Already, also, he had let Eva in on his secret plan, and she was all
eagerness as he planted his trap.

Before the safe, now, Locke paused, and there for a moment twisted the
combination so that he could get his correct position. That done, he
noted the place where he had been standing, and removed a mat from the
floor in front of the safe. At that place he set in on the floor a
fairly large iron plate. To this iron plate he attached a wire, then
replaced the rug, but in such a way that a part of the plate was
exposed, though it would never be noticed.

"If the Automaton attempts to open the safe," he remarked to Eva, as he
worked, "he will complete the electric circuit and it will hold him
until we capture him."

"How clever!" Eva exclaimed, involuntarily.

"Now for making my signaling connection to the laboratory," continued
Locke. "Then I must get some of my men up here from the department."

However, while Locke and Eva were busy arranging this electric trap,
they did not notice that they were being watched by Zita, who had stolen
into the conservatory and was eying them eagerly from the protection of
the fronds of a palm. Zita, moreover, was greatly excited, as she
gathered with her quick perception just what it was that they were
doing. Nor did she wait to see the work finished, but stole out of the
door and away hurriedly.

Locke had finished his preparations, and as he and Eva were discussing
the possibilities of what he had devised, he remarked, in answer to her
eager inquiry about his suspicions, "I am sure we shall prove that there
is a man inside the terrible machine that attacks us."

"Then you don't think it is really an automaton?" asked Eva, with great
respect for Locke's opinion, though it was sufficiently in evidence that
she was not at all convinced that the monster was not really of steel
and controlled by something that resembled a human brain.

Locke was non-committal. "This trap will tell us," was all that he would
say.

Zita, hurrying out from the conservatory, and wishing to waste not an
instant in notifying Balcom, sought a near-by telephone pay-station, and
there in frantic haste she demanded Balcom's number.

It was some moments before Central could make the connection, and then
it was only to Zita's disappointment and growing fear. The Madagascan
servant of Balcom answered in the absence of his master.

"Is Mr. Balcom there?" asked Zita, adding, "Or Mr. Paul?"

The black shook his head. "Neither Mr. Balcom nor Mr. Paul is at home,"
he replied.

Zita was now thoroughly alarmed. Had she some connection with the
Automaton? Or was it her fear that either Balcom or Paul might know more
than they would care to have the authorities know? Or was the Automaton
really an iron monster, after all?

That and many other questions were surging through the minds of all who
had encountered this unique mystery.



CHAPTER XI


It was midnight when, far down in the rock-hewn cavern in which the
Automaton had his secret den, the steel monster and one of his men
stalked out through the arched passage that led to the very cellar of
the house above them.

A few moments later the swinging rock door in the Graveyard of Genius
tilted and the two entered the strong-room, passing across the room and
out through the steel door into the cellar. Up the cellar steps they
proceeded until they reached the hall, then noiselessly they crossed
into the library. With his human companion the monster approached the
safe deliberately. Just as deliberately the Automaton reached out to
turn the handle of the combination.

There was a flash as the current passed through the arm of steel to the
foot of steel resting on the plate Locke had set in the floor. A
suppressed cry escaped from the henchman. As for the monster, he strove
with superhuman force to wrench himself away from the electric trap.

Meanwhile, up in his laboratory in the house, Locke and four men from
the Department of Justice had been waiting.

"The Department expects us to get this evidence _right_," he had
emphasized as he gave them their instructions.

Hardly had he finished when a signal light which Locke had arranged on
the wall flashed, giving the information that the trap had worked.

Out of the laboratory all piled, running down the hall, Locke paused
only a second to tap on Eva's door, as she had asked, if anything
happened, so that she might be present at the capture. An instant and
Eva, too, had joined the pursuit.

Down in the library the Automaton struggled with the current. As the rug
was kicked aside, the emissary saw the wire from the plate and quickly
traced it to its source.

The result was that in a few seconds the emissary had found a wall
switch and pulled it. Instantly the Automaton was released from the
power that held him.

Quickly the man of steel raised and lowered his arms, as though to be
sure that he could do so, at the same time indicating orders to his
follower, who leaped to guard the entrance to the room. Then the
Automaton turned to open the safe, making swift use of the remaining
seconds before the alarm might bring interference.

In almost no time he had the safe open, reached in, and seized a packet
of precious papers, apparently. Then he turned and was gone, regardless
of the man whom he had sent to guard him.

In the hall, Locke's sharp ears had detected the approach of the
emissary. Not knowing whether it might be the villain himself, he
cautioned the men to wait an instant. The emissary, coming along,
crouching and listening, did not see Locke, and thus Locke was able to
seize him and with a spectacular throw project him literally into the
hands of the law in the person of one of his own men, who snapped the
bracelets on the astonished thug as Locke, followed by Eva and the rest,
ran on to the library.

No one was in the library as Locke ran in and looked about. He turned
toward the door to the hallway where the portieres were drawn. As he was
standing there, looking about, the portieres moved behind him. Suddenly
they were jerked aside from their fastenings and flung over his head. As
this happened, the ponderous hand of the Automaton descended on Locke's
head and he sank to the floor as the portieres wrapped about him.

When the department agents with Eva arrived, they were merely in time to
untangle Locke from the curtains. The Automaton had fled safely.

Although his head was still reeling from the blow, Locke started to
question the prisoner, but gave it up as a bad job and hurried over to
examine the safe, followed by Eva.

Their dismay was mutual. Not only was the safe door open, but the paper
was gone.

Question the emissary as they would, they could get nothing out of him.
Such men have keenly developed the gang instinct of silence. They would
sooner die than squeal.

Even a night in jail failed to break the reticence of the emissary,
although he had been subjected to the most strenuous third degree.

Not only had his spirit not been broken, but the fellow was keenly alert
and planning a way to secure his own release.

As a prison guard was taking the emissary back to his cell, after a
thorough quizzing by Locke in the warden's office, the emissary
whispered:

"Want to make a piece of change--safe?"

The guard looked about, saw that the coast was clear to speak, but
before he could do so the emissary spoke again.

"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil."

Quickly the thug scratched away at a note.

"Deliver that," he said to the guard, handing him the note he had
written, "and you'll get something worth while."

The guard nodded as he shoved the thug into his cell and locked the
door, then walked off, while the fellow watched eagerly through the
bars.

Locke in the warden's office, unsuccessful in making the prisoner talk,
had evolved another scheme.

"Put me in the cell next to him," decided Locke. "I have a plan."

It was while the false guard was reading the address on the note that
Locke and the warden entered the cell row. The guard hastily stuffed the
message in his pocket as Locke and the warden passed up toward the empty
next cell.

Locke went through all the actions of one who was being thrown into a
cell, and the emissary in his own cell listened without suspecting
anything. Locke had arranged with the warden to leave the cell unlocked,
but no sooner had the warden left than the guard, who had been
observing, moved over and shot the bolts.

Here, then, was a predicament. Locke could not give the alarm without
putting the emissary in the next cell on guard. Rapidly Locke revolved
in his head scheme after scheme. He was an expert on bolts and knew that
at any moment he could release himself. Should he do so now? Instead he
concluded to wait until the guard returned, for by the man's actions
Locke was sure that something queer was going on, although, naturally,
he did not know what it was. Accordingly Locke lay down on the bunk in
the cell and decided to wait.

Some time later, at a deserted house not far from the rock-hewn den of
the Automaton, the false prison guard might have been seen delivering
the message which the prisoner had written to two other emissaries of
the Automaton.

After a hasty conference they decided on their course of action. Not
only did he receive the money the prisoner had promised him, but the
emissaries gave him minute instructions regarding the rescue which they
planned. A cap and a pair of goggles for the prisoner were given to the
guard and he was sent on his way.

Scarcely had he gone when the Automaton himself entered the deserted
house, and under his direction one of the emissaries wrote a note which
he addressed to Eva. For, with Locke out of the way, it was a splendid
time to take advantage of the poor girl.

The note read simply: "Our prisoner has confessed. Meet me at the Cliff
House at eight o'clock," and bore the signature of Locke.

Thus, with their plans carefully laid, the Automaton and his emissaries
plotted, and soon a messenger was on his way to Eva with the faked
message.

Meanwhile, as the day wore on, the treacherous guard returned on duty at
the prison, and at the first opportunity made his way to the cell in
which the emissary was locked. In a hoarse whisper he told the fellow of
the success of his mission and of the plan, slipping to him the cap and
goggles through the bars.

Locke had been waiting for hours impatiently on his bunk, but now was
all attention, though he was careful not to betray it. As the guard left
and the emissary was trying on the cap and goggles, Locke came to his
cell door. Now was the time to act.

He began working noiselessly and swiftly with the bolts, deftly
determining just how the tumblers fell until he was able to slip the
bolt. He peered into the next cell. The emissary had retired to his own
bunk to await the time of rescue. Locke saw his chance, and at once
began unlocking the cell door. As the emissary heard him, he concluded
that it was the guard come to release him, and sprang from his bunk just
as Locke entered. He suspected nothing until a stray ray of light fell
on Locke's face. But then it was too late either for him to put up much
of a fight or to make an outcry. For with a swift blow Locke disposed of
him and carried the fellow, unconscious, into his own cell, where he
locked the door again, hurrying back to the emissary's cell, where he
donned the fellow's clothes, of which he had stripped him, and
appropriated the cap and goggles. Then Locke waited for the rescue that
was to lead, he was sure, straight to the villains he wished to capture.

At Brent Rock, the faked telegram from Locke had been delivered and Eva
was overjoyed to learn of his seeming success. As it happened, Zita was
in the library when the butler brought the message in, and, all
animation, was eager to accompany Eva to the meeting-place. But Eva
would not listen to it.

So, not many moments before eight that night, while Locke was waiting in
the jail for the rescuers, Eva climbed into her speedster, eager to keep
the appointment which she was convinced would clear up the mystery.

In the darkness outside the jail, by this time, was waiting the false
turnkey when an open car drove up with its motor silenced. He had been
expecting it and so was ready when a heavily goggled man climbed out and
signaled to him. In the back of the car was another man, also goggled,
while the chauffeur, alone, had his face also well hidden by a cap over
his eyes and his collar pulled up.

Understanding perfectly, the guard hurried into the jail, making sure
that the coast was clear, and down the cell row to the cell where Locke
was waiting impatiently, now dressed and hunched up in a perfect
imitation of the emissary. The turnkey opened the door and whispered to
Locke, who nodded gruffly, and together they sneaked quietly out.

With scarcely another word, outside, Locke leaped into the waiting car
and the four were off, leaving the false turnkey chuckling over his
cleverness and ready to make a get-away.

Locke glanced furtively from the driver to the other two passengers in
the car as it sped along in the direction of the cliffs. So far
everything had gone fine. When would they begin to suspect the
substitution he had played on them? He revolved rapidly in his mind just
what he would do under various circumstances.

"Well, old pal," exclaimed one, clapping him on the shoulders, "how does
it seem to be out?"

Locke replied with gruff heartiness, and the others now began to remove
their goggles. Locke, however, did not do the same. They exchanged a
glance.

Already Eva had arrived at the Cliff House, had left her car, and was
approaching on foot, just as Locke with the now thoroughly aroused
emissaries swung into sight.

With a shout to the driver, the two in the back of the car leaped at
Locke at once, and, as the car stopped, the chauffeur joined them.

Even prepared as he was, Locke was no match for three of them, and,
fighting furiously, all four combatants rolled over and over as they
came closer to the door of an old acid-mill that adjoined the Cliff
House.

"We must keep him from saving the girl," panted the leader of the
emissaries to the others.

Inside the old building stood some huge tanks of acid, and as they
rolled nearer and nearer to them it became evident that Locke was in
their power.

Suddenly one emissary reached out and secured a coil of rope, which he
unwound quickly. The others, too, saw their chance. It was fiendish.
Round and round they wound the rope until they had Locke well-nigh
helpless. Then one of them cast the end of the coil over a beam, all
seized the end as it fell on the other side, and Locke found himself
dangling head downward from the beam, suspended over the vat of acid.

They were about to drop him into it when one, more alert and more
fiendish than the rest, cried out, "Look!"

Through a window now they could see Eva, and back of her the terrible
figure of the Automaton, stalking. She had walked directly into the
trap, but the fight with Locke had delayed the emissaries. Wildly now
Eva was running over the lawn, full in the direction of the acid-room
from the Cliff House.

"Quick!" directed the emissary. "She'll come in that door. Fasten the
rope on it. Then his own sweetheart will drop him into the acid!"

It was only a matter of seconds, as the screams of Eva came closer and
closer, for the emissaries to carry the rope and jam it into the door
through which pretty soon Eva would run to take refuge from the pursuing
Automaton. Then they slunk back through a rear door, with muttered
taunts to Locke, who struggled in the tangle of rope as he felt the
stinging fumes of the acid below.

Outside, Eva, who had realized at last that it was a trap and had no
thought that Locke might be anywhere about, fled toward the acid-room,
while the emissaries hid, ready to seize her as she opened the door
which was to plunge her lover into a horrible death in the acid seething
below him.



CHAPTER XII


Locke's case seemed at last hopeless. The cruel ropes bit into his flesh
and increased his agony, while the acrid fumes from the seething acid
were slowly stupefying that keen brain of his.

Backward and forward like a huge pendulum his body swayed, and in an
agony of suspense he watched the fatal rope. With writhing body he
swayed far out, and then he saw just one chance.

The emissaries had thrown the rope over a beam which was far above
Locke, and it seemed an impossibility for him to reach it. For one less
resourceful or with a physique less perfectly developed, even to try
would have been useless. But there was one chance in a thousand, and he
grasped it eagerly.

Alternately contracting and relaxing his muscles, Locke succeeded in
swinging himself in an ever-widening arc. Nearer he swung--back--and
again nearer. Could he make it? Back again and a terrific effort. He was
gaining.

There came to him the sound of running feet. In his fear and agony he
could have shrieked, but from his parched throat there issued no sound.
Friend or foe, for him it meant the same fate--one touch on that knob
and a torturing death by fire.

With bursting muscles he redoubled his efforts. In a long sweep his body
swayed out and up. Would he be in time? Those pattering feet, they were
coming nearer and nearer. There were now but a few yards between them
and that knob.

A mighty swing, a monstrous heave, his fingers crooked talon-like, and
he touched the rafter, clutched--and missed.

Downward and backward, his mind now reeling in black despair. He had
tried and failed. This was the end. The sound of footsteps had ceased.
Well he knew that some one was at the door. He tried to pray and
then--he crashed against the rafter. Mechanically he grasped at it and
clung.

The door flew open, and there stood Eva. All the horrors of imminent
death, even the pain of sorely tried muscles, were momentarily forgotten
in his relief at seeing her safe and having saved himself. But not yet
was he free. The emissaries had been thorough in their work, but it was
not many moments before the last knot was loose and he dropped to the
floor.

Locke peered stealthily about. To all appearances everything was clear.
He placed his arm about Eva and they started to steal out. Well they
knew that, with such enemies, not for a moment would they dare relax
their caution. For them every angle and nook was a temporary haven.
Slowly they drew away from the dread spot, and soon came to a more
populous locality where the lights of honest shops and peaceful homes
gave them a sense of greater security and brought a feeling of unreality
to the horrors through which they had passed.

A taxi-driver hailed them, and in a short time they were rolling along
the Cliff Drive and had arrived at Brent Rock.

It was the following day that the old butler handed Locke a letter
addressed to International Patents, Incorporated, from the Diving and
Salvage Company. Locke was about to read it, when Eva entered and they
read it together.

"We are reliably informed," read the letter, "that the Under Seas
Corporation is trying to obtain possession of the self-liberating
diving-suit which you control in our interest. This must be prevented."

Locke was immediately interested. At once it occurred to him that here
was a patent which the company had suppressed which might prove of
incalculable value.

"This suit might be very valuable to the government," he exclaimed to
Eva. "I am going to try it myself."

"Please don't," pleaded Eva. "It isn't worth it. It's not worth the
risk."

Locke, however, realized that here was something of extreme importance,
and as he visualized to Eva the helplessness of a deep-sea diver, his
air-line cut, struggling in vain to release himself and rise to the
surface, he began to win her over.

At the moment when Quentin and Eva were in the library, Zita was taking
advantage and was ransacking Locke's laboratory, not with any definite
purpose in mind, but searching in every nook for some clue which might
tell her what he was about.

The speed with which she worked was extraordinary. Yet, before she moved
an instrument, a retort, a book, its position was minutely studied, so
that she could restore it to its former place without any one suspecting
that it had ever been moved.

It was while she was thus occupied that her eye fell upon an instrument
which aroused in her an excited interest. It was very like the headpiece
used by operators of telephones, and she hastened to adjust it. In a
moment it was as though she were in the library. She could hear Locke's
earnest laugh and in it Zita could detect an undercurrent of tenderness.
Her lips compressed and her eyes hardened as she listened. Locke was
speaking about a letter and it seemed to be something important. Zita
was all ears.

But Locke's next words which she heard were his decision to test the
diving-suit, and as she listened she became tense, for this information
she knew was important. The continued note of tenderness in Locke's
voice more infuriated Zita. She removed the headpiece of the dictagraph,
slammed it back into the desk drawer from which she had taken it, and
hurried out.

In the library, Locke, having persuaded Eva, left her and went down into
the Graveyard of Genius, where he touched the secret spring and the
massive door flew open. He entered the gloomy place and went at once to
the shelf upon which lay the self-liberating diving-suit. He took the
suit down and examined its every detail minutely. As he did so he became
more and more enthusiastic and he could find no fault with any of its
features.

"It's entirely practical," he exclaimed to himself. "I'm going to try it
to-day."

He closed the great door and remounted the stairs, carrying the suit
with him. But had he noticed the fiery eyes that had watched him through
the secret rock door of the cavern he would not have been so eager to
try the test he had in mind.

By this time Eva had called her car, and together Locke and Eva drove to
the near-by cove, where there was a little launch which he planned to
use.

Out into the river they sailed, Eva at the wheel, while Locke busied
himself over the sputtering engine. Soon they arrived at a spot which
was suitable for the test of the suit.

Locke had brought along the full equipment, and, while Eva took charge
of the air-pump, Locke donned the diving-suit. Soon all was ready and
Locke descended over the side, after carefully instructing Eva in each
detail. Eva started pumping, while with her other hand she carefully
paid out the air-line and signal-cord.

But in their close attention to the task in hand, neither had noticed a
low, knifelike launch that had followed them and that was now hovering a
short distance off.

Locke was now walking over the shell-strewn bottom, examining curious
objects here and there. The tide was setting in strongly and at times it
was with difficulty that he kept his feet.

He had become satisfied that this particular suit filled all the
requirements of a first-class diving-suit, and he was about to try its
special, self-liberating feature, when his attention was arrested by a
vague mass which seemingly moved against the current.

This was so extraordinary that his first thought was of a shark. He
stopped in his tracks and became motionless, for it is a well-known fact
that these sea tigers rarely see an object unless it is in motion.
Still, the vague form slowly took on more distinctness as in its course
it gradually drew nearer to him. It was then that Locke was almost
overcome with surprise. For there, groping his way toward him, was a
diver, like himself.

What was this strange being doing there on the bottom of the sea? Whence
had he come? Locke could not guess. For, like Eva, he had not noticed
the other launch. It seemed impossible to him. Still, to him, apart from
curiosity at the appearance of the other diver, the incident had no
other interest. What had he to fear from any man at the bottom of a
peaceful harbor? Locke moved nearer.

The stranger allowed him to approach, stopped, even, as though he were
himself amazed at Locke's appearance, and Locke made gestures to
reassure the man of his good intentions.

Locke was quite close now, and through the glass gate in the other's
helmet he could see his eyes. But in those eyes he could see no
responding friendliness. There was a murderous hate instead. He tried to
step back and place himself in a position for defense, but he was too
late. For, with a movement amazingly rapid for one under water, the
stranger leaped upon him, at the same time drawing a long knife. There,
under the sea, commenced a battle royal.

Locke was unarmed and so from the start was at a disadvantage. The
stranger seemed not so anxious to stab him as to come to close quarters,
and before Locke could prevent him he had done so. With his left hand he
grabbed Locke's lines, while with the other, in which was the keen
knife, he slashed murderously.

Locke tried to break his grip. But the other was not to be denied. With
one stroke he cut through both lines, pushing Locke backward and himself
springing free at the same time.

Immediately Locke's helmet filled with sea water, while the pressure
became enormous. Locke tried to hold his breath, while his hand searched
for the liberating knob. He gave it one twist. It worked perfectly.
Locke's suit, including the helmet, simply opened and fell from him.

Propelled as much by the pressure that the water exerted as by his own
powerful strokes, Locke shot to the surface.

The day was perfect and the bay was calm. For a few seconds Locke
floated, drawing the air into his starving lungs. Then he raised himself
and gazed about him. At first glance everything seemed the same except
for the fact that, whereas before his own boat had been alone, there
were now two. Then Locke heard an agonizing call for help--from Eva.

After he had gone over the side of their launch Eva was naturally very
intent upon keeping him plentifully supplied with air. He had been down
some time before, glancing about, she had spied the other launch. But at
the time she had thought little of it. For her, all thought of danger
was centered on the man who was now risking his life many fathoms
beneath her from pure motives of patriotism.

It was only, some minutes later, when she heard the grating of another
boat against the side of her own that she realized that she herself
stood in danger. But even at that moment her thoughts were of Quentin,
who now for the first time was wholly dependent on her efforts alone.
She looked up fearfully, and what she saw fairly congealed the blood in
her veins. Directing a murderous emissary to board Eva's launch, in the
cockpit of the other boat stood the Automaton!

Not for an instant did Eva cease her efforts at the pump. But she
shrieked with terror again and again. Now, to add to that terror, the
pressure on the air-pump suddenly ceased. From the depths myriads of
bubbles of air arose.

Knife in hand, the emissary leaped aboard and came toward her.
Automatically, frantically, she still turned the useless pump, while
with her free arm she tried to ward off the poised knife.

Again her shriek for help echoed across the water--and this time her
call was answered.

Had she gone mad? The voice that answered her was the voice of the man
she loved. Her brain reeled and she fell at the feet of the murderous
thug.

Other cries, then shouts were now heard, for some fisher folk were
putting out off shore to discover what all the tumult was about.

The Automaton made a hasty gesture to the emissary, who sprang back from
his victim and leaped to his own launch, where, with his assistance,
there was barely time to haul aboard the chief thug, who had been sent
below to attack Locke. The launch cast off and with ever-increasing
speed headed down the river.

Locke was the first to arrive and climb over the side of the boat.
Dripping though he was, he took Eva in his arms and bathed her face,
while by this time other craft arrived and friendly hands did all they
could to care for them both.

It was some minutes before Eva was restored and all headed again to the
shore, eager to help Locke.

As he assisted Eva to land, and they waited for a carriage, Locke
hastily offered a boatman a liberal reward for the discovery of the
precious diving-suit, for it had been his intention to present the
patent to the government.

Meanwhile some strange things had happened. Paul and his father had
quarreled over money, over De Luxe Dora, over Paul's manner of life and
his ill luck in winning Eva's affections.

At the same time Dora had become more insistent in her demands for money
to meet her extravagances, and Paul conceived an idea of selling one of
the patents to a rival company. Strange to say, it had been the
self-liberating diving-suit and the rival company was the Under Seas
Company.

All this took place some time after the disappearance of the Automaton
and his precious crew.

Some hours later that evening a telephone message came for Locke from
the boatman that the diving-suit had been recovered and was being held
by him.

Locke replied that he would be down in an hour. But during that hour
other strange things occurred. For no sooner had the boatman hung up his
receiver than a pleasant voice hailed him and he left his house to
investigate. It was Paul Balcom.

It was in a clever, insinuating, affable manner that Paul approached the
real object of his visit. His appeal was cleverly worded, cleverly
presented. The sole object was to awaken the poor boatman's cupidity.

The sum mentioned, no less a sum than five thousand dollars, would mean
luxury to the poor man. And all for what? Simply to call up a stranger,
a Mr. Locke, to tell him that the boatman demanded more money since he
had telephoned before, that the cash was to be placed by him in an old
packing-case from which a stationary engine had been removed that
morning. It was just an exchange. That was all.

"Sure I'll do that," the boatman told Paul, and Paul, smiling craftily,
gave him his hand to seal the bargain.

The boatman went back to his quarters and again called Brent Rock,
making his new demands. Locke was tremendously indignant, but he wanted
the suit quickly to prevent its falling into unscrupulous hands. He
agreed and immediately started for the dock.

The boatman turned from his telephone and, picking up the suit, regarded
it curiously. "Five thousand dollars," he muttered. "Five thousand
dollars." And he shook his head wonderingly.

He was standing near an open window and was commencing to fold the suit
preparatory to taking it to the end of the dock where lay the
engine-case, when, without the slightest warning, three emissaries of
the Automaton, who had appeared just a moment before on the dock, leaped
through the window and felled him to the floor. He struggled feebly, but
it was no use, and a final blow left him unconscious.

The emissaries next grabbed the diving-suit and left hurriedly by the
way they had come. But they had not completed what it was they sought to
do.

The old boatman was not as badly hurt as it seemed and was able to drag
himself across the floor with just strength enough to pull the telephone
from the table and call Brent Rock. Then as weakness again overcame him
he managed to blurt out a message to Eva, who answered.