decided upon.
"As my lawyer," she overheard Eva say, "I wish you to have Mr. Locke appointed receiver."
There was some more she missed, but that was quite enough for Zita. She got out of the chair quickly and left the room without being observed, and a few moments later she had left the house.
In a telephone-booth, not far from the cove fishing-village, Locke by this time had his chief of the Department of Justice on the wire.
"I've located him, Chief," he telephoned, excitedly, "but it will take four good men to capture him."
"I'll send them at once," the chief replied, as both hung up their receivers hurriedly.
Meanwhile, in Herbert Balcom's sumptuous, semi-Oriental apartment two men were in earnest conversation. One was the owner, Balcom, the other that strange, half-demented being, Doctor Q, whose mind now, for the moment, seemed to be lucid.
The matter under discussion was undoubtedly a weighty one, for both men sat with knitted brows, and for the moment, at least, seemed in a quandary about something.
Suddenly there came a hurried ringing at the outside-door bell and Balcom leaped to his feet. They could hear the door opened, quick footsteps in the hallway, and then, without ceremony, the door was flung open and Dora burst into the room.
Balcom scowled a welcome, for he hated this woman, who had, as he thought, spoiled the chances of his son with Eva. But Dora did not wait for the threatened outburst.
"Hurry!" she cried. "You must do something. Paul has been wounded—never mind how—but he lies in a fishing-shack down at the cove—and they are going to arrest him—Locke is!"
For the moment both men seemed to be stricken dumb, while Dora, in a state of wild excitement, pleaded for them to do something—anything to save the one person she loved.
It was at this juncture that the door opened again, admitting another woman. It was Zita, very agitated, though, of course, under better control than Dora. Besides, Zita did not know what had happened to Paul, nor did she love him. It was merely that she felt that things could be made to play into her own hands if the news she brought were immediately acted upon.
Hastily she told what she had overheard about the proposed receivership, and all four now—Balcom, Doctor Q, Dora, and Zita—talked excitedly.
But it was plainly Balcom who was in command of the situation. Although livid with rage at the news he had heard, yet he maintained control of the others, directing what they should do with a decisiveness that was truly remarkable. It showed the mental force of the man, demonstrating how greatly he was to be feared by any bold enough to be his enemy. For Balcom loved that spoiled son of his and would hesitate at no act, not even at a crime, to save him from even what he justly deserved.
At last their plan was formed, and all four departed their several ways to execute it.
Balcom had decided upon going directly to Brent Rock. His ire had not abated one iota during the trip, either, and, as he almost ran up the steps to the mansion, he pushed the astounded butler to one side as though he were merely a piece of furniture.
"Tell Miss Brent I want to see her at once," he threatened.
The butler raised a hand deprecatingly at Balcom's tone, but Balcom, beside himself, smashed it down and strode toward the library just as Eva, hearing the voices, was coming out. For an instant she drew back in apprehension and amazement as Balcom advanced on her, still snarling.
"See here, Eva," he hissed, "if Locke tries to arrest my son—he'll be killed."
For the instant Eva was stunned. What did the man mean? But as Balcom showed no signs of regaining control of himself, and every moment became more abusive and violent, indignation gave place to every other sentiment, and she sharply ordered Balcom to leave the house.
Threatening dire things and hinting even more if there were a receivership, Balcom strode out.
Eva stood for a long time shocked into inaction. Then, slowly, fears for Locke's safety came uppermost and she paced back and forth the length of the hall.
Finally the old butler came to her deferentially.
"And did you notice, ma'am," he asked, "that during his tirade he mentioned about a cove fishing-village? Might I suggest that that is where Mr. Paul is and Mr. Locke will not be found far off?"
Eva thought a moment, recognized the sound sense of the remark, and ordered that her car be brought. A few moments later she had taken the wheel and was soon out of sight of Brent Rock.
Close pressed against a wall of a back lane of the cove fishing-village, Locke was standing, waiting for the men whom his chief had promised to send.
Finally they came to him, first making their coming known to Locke by a peculiar low whistle.
"The other two will be along directly," whispered one of the pair. "Thought it better not to come in a bunch."
As Locke laid his plans, the other two came from out of the shadows.
The entire party now moved cautiously toward Old Tom's shack. Just before they arrived one of the men said that he could see two figures entering the place. But as Locke had seen nothing, no attention was paid to the remark.
Locke now placed one of his men on either side of the door. The other two he sent to the rear, so that they could surround the gang.
He knocked at the door. This time it was immediately opened. Followed by the detectives with revolvers drawn, Locke rushed boldly into the shack, while his other two men closed in from the rear.
The emissaries, finding themselves surrounded, would have capitulated, probably without a struggle, had not the old hag, to whom no one had paid much attention, picked up a small anchor and thrown it at Locke and the advancing detectives.
As it was, the anchor struck Locke a glancing blow and he stumbled backward against one of his own men, upsetting him. That, of course, gave the advantage to the thugs, and they advanced, attacking savagely.
It was at too close quarters, in the midst of such a mêlée, to use guns without danger of getting one of one's own party. Thus it was a primitive battle of brute force.
Locke and the detectives were trained men, however, and were surely gaining the upper hand, so much so that Locke managed to tear himself loose and dash for the door leading to the attic. He opened it, and there, with revolver leveled at his head, stood De Luxe Dora.
It was the work of only an instant to disarm her, however, and he rushed up the stairs, Dora after him.
There was a body lying on the floor—Paul, undoubtedly, thought Locke.
He took it by the shoulder and turned it over, then fell back in amazement, for there, smiling mockingly at him, was Zita!
"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" jeered Dora.
But it was no time to bandy words, and Locke left them and rushed down the stairs just as a horde of emissaries swarmed up to meet him, reinforcements to the fisher thugs.
For in some way the Automaton had been warned of Locke's presence, and with all the emissaries it could summon had hastened to Old Tom's shack.
Most unfortunate of all, the Automaton and its men had arrived just behind the car bearing Eva, and she, not suspecting the danger, had entered the shack.
Although she did not see Locke, she was overjoyed to see that the detectives held the upper hand. She had started to search for him, when there came a terrifying crash at the door and more emissaries, followed by the Automaton, came into the room.
The detectives were almost instantly overpowered, and the mob made for the stairs just as Locke was descending.
In that narrow space a most terrible battle took place. Man after man Locke hurled against his fellows, and they went crashing down, only to rise again and attack.
Finally they came to hand-grips, and Locke, lunging furiously to free himself, threw his body against the partition of the stairway and it came crashing down, hurling Locke and the emissaries to the floor below.
Locke was badly stunned, and before he could rise the emissaries had swathed him in the huge net that the old hag had been mending. Next they bound him with ropes until he was utterly helpless in the meshes of the net.
Eva, half crazed with horror, was in a far corner, and the Automaton was advancing upon her. She was paralyzed with fear.
What fate was in store for her—what for Locke?
CHAPTER XXII
The sharp crack of an automatic echoed through the shack. The detective known as Jim had come back to consciousness, and now, from behind an overturned table where he had fallen, he started to fire shot after shot into the mob of emissaries.
He had fallen in a far corner and could be reached only after an attack of some paces, and even the emissaries, numerous as they were, hesitated to advance on a determined man placed in such an advantageous position. Furthermore, the diversion caused by the shots had other effects. The sound of the shots brought Locke fully out of his stunned condition and he started to struggle frantically in the meshes of the net that held him prisoner.
The Automaton, for the moment, ceased to follow Eva, and moved over to its men in order to take command and to direct their movements, while yet another detective came to his senses and began to threaten the mob.
Locke was threshing about and was slowly but surely freeing himself. An emissary threw a chair, and for a moment Locke lay still in pain. But in another moment he was working even more frantically at the ropes and the net that held him.
Eva started over to help him, but he shouted to her to stand back, since that would bring her in line with the detectives' fire. The shots were flying over Locke's body as he struggled. Some of the emissaries went down; others found places of refuge behind which they hid.
Finally Locke managed to kick his feet free of the net and, rolling and tossing, managed to work the meshes up about his shoulders and neck, thus releasing his hands. It was the work of an instant only, now, to slip the enveloping net over his head and he was free.
Locke rolled out of the direction of the revolver-shots and toward Eva, who was now standing before a huge open fireplace.
He was none too soon, for the moment that the Automaton saw that Locke had escaped the iron terror left the men and stalked ponderously over to crush out Locke's life.
The two detectives fired point-blank at the monster and both shots took effect with a ringing, metallic sound. But they did not halt the Automaton an instant. Locke, reaching the fireplace, seized a pair of old tongs and threw firebrand after firebrand in the path of the advancing terror.
To the Automaton fire was evidently quite another affair from mere puny bullets, for it not only paused, but came to a full stop, looking around as though in a quandary as to what to do against such a defense.
This moment of hesitation gave Locke and Eva their opportunity. Calling to the detectives to cease firing a moment, they passed between friends and foes, dashed over to and up the attic stairs.
As they reached the attic above they were just in time to see Zita, still dressed in Paul's clothes, and Dora, jump from the attic window.
Although it was a low, rambling building, still it was a high jump, even for a man, and Locke was astounded that they should attempt such a thing, even in their undoubted state of panic.
However, it gave Locke a splendid idea, which he acted upon immediately. Hooking his feet on the window-frame, he took hold of Eva's wrists firmly and swung her far out of the window. Held in this way, Eva was only a few feet from the ground, and when Locke released her she landed safely and almost without a jar.
For Locke, always in perfect training, the jump offered no difficulties. In an instant he had rejoined her and they were running away from the shack toward Eva's waiting car.
Locke had an almost overpowering desire to return to assist his detectives, whom he realized might be in sore straits, but he also realized that his first duty was to this girl who was in his charge, on whom the events through which they had just passed had had a nerve-racking effect. Again, he reflected, as he saw people coming down the beach, that the Automaton and his men would soon be outnumbered and glad to flee.
Quentin and Eva had almost reached the motor which Eva had left at some distance from Old Tom's shack, and were passing a low clump of bushes, when a low moan fell upon their ears.
At first Locke thought that it might be a trap and was for paying no attention to the sound, but Eva, woman-like, insisted. He investigated. Reclining on the ground, and looking more like a little boy in man's clothes, lay Zita.
She was holding one ankle and her face showed that she must be in great pain.
"Help me," she moaned. "When I jumped from the window I sprained my ankle. Dora helped me to this place and then she left me and drove away."
Although this girl was his enemy, no thought of leaving her in this condition entered Locke's mind. Gently raising her from the ground, with the help of Eva, Locke supported her to the car.
Locke still held Zita to ease her pain, while Eva took the wheel, and, although they could hear shouts and even shots behind them, Eva drove slowly in order not to add to Zita's misery. It showed the sympathy of their characters that, much as Locke and Eva felt that Zita had injured them, nevertheless, pausing in a flight from deadly peril, they found it in their hearts to be kind to an enemy.
Arriving at Brent Rock, they carried Zita to her room and the family physician was sent for. He pronounced the injury slight and more of a strain than a sprain.
While the doctor was at the house he also paid a visit to Brent, who, while his mental condition had remained as apparently hopeless as ever, had gained much in strength, owing to the diet and restful care. He was now able to sit up, fully dressed. As it was a case of drug poisoning, the doctor had thought it best not to allow the patient to relax too completely. But, whatever the strange drug that had stolen away Brent's reason, the effect showed no signs of departure, and they were as much in the dark as to the antidote as ever.
A few moments after the doctor had left, when he made his morning call the next day, the counsel of the corporation was announced. He was shown into the library immediately and it was there that Locke and Eva went into conference with him.
The attorney had brought with him many share-holders' proxies, and these he handed over to Eva.
"These proxies," he was declaring, "give you absolute control, Miss Brent. With them you can force Mr. Balcom completely out of International Patents."
"What's that you say?"
It was Balcom himself who spoke. How the man had got past the butler, who certainly had no love for him, was mystifying. Yet here he was, ready and eager to defend his interests.
"I was just telling Miss Brent," informed the lawyer, coldly, "that with these proxies which I have obtained and just handed to her, she was in complete control of the company."
"And you, Mr. Balcom," interposed Locke, stepping forward, "will play no further part in the activities of the company. Miss Brent desires your resignation, to take effect immediately."
"Why—why—this is unheard of—absurd!" sputtered Balcom. "I'll—I'll—" And his rage got the better of him.
"No, Mr. Balcom," again interrupted Locke, "you will do nothing. It is I who will give you twenty-four hours to arrange your affairs with the company before I order your removal—or arrest."
Balcom tried to remonstrate, to plead his innocence of any wrong-doing. Finding no sympathy by taking this attitude, his manner changed abruptly and he attempted to bluster.
A decisive movement toward the telephone on the part of Locke checked this and, chameleon-like, Balcom's usual suave manner came to the fore. He bowed himself out.
"It will, of course, be as you say." He smiled oilily.
Once in the hall, however, his manner changed again, and, darkly scowling and biting his thin lips, he was about to quit the place, when Zita, limping only slightly, intercepted him.
"Mr. Balcom," she pleaded, "come out the back way. I must see you alone a moment."
They tiptoed out to the grounds, and, behind a hedge where they could not be observed from the house, talked.
"Tell me what has happened," demanded Zita.
"Happened?" repeated Balcom. "Why, they've thrown me out of the company—at least, they think they have."
His mind was working quickly, and after a pause he turned to Zita sharply. "Can you get Brent out of the house and bring him to me here behind this hedge at eight o'clock to-night?"
Zita nodded an eager acquiescence and left him, returning to the house.
That evening Locke, returning from a stroll around the grounds, noticed a movement in some shrubbery at the side of the foot-path. He went closer to investigate, and a rough-looking individual broke from cover and ran away through the underbrush as fast as he could go. It was too dark to follow and Locke hastened his steps to the house, fearing some new deviltry on the part of the Automaton or his emissaries.
He had just entered the darkened hallway when, much to his surprise, he saw the figure of a man, leaning heavily on the arm of a woman, descending the stairs.
He stepped behind some portières and waited until they reached the foot of the stairway. Then he stepped out and confronted them.
Zita gave a startled cry, and would have fled had not Locke caught and held her. As for poor Brent, he simply stood there, swaying from side to side and smiling foolishly.
Eva heard the commotion and came running down the stairs. She was amazed until Locke explained the situation to her. Then her indignation knew no bounds. Putting her arms around her father, she turned to Zita.
"How dare you?" she demanded, scathingly. "For doing this you will leave this house immediately and—never return."
Zita, for a moment, was on the verge of breaking down, but recovered herself and, with an angry retort on her lips, went out, slamming the door behind her.
Zita slipped around the house and to the hedge designated by Balcom as their meeting-place.
She was surprised but relieved when she did not find him there, and glanced at her wrist watch, which stood at a few minutes past eight. She was about to turn around when she caught sight of a bit of paper. Taking it, she read:
That was all, and the message was unsigned.
Zita greatly feared Balcom's wrath at her failure, but, nevertheless, she started for his apartment.
At that moment Balcom and the mysterious Doctor Q were talking in the latter's dingy laboratory. Doctor Q's mind, for the time being, at least, seemed perfectly clear, and he had formulated a daring plan.
"Send Locke word that you will give yourself up," he was saying, "but tell him that he must come to your apartment to get you. I will do the rest."
Balcom left hurriedly and was driven directly home, where he got Locke on the telephone and repeated the instructions that Doctor Q had suggested.
"Am I to understand that you intend to turn state's evidence?" questioned Locke, doubtfully.
"Assuredly," hastened Balcom.
"Then I'll be right over."
As Balcom hung up the receiver he chuckled sardonically. He was just turning to an antique brazier to arrange for Locke's reception when Zita was announced and at once admitted.
"I've failed, Mr. Balcom," she apologized, "failed miserably. Locke took Mr. Brent away from me—and they ordered me never to return to the house."
"You little idiot!" Balcom almost hissed. "I'll not tolerate a failure, either. Get out!"
Although Zita almost went on her knees in her pleading to him, Balcom was adamant, and finally she left in utter despair.
Outside, she telephoned to Paul to see if she might induce him to use his influence in reinstating her in his father's good graces.
As soon as Zita was gone Balcom busied himself with the ancient brazier and was standing before a small image of Buddha. He took a small package and from it poured a powder into the bowl of the brazier. Then, going to the table, he wrote a short note, after which he went to a divan and awaited Locke's coming.
Balcom had not long to wait. A ring came at the door and Balcom leaped to his feet and lighted the powder in the brazier. Then he adjusted a gas-mask that Doctor Q had given him, and, returning to the divan, lay down, pulling a camel's-hair coverlet well over himself as he awaited results.
There was a rap at the door and a peremptory demand for entrance—a pause—and a whispered consultation outside.
"Open the door!" cried Locke, again.
As there was no answer, heavy blows were rained upon the door, and finally it gave way.
Three men stumbled into the room. They stared about, then started to search the place. One by one they started to cough. Locke, who was the farthest away from the brazier, seemed to be the least affected.
Finally he spied the note on the table and snatched it up. By the dim light he read:
You will never live to capture me. The deadly gas is even now killing you.
Locke gasped. There was the sound of a heavy fall behind him. He turned and saw that one of his men was down.
He took a step forward, when the other pitched on his face.
Locke tried to rescue them, but by this time the deadly fumes had reached him and he, too, fell to the floor, coughing his life away.
At that moment Balcom got up from the divan and, stepping over Locke's prostrate body, left the place, forgetting to close the door behind him.
When Zita telephoned Paul, Paul made an immediate appointment for her to meet him at Doctor Q's, and when she arrived there Paul was already in conference with the doctor.
Over the telephone Zita had already given Paul a brief account of what had happened, and thus the two men were prepared with a plan when she arrived.
"Get Eva to the hypnotist's on River Street," instructed Doctor Q. "Tell her that I have been hypnotized and that under the spell I will tell all."
It was a desperate thing for Zita to attempt, after treating the Brents so shamelessly. But there was no alternative. For she knew well that, with Balcom, only a success would offset her miserable failure earlier in the evening. Besides, were not her fortunes tied up with Balcom—or perhaps with Paul? She did not demur, but left immediately for Brent Rock to make the attempt, revolving in her mind how she was to do it.
Zita had difficulty in persuading Eva to see her at all, but, once she had succeeded, the possibility that all the mystery might be cleared up appealed strongly to Eva. For Zita had framed her story cleverly and was playing desperately.
"Then I'll meet you at the hypnotist's in about half an hour," agreed Eva, after Zita had told her how friendless she herself was and how both Balcom and Paul had refused her aid.
Zita left Brent Rock alone and was passing a dark corner when a hand reached out and grasped her by the arm and she heard a voice that she recognized.
"Your failure has made me redouble my efforts," it hissed. "I have just killed Locke in my apartment and I—"
It was Balcom. But Zita waited to hear no more. Secretly she had always loved Locke. Though she had worked against him, the very thought that he might be dead shocked her. She tore herself from the grasp of Balcom before she could hear more and ran like a deer toward the apartment.
Fortunately, it was not far. She tore up-stairs and through the door that Balcom had left open.
Everything was as Balcom had left it, except that now the three men lay quite still. Zita staggered over to a window and threw it open.
Next she got water and extinguished the still smoldering powder. Then, falling on her knees, she tried to help the stricken men.
Not much time did she spend with the others, but to Locke with great tenderness she gave most of her attention. Tenderly she bathed his brow and frantically tried even to breathe her breath into his burning lungs.
Finally she was rewarded by seeing him open his eyes and gaze around. He looked up at her.
"I'll atone for all the wrong I've done," she sobbed, "only—"
She would have asked him to love her, but she knew that it was useless and the thought of Eva, caused the words to stick in her throat.
Locke did not understand, and the look on his face showed it.
"I didn't want to give you up," wailed Zita, now forgetting herself. "I loved you. To prove it—I will help you now. The—the girl you love is in terrible danger—you must hurry."
It was only too true. Eva had driven immediately to the hypnotist's, and he had been instructed about her coming. At his door she had knocked, and an old, evil-visaged man, in flowing robes which were marked in cabalistic signs, had opened the door. In true fakir fashion he salaamed almost to the floor while in flowery language he bade her enter.
Fearfully Eva stepped within. Signs of the zodiac, of cross-bones and skulls, on walls and ceiling met her gaze everywhere. In an alcove Eva could see a noosed rope hanging, for what purpose she knew not. But its presence she felt was sinister.
"I—I was told that a Doctor Q would be here," Eva faltered. "I do not see him."
"Gracious lady," bowed the hyponotist, "I will bring him at once. Pray be seated."
Eva seated herself before a table upon which there stood a curious stand, supporting many mirrors. She examined it closely, and as she did so they all began to move. Each mirror moved on its own axis and she watched with fatal curiosity. For now a bright light was cast from behind her on the revolving mirrors and they formed a scintillating kaleidoscope that was bewildering in its intricacy.
Eva quickly became fascinated. Then she was conscious of a drowsy feeling stealing over her. She strove to rise, but her knees refused to support her and she fell back in her chair.
The hypnotist now shut off the machine and, stepping before Eva, made several passes with his hands.
Eva's eyes closed. The hypnotist turned and made a signal. Several panels opened simultaneously and into the room there came a number of emissaries, who crept upon the now completely hypnotized girl.
Nor was that all. A sound, as of the clanking of chains, was heard, and through an aperture in the wall larger than the others there stalked the Automaton.
At this very instant Locke and Zita burst into the room and rushed toward Eva.
The hypnotist slipped around them both and in a moment had caught Zita in his arms. She struggled to escape, beating him with her little fists in a fury of rage and fear. But he held her, and an emissary, bringing ropes, with his help bound her securely.
As for Locke, he made a frantic attempt to reach Eva, but his way was blocked by a score of emissaries and the Automaton himself. Desperately Locke dashed at the iron monster, only to be hurled to the floor as though he were a tiny child.
In another moment the emissaries had bound him and carried him to the alcove in which hung the noosed rope.
The hypnotist now pulled a lever and the method of the death intended for Locke was revealed. Directly under the suspended rope was a trap-door, which opened. Locke gazed down into blackness, nothingness. An emissary threw some small, heavy object into the yawning hole. For a long time nothing was heard. Then finally, far, far below there came to their ears the sound of a distant splash.
The fiendish plan was simple—to hang him and then to cut the rope. His body would go hurtling down to the subterranean river below and be carried out to sea.
The hypnotist reversed the lever. The trap-door closed. Locke was dragged beneath the rope and it was adjusted around his neck.
Even in this awful moment his sole thought was of Eva. Would they throw her, unconscious, down the same yawning trap?
Powerless, he stood bound, fascinated, as he saw three emissaries seize her. But instead of dragging her to the trap, they dragged her toward one of the panels in the wall.
What nameless torture was in store for her?
He struggled furiously to get free to rush to her, but the noose only tightened on his neck.
The hypnotist stepped to the lever that operated the trap under Locke's feet and began to pull the lever down.
CHAPTER XXIII
With a crash the hypnotist dropped unconscious to the floor as the hypnotic machine started to revolve rapidly. The emissaries turned from Locke and were dazzled by the blinding flashes from the whirling mirrors.
It was Zita who caused all the commotion. Unnoticed by the thugs, who were intent on sending Locke to his death and dragging Eva through the panel, Zita had managed to free herself from her bonds and, true to her promise to Locke that she would help him, she had risked all for his sake.
Once free from the ropes, she had seized a heavy bronze vase and, at just the critical moment of danger, had hurled it at the hypnotist's head, striking him a terrific blow that had felled him and left him unconscious on the floor before he could spring the trap. She had then set the mechanical hypnotic machine in motion, and, standing behind it, was herself practically invisible. It all happened so quickly that it seemed like a miracle.
Locke, his hope revived, swiftly grasped the one chance for life that was left to him. By contracting his muscles he was able to slip out of the ropes which bound his arms. But since the noosed rope around his neck held him so that his toes barely touched the floor of the trap, he could not, try as he might, manage to get the noose free.
Suddenly a plan flashed across his mind. Hanging from the ceiling a few feet in front of him he could see an enormous chandelier. Throwing his hands above his head, he grasped the rope, thus relieving the strain on his neck. Then, snapping his body backward, his feet came in contact with the wall. With tremendous force he kicked out, causing his body to swing in an arc toward the chandelier.
It was not until he had wrapped his legs about the branches of the chandelier that the emissaries noticed what he was doing, so fascinated were they by the revolving mirrors. Even then they could scarcely resist the auto-hypnotic powers of the contrivance. Finally, however, with a shout they came to the attack.
Locke was now hanging head downward. With one hand he succeeded in loosening the noose from about his neck, while with the other he struck out, hitting an emissary a fearful swinging blow that sent the fellow staggering backward, to fall against the lever controlling the trap-door.
With a crash the trap was sprung, with the pit yawning beneath it. Struggling, striking, grappling with his assailants, Locke managed to hurl three of them to their deaths in the underground river below.
Horror-stricken at the fate of their companions, the other emissaries stepped back, when, to add to their confusion, Zita, with remarkable strength for so frail a girl, lifted the stand of mirrors and hurled it among them.
Locke somersaulted to the floor and, seizing the broken stand, used it as a weapon with deadly effect.
The emissaries turned and fled.
An instant later Locke started to the panel through which Eva had been dragged, when he heard steps from the other side. It was the emissaries who had seized Eva, coming back to see what all the rumpus was about. Locke, forewarned, slipped close to the wall, and, as they passed through the panel, one at a time, he was able to fell them to the floor.
Then he rushed through the panel just in time to see Eva, pursued by the Automaton, running toward him.
The very strangeness of her terrible adventure had brought Eva out of the hypnotic state into which she had been thrown and she clung to Locke as though she were a child.
Locke took her in his arms and, swiftly evading the slow-moving monster, dashed back to the hypnotic room, calling to Zita to run to the street. Thus all three were able to make good their escape.
Eva had purposely left her motor turning over, and therefore it was barely an instant after they were in the street before they were streaking out of that quarter of the town.
Zita was now overwhelmed by her feelings, but it was Eva herself who spoke first.
"Forgive me, Zita," begged Eva, in the rush of her emotions forgetting all that Zita had done. "But for you, both of us would now be dead."
For some moments Zita could not reply in her silent sadness at seeing the joy of Locke with this girl.
"I—I forgive you?" she murmured, at length. "It is for you to forgive me." She paused a moment and choked back a sob; then added, bravely, "I—I can even wish for your happiness, my dear; my hope is dead."
Only Locke understood, and as he watched Zita he resolved to do all he could for her, realizing that some one else had made her a victim of her love and jealousy.
All breathed a sigh of relief when at last they came again in sight of the lights of Brent Rock.
There was just the trace of a shadow to cloud the momentary happiness at their safe arrival, as, on the steps, Zita refused to enter.
"I—I must say good-by," she murmured, wistfully, turning to go out into the night alone.
Nothing that either Locke or Eva could say seemed to swerve her purpose.
"Can't you see?" she exclaimed, finally, turning to Locke. "Balcom, Paul, and Doctor Q all trust me now. I can help you solve the mystery better if I leave the house."
This was so evident that Locke and Eva were forced to consent. They took her back to the city, leaving her where she could be unobserved, then returned in a very hopeful mood again to Brent Rock.
"I think she can and will help us," declared Eva, intuitively.
"Yes," agreed Locke, slowly, "and if Zita finds the record of her birth I believe we shall solve the mystery."
Worn out with the terrors through which she had passed, Eva bade Locke an affectionate good-night and went to her room, while he went to the laboratory and tried again to find an antidote for the Madagascar madness, a work that kept him up late and to which he returned again early the following morning.
It was on that following day, in the River Road apartment of De Luxe Dora, that Paul and she were having a demi-monde lovers' quarrel. Paul was intoxicated, and Dora may have been angry about that. Or it may have been that she was jealous of some other woman. However, they were quarreling fiercely when there came a knock at the door.
"You open it," flashed Dora to Paul.
He demurred a moment, then, changing his mind, consented and crossed to the door, while Dora ran to her own room and hid.
Paul was very much surprised to find that the visitor was Zita, much excited.
"I want you to help me on something of great importance," she exclaimed, almost before she had entered.
"Why, certainly! Anything you desire!" hiccoughed Paul. "Come on in."
Zita entered the apartment and they crossed over to the chaise-longue, where Zita made her direct plea.
"Help me find the record of my birth," she begged.
Paul pulled his wandering wits together and thought a moment; then a particularly crafty look came into his eyes as he detached a key from his key-ring.
"Here, take this," he directed. "It's the key to my father's apartment. The records you want are there. He and I have quarreled and you can go as far as you like."
Zita took the key eagerly, thanked Paul profusely, and started for the door.
She had barely passed the threshold before Dora, who had heard all, was at the telephone in her own room and was angrily calling up Balcom at his apartment.
Balcom, assisted by his Madagascan servant, was at the moment packing a trunk, perhaps preparatory to a hasty flight, should that become necessary. The moment the telephone rang he picked up the receiver and nearly choked with anger as he heard Dora's whispered voice over the wire.
"Paul has given Zita the key to your apartment," Dora hastened, "and she is coming over to steal the record of her birth."
"She is—eh? Well, I'll take care of that," growled Balcom, as he rang off.
Balcom went to a drawer in the table and from it took a large book. Rapidly he turned over the pages until he found what he wanted. Then he made an erasure and an entry and replaced the book in the drawer. Next he called the servant.
"When she comes, you make her a prisoner," he directed. "Understand?"
The Madagascan nodded and raised one of Balcom's hands to his own forehead as a sign of his fidelity.
Balcom went out and the servant stepped into the empty trunk to await the arrival of Zita.
But it was a very different person with whom the Madagascan had to contend in the end.
On leaving Dora's apartment, Zita telephoned Brent Rock, and Locke answered immediately. Locke readily agreed to make the search of Balcom's apartment in Zita's stead.
When the Madagascan heard a key in the door he stealthily peeped from his hiding-place and saw, instead of Zita, Locke.
Locke's back was turned, and the Madagascan, undaunted, sprang from the trunk and leaped, catlike, on Locke's back. But he had not reckoned on his antagonist. Locke, always on guard, was not taken quite by surprise. He caught the savage in a jiu-jitsu hold, throwing him over his head to land in a far corner of the room.
In spite of the fall, the Madagascan bounded to his feet, like a rubber ball, but a few stiff jabs from Locke soon took all the fight out of him and he lay still, completely knocked out.
Locke made a hurried but systematic search of the room, and finally found the book that he sought, taking it and returning to Eva at Brent Rock.
After telephoning, Zita went directly to Doctor Q's laboratory, to which she was admitted after he had seen her through his periscope annunciator.
The doctor was fumbling with a test-tube, from which some heavy fumes were issuing. He motioned her to a chair, near a table upon which were many papers which looked to Zita as though they might be of importance. Always quick to act, Zita raised her hand as if to arrange her hair, and as she did so she purposely knocked the test-tube out of the doctor's hand. The acid spattered on some of the papers, quickly setting them afire.
Doctor Q, wildly excited, started to beat out the flames, and in so doing allowed several unseared letters to flutter to the floor. One in particular arrested Zita's attention. It was a drawing, a plan of some sort, and was marked, "Plan of Den."
Zita placed her foot on it, and, while Doctor Q was engaged with the small blaze, she reached down and, hastily folding it, thrust it into one of the low shoes she was wearing. Then she went to Doctor Q's assistance and in a jiffy the fire was out. The doctor was furiously angry at her, and, feeling that she had accomplished all that she might expect, she expressed her regrets for the accident and went out before his anger became any worse.
Thus it was that Zita arrived at Brent Rock only a few moments after Locke, whom she found in the library with Eva, turning over the pages of the record he had secured at Balcom's.
The record purported to be a record of marriages of Wallace County, New York, and Locke finally found an entry that read, "Peter Brent and Rita Dane."
For a moment Zita was stunned. It was her mother's name.
Locke smiled. "Yes, Zita," he said, quietly, "for a moment Eva and I were surprised, too. But it's a palpable forgery. Balcom has tried to prove that you and Eva are half-sisters, but look."
He handed her a powerful magnifying-glass and through it the clumsy forgery stood out in all its crudeness, showing plainly where other names had been erased and these inserted.
Zita was greatly disappointed, for she had thought that at last she would establish her identity. Then she remembered the paper she had hidden in her shoe. She slipped the paper out and handed it to Locke, who was greatly excited over its importance.
They were still studying it when Locke heard a strange noise, as of shuffling feet, in the hallway. He jumped to the door, and there, in the dim light of the stairway leading down to the Graveyard of Genius, he saw a knot of men carrying another man, who was evidently helpless. Locke started forward, but they were gone.
Eva hurried up-stairs to her father's room, fearing something was wrong.
"Father's gone!" she cried, despairingly.
Locke threw himself full against the door at the head of the cellar stairs which the men had slammed shut. He tried to batter it down, but it was too strongly built. Then he drew his revolver and with the barrel started to push out the pins from the hinges. He worked feverishly and succeeded in driving the top pin out. Then, using it as a lever, he was able to pull the door from its frame.
He dashed down the stairs, but was late by only the fraction of a second, as a metal hand was just closing the huge door to the Graveyard of Genius. He fumbled at the secret combination, and as he was doing so Eva and Zita joined him.
The door swung open and they rushed through. But the place was deserted.
"They've carried your father through some secret passage," exclaimed Locke. "That would explain much that is strange that has happened about the house, too."
Just then Zita stepped forward with the plan in her hand. "See," she cried, "there is a secret passage marked on this."
Locke studied the plan for some time, but whoever had drawn it had carefully concealed both the exact location of the passage and the method by which it was reached. As he searched, however, an idea occurred to Locke.
"I'll rig a trap with a camera," he decided, finally.
A few minutes later he returned to the room with his special quick-shutter camera, a flash-bag, and a ball of light twine. Carefully he focused the camera on the wall where the plan showed the secret passage to be. Then he rigged up the flash-bag and connected the whole with the twine, which he strung all about the Graveyard of Genius, so that, should any part of the wall move, it would cause the twine to break which in turn would at the same time release the shutter of the camera and explode the powder of the flashlight. Thus, without any direct human agency, a photograph would be taken.
Next he attached wires and ran them to the library above, where he installed an annunciator, the needle of which would indicate when the trap was sprung and the picture taken. Fascinated, the two girls watched. Eva was almost fainting with grief at the terrible fate that had overtaken her father. Even in his sickness, at least she had had him. But now he was gone—to what she could only guess. Locke tried to console her as they paced the library above, even though he realized that such consolation was hollow.
It was perhaps half an hour later when suddenly the needle of the annunciator began to vibrate rapidly. All leaped to their feet and ran down the stairs to the Graveyard.
At once Locke rushed to the camera, put in a slide, and took out the plate-holder. Then they hurried up to his laboratory.
There Locke procured a developing-bag and started to work. Nervously and impatiently Eva and Zita watched him at his task.
At last the negative was ready and Locke drew it from the bag and held it to the light.
There, glaring out of the plate, was the devilish face of Balcom!
Eva and Zita both uttered a cry of astonishment and consternation. Even Locke was amazed. But the strongest feeling he had was anger as he turned to them.
"You two take this plan," he exclaimed. "It shows a den with an exit indicated. Get some one to go with you; find the place and wait for me there. I can find the secret entrance from the Graveyard from this negative—and I'm going through it."
Balcom, in the passageway between the Graveyard of Genius and the Automaton's den, was livid with fury. He realized that his picture had been taken, surmised that the secret passage would be found and that some assault on the den would be attempted. But he had had no time to locate the camera, which Locke had hidden well, nor had he dared to search longer for it when he heard Locke bounding down the stairs from the library.
Accordingly, he had retreated and hastened back through the passageway into the Automaton's den.
"Quick!" he shouted to the horde of emissaries in the place. "Bring dynamite, electric wires, and a rack-bar. They think they have us trapped. But if they try to follow me here, I tell you it will mean certain death to them."
The emissaires hastened to obey him. They brought the explosive and the means to detonate it, and carried the stuff into the passageway, where they made the connections. An emissary stepped forward and volunteered to use the rack-bar when the time came, but Balcom waved him away.
"No," he growled. "No one can take my revenge from me. I'll do the killing."
The emissaries fell back and went into the den.
Balcom was making some final adjustments when the great rock separating the passageway from the Graveyard of Genius swung slowly on its balanced hinges.
Startled from his work, even though he had expected the thing, Balcom looked up, and in the passageway caught a glimpse of the dim outline of his arch-enemy, Locke.
Balcom had been right. Locke had found the clue to the secret entrance to the tunnel.
He worked feverishly to complete the final connection, but almost before he finished Locke charged and the battle was on.
Up and down the passageway they fought. Although Locke was the younger man, yet in Balcom he found a giant of strength.
It was a fight between these two alone, for no emissary, no Automaton, now entered that passage of death.
Neither uttered a sound. Neither had a weapon. It was the primitive struggle of man to man for life.
But now Locke's youth and clean living began to tell in his favor and he sensed that his adversary was weakening. He redoubled his efforts.
After a particularly vicious blow from Locke, Balcom threw up his hands and toppled over backward—in the direction of the rack-bar itself.
Locke tried to throw Balcom's body out of the way. It was too late. With a thud Balcom crashed full upon the plunger, driving it home.
There was a blinding flash, a dull roar, and the earth rocked. Huge boulders were tossed about like feathers and the roof of the passage caved in.
Balcom was killed instantly. Locke, with better fortune, had been hurled to the ground, where the earth and rocks, in falling, had formed a sort of arch over his body.
He was alive, though barely conscious. He knew that soon a search would be made for him. But, buried under tons of earth and rock, could any rescuers reach him in time? Was this the end?
CHAPTER XXIV
For a long time Locke lay quite still. The shock to his nervous system had been terrific, and, although physically almost uninjured, he had lost his usual grip on himself and felt very helpless.
He felt terribly tired. The thought came to him that he had done enough, reached his limit of endurance. He craved sleep, a long sleep, and forgetfulness.
But youth and the undying desire for life and accomplishment won over this deadly mood and he began to take note of his position. His mind became clearer and the ringing in his ears, caused by the explosion, gradually passed away.
Then, like a flash, the question entered his mind of how he was able, buried under tons of debris, to breathe so freely. Why was the air not vitiated?
He tried to move slowly and quietly so as not to dislodge any of the rocks that formed an arch over his body. He succeeded beyond his expectations, for his body was in a sort of natural pocket and not one of his limbs was inextricably bound. Thus, twisting his body, he managed to draw himself into what seemed to be an even more open space.
He hardly dared to breathe, so fearful was he that any moment he might reach a point where further progress would be impossible. He moved slowly, gropingly, then suddenly he recoiled in horror, for his hand had come in contact with something which he recognized to be a man's face.
In his shaken condition it was some seconds before he could control the wild jangling of his nerves. Then he searched his pockets and, finding a match, lighted it. There, covered to the armpits by dirt and rocks, was the body of Balcom, whose last act before his own death had been an attempt to murder Locke.
Locke shuddered and redoubled his efforts to escape from the gruesome place. There still remained a small hole through which he must climb. But he negotiated it successfully, and in another moment he was aboveground and free.
Eva and Zita had followed Locke's instructions, but had not waited to find any one to go with them to the exit from the den. Nor did they wait at the exit more than a few minutes.
Eva had taken a small electric torch with her, and, becoming impatient at the non-appearance of Locke, she flashed it about as she followed the lines and marks indicated on the plan of the den.
She and Zita were surprised at the magnitude of the entrance passageway they uncovered. They had had to make a detour in order to reach the beach at a point where it was indicated that the exit of the den would be found, and even with the plan, which they consulted at every step, they almost missed their objective, for the cleft in the rocks slanted inward and was difficult to see even when one was standing directly in front of it.
They had peered into the cavern and were waiting when they heard the explosion. They gazed at each other questioningly and with apprehension.
"What do you think it is?" asked Eva, questioningly.
Zita could, of course, offer no explanation and did not try.
Impulsively both girls took a very foolish chance. Both had thought of Locke and they started to run into the cave entrance and toward the sound of the explosion.
Zita was in the lead, and it was at this moment that the panic-stricken emissaries came tumbling and fighting their way from the den. Zita shrieked to Eva to save herself, and Eva, although unwilling to leave her, knew that now she could do nothing to save Zita, and took her only chance of escape.
As for Zita, the emissaries were too frightened to pay any attention to her. But behind them came the iron monster, without nerves, it seemed. The Automaton saw her and pinned her to the rock wall until she was unconscious. Then, picking her up as though she were a feather, it carried her out to the beach.
Locke, the moment he freed himself from the hole which had so nearly been his grave, ran staggering toward the beach, for he felt instinctively that Eva and Zita were in danger.
Eva and Locke must have started at about the same time, she in her flight away from the Automaton, and Locke to find the den exit, for they met on the cliffside.
"Thank God you are safe!" exclaimed Eva.