extricated his arms and was in a position to loosen the straps which
bound them, with his teeth.

Nor was his labor over now. The canvas jacket cut into his flesh and the
buckles bruised his muscles. His body ached with weariness, yet he clung
to his task. Like a thing incarnate he toiled as he realized the danger
that confronted Eva.

Up-stairs, the monster was pursuing Eva. The heavy oaken doors were as
straws to him, and he plunged through them as a mad elephant dashes
through a canebrake. Destruction lay in his wake as he crashed through
the improvised barriers which Eva had constructed to delay his
onslaught. A crouching, desolate figure, she waited for what she knew to
be her end. There was only one barrier left between her and this engine
of destruction. It was only a moment now when she would be a crushed,
mangled mass. With terror in her heart she waited for the thing to crash
through the last remaining barrier, and even now she could hear his
ponderous step as he crossed the room toward the door which would only
momentarily stay his progress. Her lips moved in prayer as she waited
and the dread moments seemed eons to her.

Suddenly she heard a crash, and she could see the panels of sturdy oak
in the door give way as though they were egg-shells. The gigantic fist
of the monster crashed through and she could discern the dim outline of
the enormous head, and the glaring eyes of fire looking toward her. With
a shrill shriek she raised her arms above her head and fell swooning to
the floor just as a pistol-shot rang out.

Locke, disheveled and weak, had released himself from the strait-jacket,
and with the speed of a panther had ascended the stairs. He saw the
monster crashing through the last remaining barrier, and without
hesitation he fired at the thing as he closed in. His one thought was to
delay it or make it swerve in its course momentarily, with the hope that
by some chance Eva might have time to escape. Could he only accomplish
this, he thought his mission successful, regardless of the outcome as
far as he himself was concerned.

He pulled the trigger of his automatic again and again as he rushed
forward. By some strange trick of fate the figure reeled for a second
and one of its arms dropped swinging to its side. The bullet had entered
a joint. Had it in some way deranged the mechanism, causing the
Automaton to turn in its tracks and confront Locke as he charged
forward? Or was some human being concealed in the armored creature and
wounded?

Eva, in her semi-conscious state, saw the mass of metal charge toward
Locke, and closed her eyes so as not to be a witness to his end. She
waited, dumb and helpless with fright, and before her surged the meaning
of this man's great sacrifice for her. In the brief interval she
realized that men of his ilk were few. She realized that her interest in
the young chemist was more than a passing fancy and the truth was driven
home to her in his hour of peril. She closed her eyes and all before her
went blank.

As the Automaton faced Locke voices could be heard in the hall, and the
gardener of Brent Rock, who had summoned aid, came to Locke's
assistance. Armed with clubs and garden tools, the men charged the
monster. Like a lion at bay, the thing turned from its task of
destroying Locke to face its new enemies. _En masse_ they attacked the
Automaton, but it shook them off, one by one, as a terrier would rats,
and made its way toward the grand staircase. Some of the gardener's aids
suffered broken bones, while others were left unconscious as a result of
the conflict.

Locke picked himself up and rushed to Eva's side. He took the prostrate
form in his arms and looked down into her beautiful face. The room was
in ruins, and Eva slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her hand
went out in a momentary caress, but as she fully recovered consciousness
she moved her hand away lest he really know. She looked up at him
gratefully, and Locke, a little confused, took his arm from around her
waist. With boyish bashfulness he hung his head and asked her if she was
all right. The sound of his own voice amid the ruins brought back his
composure.

"We must see about father. Perhaps something has happened to him," said
Eva, as she started toward the door.

Locke looked after the girl, then followed her.

Propped up in bed, Peter Brent presented a pitiable sight. His glassy
stare and shrill laugh like a coyote baying at the moon sent cold chills
down Eva's back as she entered the room. This man, at one time a power
in the business world, was only a shell of his former self, and his
inhuman laughter caused even Locke to shudder a little as he entered the
room.

Eva walked over to her father and put her hand to his brow, looking
wistfully in his eyes for some sign of recognition.

She kissed him on the forehead and called him, but he still stared
blankly ahead of him, unconscious of even her presence. Locke felt the
pulse of the patient and looked at the dilated pupils.

"There must be some antidote for this Madagascar madness, and I shall
move everything to find it," he said, as he looked at Eva with
determination.

She turned toward him eagerly as he spoke and his words gave her a
little cheer. Eva continued her caresses, but the demented man showed no
signs of recognizing even his own daughter.

From another room the shrill laughter of Flint could be heard as he
raved in delirium. Bereft of reason, he fought an unseen enemy.

"Q did it, I tell you--it's Q," he raved and shrieked in his insane way
as he rocked back and forth in bed. He was fighting his own conscience,
and kept pushing some unseen thing from him as he shook in a paroxysm of
fright.

The front-door bell rang and Balcom entered. He was suave in manner, but
this time he seemed a little excited as he gave his hat and stick to the
butler.

"Tell Miss Brent I must see her at once," he ordered.

As the butler turned to mount the stairs, Balcom reached his hand up and
rubbed his shoulder as though he were in pain. Perhaps the gesture meant
nothing, but a keen observer would have noticed that his arm did not
move with the freedom that one would expect of a man of his frame and
build. As he rubbed his shoulder his eyes followed the butler up the
stairs and his lips tightened. He watched him until he was out of sight,
then turned and entered the library.

As Balcom entered the library the door-bell rang and the three ambulance
men who had been overpowered by the emissaries of the Automaton entered.
Balcom approached them and hasty explanations were forthcoming. In his
suave manner he quieted the most noisy of the trio, who by this time had
found the strait-jacket from which Locke had just released himself.

"This looks like a put-up job to me," growled the driver, as he
confronted Balcom, holding the strait-jacket toward him. "And I believe
you know something about it."

"My dear man, I am the person who telephoned for you to come for my
stricken partner," said Balcom, "and I still insist that he is in dire
need of treatment."

As he spoke Eva entered the library in time to hear him. She was
followed by Locke.

"My father shall not be taken from this house," she cried, in reply to
Balcom's orders to the attendants.

As she spoke she turned toward Locke and looked at him for his
acquiescence. He quietly nodded toward her in an assuring manner, and as
he did so one might have noticed Balcom's face cloud up with evil
purpose. He was thinking of this young whipper-snapper and his
interference with his plans. As he stood meditating he noticed that
Locke was looking at him, so he turned toward the young chemist and his
whole expression changed. A bland smile crept across his face as he
spoke.

"I was only suggesting that my partner be taken to an institution,
because I believed that he would receive better treatment there." He
addressed Locke, but looked toward Eva as he did so. "Miss Brent should
have trust in me. I have only her interest at heart."

"It would be better for Mr. Brent to stay here," said Locke. "The
treatment his daughter can give will be better than that of an
outsider."

As he spoke he sauntered away with an air of finality, while Balcom
shrugged his shoulders and gave orders to the ambulance men to go.

Locke walked toward the dining-room, and there amid the candle drippings
and the wreckage of the night before espied the miniature automaton. He
picked it up and examined it minutely as Balcom strolled in.

Balcom's quick gaze caught what Locke was looking at, and he approached
the young chemist and sauvely said:

"It seems almost unbelievable, Mr. Locke, that a giant form like that
could be endowed with a human brain."

As he spoke he pointed toward the miniature automaton in Locke's hands.
Locke turned and faced him, his jaw tightening with a snap.

"Not unbelievable, but impossible, Mr. Balcom," he said. "I believe that
there is some one in this thing that attacks us and calls himself Q."

He eyed Balcom as he spoke, to see the effects of his words. But if
Balcom knew anything, he cunningly concealed it. Locke walked to the
table and closely examined the candles and other stuff strewn about. He
was looking for some clue to what had caused the madness of Brent and
Flint. The crumpled anatomy chart lay on the floor, and as Locke stooped
to pick it up Eva entered and came toward him. She shuddered slightly as
she passed the miniature of the monster, and Balcom, with an air of
satisfaction, noticed her fear. He turned and was about to go out, when
the butler entered with the duplicate candlestick in his hands.

"Mr. Locke, in cleaning the hall I found this behind the portieres at
the entrance to below-stairs," he announced. "I was quite puzzled for a
moment, for I knew the master had taken it into the dining-room with him
last evening."

As he spoke he handed the candlestick to Locke, who quickly compared it
with the one on the dining-room table which contained the burnt candles.

In appearance the candelabra were identical. Locke with great care
examined every feature of them, looking for a clue. He took one of the
whole candles from the candlestick which the butler had brought in and
scraped the wax from in with his penknife. He examined the particles
carefully, then approached the candlestick which stood on the table the
fatal night, and very carefully removed the wax from the stumps of
candles which were still in the sockets.

"The Madagascar madness came from _that_ candlestick," he announced,
with assurance, as he pointed toward the one on the table.

While he was so busily engaged Balcom was eying him cunningly. He
watched his every move and was most intent in seeing just how the young
man would prove his contention.

"Good morning, every one!" came the clear voice of Paul as he entered
the room and crossed over to the side of his fiancee. He was particular
to ignore Locke in his greeting, and as he approached Eva he bent over
her hand and kissed it.

A close observer would have noticed that the girl rather drew her hand
back from his caress.

"I am so sorry about your father, Eva," whispered Paul. "I trust the
ailment is but temporary."

As he spoke Eva thanked him mechanically for his solicitations, while
Balcom glanced at his son in admiration.

Locke, who was still engaged in looking at the candle drippings through
his pocket magnifying-glass, paid slight attention to Paul, but glanced
up in time to see that there was a look of insincerity on his face.

Could it be that this young scion of the Balcom fortune could in any way
be connected with the Automaton? Could this man, this suave, polished
gentleman, have any motive for seeking the ruin or death of his fiancee?
Locke seemed to be busily engaged in his task, but he was making mental
notes on the conduct of young Balcom. He looked up finally and turned to
Eva.

"Miss Brent, I find minute particles of some foreign substance in the
wax of these candles," he announced. "They seem to be of organic origin
and I am certain that they contain the poison which has robbed your
father of his mentality. I am going to take them to a chemical
laboratory where there will be proper facilities to have them analyzed.
Perhaps there is an antidote that will restore your father's sanity."

As Locke spoke he carefully wrapped up the particles of drippings in a
piece of paper and put them in his pocket. As he did so, both Balcom and
Paul exchanged hurried glances, and Balcom left the group and started
toward the hall.

During all this procedure Zita, clad in a sumptuous morning frock hardly
befitting a secretary, was standing behind the portieres in the hall and
listening intently to all she could hear within the dining-room. As she
heard Balcom's footsteps she hurriedly turned and seemed to be going up
the hall. He looked after her and then called.

She came toward Balcom with a nod of understanding, and, as she
approached, he led her to a corner of the hall and whispered to her.

"It is imperative that we get Flint out of the house to-night. I can
trust you to take care of this if I arrange the details?"

Zita quickly nodded acquiescence, looking furtively over her shoulder to
see if they were observed.

"I will get him to your apartment," she hurriedly said, as she looked up
at him for further instructions.

Balcom turned quickly from her, got his own hat and sack, and departed,
just as Locke came into the hall, bound for the chemist's shop. He
looked after the disappearing form of Balcom, and then turned and
noticed that he was being watched by Zita. Zita in turn hastily entered
the library, without looking over her shoulder.

"I wonder what her real position in this house can be," mused Locke, as
he took his hat and went toward the front door.

In the dining-room Paul was now standing close to Eva and had taken her
hand.

"You know it was your father's wish that we be married," he was saying,
"and I know that he would be happy if we had the ceremony performed at
once."

His eyes narrowed as he said this, but Eva was too preoccupied to see
it. With a shudder, ever so slight, she looked up at his handsome face
and spoke.

"I will not even speak of marriage until my father recovers, Paul, and I
don't know how you can ask me to at such a time."

She was not thinking so much of her father as of a certain young chemist
who had risked his life for her. Why had fate thrown him in her way, she
wondered. What was there about Quentin Locke that compelled her
attention--that made her feel secure when he was about? What was the
difference between the young chemist and Paul that she felt perfect
trust in the one whom she had known only a short time and distrust and
uncertainty in the other to whom she was about to be married?

She hung her head and went into the drawing-room, leaving Paul standing
there. He looked after her, and a slight smile crossed his face as he
thought of what a fool she was to think that he cared for her. His
self-assurance led him to believe that the reason that Eva was not
consenting to his proposal was indeed because of her father's condition,
for he little dreamed, nor would his egotism permit him to believe, that
anything else could be the case.

His mouth hardened in a subtle smile as he sauntered after Eva to bid
her farewell. He remembered that De Luxe Dora was waiting outside for
him in her speedster.

He had made this paramour of his take him to the very door of his
fiancee's home, and there wait until he had paid his respects to the
moneyed lady who would make happiness possible by supplying him with the
funds to pursue his pleasures and insure his father's hold on the
International Patents, Incorporated.

Paul looked at his watch, then, after a few words of condolence which
would hardly sound sincere from any one less gifted, made a hurried
departure toward the corner where the speedster was waiting.

"Who was the funny gink that hurried by a little while ago?" queried
Dora, in the vernacular of her calling. "He gave me the double O as
though he had something on me."

"That's a fellow we've got to look out for, kid," answered Paul, in the
same terms by which he was addressed, for, if nothing else, Paul could
be as much at home in the underworld as in a mansion on the Drive.
"Brent claimed that he was a chemist before he went 'bugs,'" continued
Paul, "but I have my doubts; in fact, I'm very leery of him because I
think he's a fly cop."

He took his place beside Dora, who started the car and headed down-town.

After Paul's departure Eva hurried to her father's room and tried to
comfort him. He was seated in a chair, staring blankly ahead of him. He
was quieter now, but his body twitched nervously from time to time.

The tears started to come to Eva's eyes as she saw her father's plight,
and she knelt down beside him and took his hand in hers. She stroked it
with her own hand and bent over and kissed it. As she knelt, crying
softly, she sobbed half-aloud:

"Why can't I confide in you, father? Why can't you advise me? I don't
love Paul Balcom and could never marry him. I know I love Quentin
Locke--I do--I do--"

As she sobbed she bent over his hand and pressed it to her lips.

Peter Brent sat staring into space, staring like a graven image.



CHAPTER VII


After her brief encounter with Balcom in the hallway Zita stealthily
mounted to Flint's room.

Flint's condition was unchanged. He lay sprawled out in a huge
arm-chair, his head swaying from side to side, as he muttered and
mumbled incoherently, while his leering smile caused even Zita to
shudder.

She was, however, alive to the importance of her mission. Steeling
herself, she raised Flint from the chair and steadied him with one hand
while she tried to smooth out the wrinkles of his clothing so that his
mad condition would not be too apparent when they went outdoors. It was
a hard task, but Zita soon accomplished it and, half supporting, she led
him through a door on the farther side of the room. They crept down a
back stairway and so away from the house.

At times Flint stumbled and almost fell, and once that insane laugh
startled a passer-by, who started after them, then changed his mind and
proceeded on his way. It was then that Zita's heart almost stopped
beating. She realized that the situation would be unexplainable to a
stranger and she urged the insane Flint on faster.

Renewed hope came to her with each step. She had almost relaxed her
precautions when, suddenly, from a clump of bushes, several men leaped
out. They seized Flint, who merely started babbling afresh. Zita,
ignorant of what was really happening, struck out right and left in the
hopeless encounter, until one of the men with a grin seized her wrist in
his powerful grasp and twisted it until she screamed with pain. Then she
realized for the first time that she had fallen into the hands of the
emissaries of the Automaton. Had Balcom planned it, or had that
mechanical monster taken advantage of what Balcom had ordered?

In the mean time, the other thugs, with Flint between them, made off
hurriedly. With a last push that almost threw Zita to the ground, the
last of them dashed into the shrubbery, and for several moments Zita
dazedly stood there as he crashed through the underbrush, making good
the escape and capture. Then she turned and ran back to Brent Rock.

Locke, in the mean time, had arrived at the laboratory of his old friend
Hadwell, the chemist, where he was warmly welcomed.

It was the usual dusty workshop of one devoted to one
idea--science--with no touches of comfort. Hadwell fairly lived amid
retorts, Bunsen burners, and reagents.

He was a man of profound research, rather than the commercial chemist,
and it was from him that Locke, in earlier days, had learned many
lessons so well that now his career was watched with interest by many
distinguished men of science.

Hadwell was delighted at the chance to examine the strange scrapings of
wax which Locke had dug out of the sockets of the candlestick, the more
so as they must contain some mysterious poison. First he studied them
under a powerful lens, then by chemical reactions, until he made visible
some peculiar crystals. Locke himself was amazed as his friend worked.

"You don't know it all--yet--my boy," smiled the aged professor.
"There's still something the old teacher can add to your education, and
I'm glad, Quentin, very glad, for it will draw you closer to me again. I
need you to carry on my work when I must lay it down. I'm not positive,"
he continued, "but I believe these crystals to be those of _Dhatura
stramonium_, and, as you say speed's the thing, we'll begin by noting
the effect of the stuff as a gas on that guinea-pig over there."

"Have you masks?" asked Locke, with true scientific caution.

"Yes--on the shelf. You're keen, Quentin. These fumes can penetrate the
tiniest aperture and, if my guess is right, without a mask, you would
quickly laugh yourself to death."

"Don't, Professor, don't joke, for there is no joy in that mad laughter.
It is horrible, maddening, even to the hearer. Let us get to work. The
father of the girl I love may even now be sinking to his death. We must
determine the nature of this deadly stuff, and then find an antidote."

The chemist brought out the cage in which the guinea-pig was placidly
munching a lettuce leaf, and placed it in a convenient spot on the
table. Then, after Locke, as well as the professor, had carefully
adjusted the masks, the latter lighted a Bunsen burner and applied the
flame to the deadly crystals. A pungent fume was given off and collected
in a rubber bag, or cone, from which a long tube protruded.

This tube the chemist introduced into the cage. For a moment there was
no perceptible change in the animal's actions. Then it stopped eating,
sniffed at the strange odor, and commenced to twitch violently. This
twitching continued for several minutes, when the creature started to
revolve in circles, like a Japanese dancing-mouse. Finally it became
subject to spasms, and, although the professor withdrew the tube, these
symptoms continued.

"I was right!" he cried. "It is an especially poisonous variety of that
almost unknown Oriental drug, _Dhatura stramonium_. I think I can find
an antidote to it, also. To work, my boy, to work!"

One experiment after another resulted in failure, however, and it was
while they were so engaged that the telephone bell rang and a feminine
voice inquired for Locke.

It was an excited Eva who called. "Quentin," she burst forth,
breathlessly, "what do you think has happened? The strangest thing!
Flint has escaped. Tell me what to do. Can't you come to me at once? I
need you."

Locke needed no further urging. Important though the work of finding the
antidote was, Eva's call was more imperative to him. He reassured her as
best he could over the wire, for he had no idea what had really
happened. Zita, as might have been expected, on her return to Brent Rock
had been far too clever to disclose the exact truth that Flint had been
abducted, and that while in her own charge.

When she arrived at Brent Rock she had mounted by the same stairway by
which she and Flint had departed. Entering Flint's room, she had raised
the alarm and had acted her part so well that Eva thought that she had
discovered Flint's absence at the precise moment at which Zita had cried
out and she had come running in answer to her call.

Locke gave Hadwell a brief outline of what had just occurred at Brent
Rock.

"Professor," he pleaded, "for Heaven's sake don't fail me. Try as you
never tried before to find the antidote for this strange combination of
poisons. Telephone me when you have it."

Locke seized his hat, and Hadwell redoubled his efforts to fathom the
toxic secret.

At Brent Rock, in the mean time, everything was in confusion, Eva was
almost distracted, and, to add to her discomfort, Paul took occasion to
call.

In the past few days her distrust of him, for she could call it by no
other name, had grown, and the furtive glances which he exchanged with
Zita, little trouble-maker, were not reassuring. But when Eva's maid,
motioning her aside, told her that she had been a witness to the
departure of Zita and Flint, Eva's suspicions from a vague misgiving
became a stern reality. She longed for Locke's return and protection
from the very man to whom she was engaged.

As Locke left the chemist's he noticed a light runabout across the
street, half hidden in the shadows. But he failed to notice the evil
face of De Luxe Dora peering at him from beneath the rim of a
well-pulled-down hat.

"Huh!" she muttered. "We'll get his number and here's where I go after
it."

Locke hailed a passing taxicab, gave a hurried direction to the
chauffeur, and jumped in. The taxi snorted, cut out open, and jumped
forward as the driver clumsily shifted the worn gears. But out of the
shadows there glided a low-hung runabout with a purling motor that
without effort kept Locke's taxi just in sight without seeming to be
following.

At the time that the emissaries abducted Flint he had been roughly
handled and some of his clothing had been torn. But as he had been
incapable of the slightest degree of real self-defense, the thugs had
soon desisted beating him up, with the result that he had escaped bodily
injury except for a few slight scratches.

The emissaries of the Automaton led him by devious winding paths down to
the shore, and, half walking, half running, pressing close to the high
cliffs, they urged him forward.

Soon they came to a cleft in the rock, and, with one hand using a
well-hooded electric torch to light the way, they dragged the poor
unfortunate into the cave entrance to the den.

This cave was a marvel of nature, hewn out of the solid rock by
countless tides, its dome lost in the darkness. It gave an impression of
immensity, while in many directions passageways gave off from what might
be called a main chamber.

Flint was roughly thrown on a rock, where, head in hands, he swayed
backward and forward, now moaning, now chuckling, now laughing outright.
The echo of that laugh resounded hollowly in the dismal place and must
have notified the supreme master of this underground world that his
domain had been invaded.

A metallic clanging in the distance, as of struck anvils, a crunching,
as the smaller rocks broke in twain under the enormous weight of the
iron monster, then far, far down the passageway two points of fire--the
eyes of the thing--and with arms swinging like flails, from out the
passageway there stalked--the Automaton.

Even the emissaries, slaves to this monster through fear, and seeing it
often, fell back in awe and consternation, so terrible was its menace.

It strode over to Flint and, pushing him backward, glared at him with
burning eyes that seemed to search his soul. The monster then turned to
one of the emissaries and, with a sweeping gesture, gave a command.

The emissary understood and immediately ran up one of the passageways,
returning in a few moments with a bottle which contained a purplish
mixture. At another sign from the Automaton the emissary took a
drinking-glass and poured out a portion of the purple fluid. Then he
forced the draught between Flint's clenched teeth.

A violent trembling shook Flint from head to foot, a shudder of so
exhausting a nature that after the spasm Flint, weakened, reclined
against the cold wall of the cave, his body in a clammy perspiration.
But gradually there came a change in his dazed, mad eyes. The iris
contracted and became more normal. Even the leaden hue of his face
slowly passed away. The face muscles relaxed and gradually the light of
reason appeared in his eyes.

In a questioning manner Flint gazed about him. He saw the cave with its
scintillating points of fire, as the man with the torch gesticulated. He
saw the emissaries, and the realization that his position was perilous
came to him. But it was only when he saw the towering form of the
Automaton that his blood froze with horror and he made a frantic effort
to escape the very thing which he had feared existed in Madagascar and
had attempted to betray to Brent on the fatal night.

It was useless. He was soon borne down by the thugs, who stationed two
of their number to guard him. Seeing the utter hopelessness of any
attempt to escape, Flint sat quietly, while his crafty mind schemed for
some other plan. Suddenly he saw the bottle, the contents of which had
restored his reason. Reaching out slyly, he turned it around until he
could read the label, and then, even in his predicament, he exulted over
his discovery. It was the antidote. Like a flash came to him a shrewd
scheme to use the knowledge.

An emissary who seemed to be a leader came over to him.

"Flint," he snarled, "you get one chance--see? Beat it back to Brent
Rock and see that you get that Brent girl to come to the place where we
will turn you loose. Understand? If you fail it means death. Think it
over."

Flint could only agree.

They bandaged his eyes and quickly led him back over the road by which
they had come.



CHAPTER VIII


Brent Rock was brilliantly lighted against Locke's coming. At the foot
of the great stairway a group of excited servants had gathered, as if
for mutual protection.

"Not another day will I stay in this house," quavered the cook. "What
with crazy laughing and the other carryings-on, I'm fair distracted."

"Take shame to yerself, Mary Dolan, for yer gab of quittin', with the
master and Miss Eva in sore trouble," answered the second girl. "But as
you say," she continued, shaking her head, "it's a gloomy old place, and
if it wasn't for Miss Eva I'd not be long in going myself."

"'Ave you no loyalty?" asked the butler, turning on them both.

"Hould yer jaw, Johnny Bull," threatened the cook. "Indade no foreigner
can tell Mary Dolan her duty."

So they wrangled back and forth, and the underlying cause of all the
discord was the old one--fear.

Nor was Eva exempt from its baneful influence. She was here, there,
everywhere, allaying one servant's apprehension, commanding another to
perform some task in order to occupy that servant's mind--but, for
herself, she knew that the strain would not lessen until Locke arrived.
She ran up-stairs and to a window from which she could obtain a better
view of the drive along which he must come.

In a very short time, which, nevertheless, seemed an age to her, Eva was
rewarded, and she fairly flew down the stairs, out of the house, and far
down the drive. Locke's taxi stopped, he leaped out, and, regardless of
the chauffeur, took Eva's hand.

"Tell me quickly what has happened?" he inquired.

From a distance Dora was a witness, exulting.

"Paul stands a swell chance with her," she sneered.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," confided Eva, letting down just a bit of
her restraint as, like a frightened child, she told of what she had
learned about the disappearance of Flint.

Locke dismissed the driver, and together they walked slowly toward the
house.

Not only Eva, but the entire household was relieved by Locke's presence.
The cook rushed forward and, with a "God bless you, sir!" would have
embraced him had he not stepped aside. Even the dignified old family
butler tried to take his hand, an unheard-of liberty on his part. For,
unknowingly, all had come suddenly to rely upon this quiet, unassuming
young man.

Locke immediately asked to be shown to Flint's room in the hope that
Flint might have left some clue behind. But, although they searched high
and low, no success met their efforts.

It was then that they faced their darkest moment. Feeling, as they did,
that they were encircled by hidden enemies, the very air they breathed
became a menace. Every attempt to find the thread that might unravel the
dark mystery proved futile. It was not to be wondered at that they
despaired. Even the weird laughter of Eva's stricken father, echoing
hollowly through the house, seemed to be mocking their efforts.

The Automaton's emissaries were anxious to do their job and return to