"How did you come to be here?" she demanded.

Zita was startled and confused. It lasted only a minute. Then, her mind
made up, she replied, defiantly:

"I came here to discover the secret of my birth. I have been told that I
am Mr. Brent's daughter."

Eva was stricken dumb with astonishment at this startling claim, but
Locke laughed outright.

"What nonsense!" he scoffed. "Eva, don't listen to it."

Zita glared at him and with a haughty nod to Eva swept out of the
garden.

Eva was still frightfully indignant with Locke and insisted on going
home alone. However, they arrived at Brent Rock at about the same time.

The emissary had been placed on a lounge in the library and a doctor was
called. The case was quite hopeless and they merely hoped to obtain a
confession before he passed away.

When Eva arrived she went directly to her father's room, but, as he was
receiving every attention from a trained nurse and she could do nothing
further to aid him, she returned to the library.

Locke, too, after changing his clothes, still wet from the water-tank on
the top of the apartment, also went to the library.

At his entrance the doctor glanced at him in a manner to indicate that
there was no hope of saving the man's life. Locke went over to examine
him. He was struck by the sly rascality of the professional criminal,
but he thought little of it at the time. He tried to question the
emissary, but, except for a labored breathing, could extract no
response.

There were voices in the hallway. For a moment the dying man showed some
signs of returning consciousness. A crafty look came over his face. What
was he contemplating?

The door opened and Balcom and his son Paul entered. Balcom walked
jauntily, but with a suavity of manner that was always his. Paul looked
at his best, except for the fact that he carried his left arm in a
silken sling.

Balcom greeted them all, and at his voice the dying man actually showed
a sort of agitation. A strong shudder seemed to pass through his body,
then, like a spring suddenly uncoiled, he sat up.

He was fully conscious now and strove to rise to his feet. It was a
tremendous effort, but he succeeded, and stood confronting Balcom, while
the ominous light of hatred that gleamed from his eyes as they
encountered those of Balcom made even that well-poised man recoil and
shudder.

With the muscles of his face working convulsively the dying thug tried
to speak. All those standing in the library realized that it was to
accuse, to denouce.

However, the effort proved too great, and with a groan that was ghastly
the man fell backward on the couch, dead.

Murdering brute that he had been, still to Eva and Locke he now
represented nothing but a stricken human being, with a human soul,
blackened and warped. But Balcom and Paul seemed to show unmistakable
signs of joy and relief. It was so evident, Locke thought, that he
turned to them.

"Your coming seemed to have an unfortunate effect," he hinted. "The man
seemed to know one of you--at least."

"Nothing of the kind," retorted Balcom, nettled.

Locke turned to Paul and regarded his injured arm questioningly. Paul,
however, never lost his accustomed aplomb.

"I was hurt in an automobile accident," he explained, though with what
seemed to be a trifle of nervousness.

Locke turned to the doctor. He was rubbing his hands, and smiling, with
great unction, an action very unbecoming, to say the least, in a medical
man who had just lost a patient. Taken all in all, Locke felt he could
now sense the web of conspiracy tightening around him. The cards were
still in the hands of his enemies.

He determined to incur any risk, to leave no stone unturned in order to
bring the criminal to justice, whoever he might be. One thing encouraged
him. The events seemed to have mollified Eva. He made an almost
imperceptible signal to Eva, who left the room to dress for the street.

Meanwhile Locke left the library and went to a private telephone that
connected the garage to the house. He ordered the chauffeur to have a
fast runabout ready for instant call. Then, at the other telephone, he
notified the coroner's office of the death of the emissary.

By this time Balcom, Paul, and the doctor came out of the library, the
doctor in high good humor, for had he not received a huge fee? He left
in his car.

Balcom and Paul, however, were slower in going, and paced the hallway in
earnest conversation. Once they came to a dead halt close to the
stairway leading down to the Graveyard of Genius. They listened
intently. Evidently they came to a decision on something, for they left
the house very hurriedly.

Immediately Locke called for the runabout. Eva came running down-stairs
and in a moment they took up the trail of the Balcom car.

It seemed as if they traveled for miles, and Locke was commencing to
think that it was merely a wild-goose chase, when Balcom's car came to a
halt in one of the lower quarters of the city, before a house that was
apparently tenantless.

To avoid discovery, Locke backed his car around a corner, got out, and
watched their movements from a safe distance.

He saw Balcom, senior, alight, but Paul did not leave the car. Locke was
in some quandary what to do. To attempt to enter the house without
Paul's seeing him and raising the alarm would, he realized, be
impossible. Therefore he waited for nearly half an hour before his
patience was rewarded by seeing Balcom come out of the house, jump into
the car, and drive off hurriedly with Paul.

Locke walked to the house and looked closely over the exterior. It was
little different from others in the same street. Then he walked
thoughtfully back to Eva and they argued pro and con about the
advisability of attempting to enter.

Locke insisted on entering alone, but Eva would not hear of it.
Therefore, it was decided that they would go in together.

When Balcom had alighted from his car half an hour before he had merely
stood for a moment in front of the door of the house when, mysteriously,
the door had opened.

There was no one in sight. But he was so familiar with the house that it
might have been his own. He descended a flight of stairs and stood
before another door, where the same door-opening process was repeated.

Balcom entered a darkened room and for a moment seemed quite alone. Then
from out the shadows, with a little half run, half lope, a strange
figure of man came toward him.

He was in reality large of frame, but stooped and bent with age. An old
frock-coat was wrapped about him. But the most remarkable things about
the man were a pair of weirdly fascinating eyes with a mad glint in them
and an enormous full beard, snow white, that fell almost to his waist.

At times the man talked rationally, in fact with the forcefulness of a
great savant. Then, abruptly, he would leave off and the rest of his
conversation was that of a babbling child. He was seldom at rest,
scampering here and there, not unlike a bird-dog on a fresh scent.
Seeking--always seeking--what?

Balcom grasped his arm in order to arrest his attention.

"Doctor Q," he addressed him, "you can have the revenge you have sought
so long. Have you prepared everything?"

The old man chuckled and wagged his head in senile fashion. Balcom
grabbed both his shoulders so that the old man was facing him, and shook
him slightly.

"Your enemies are here," he emphasized. "Have you prepared for their
reception?"

And then the haze beclouding the old man's brain seemed to pass away and
his next moments were lucid.

"Ah, it's you, Balcom. You were just saying--"

Balcom explained that Locke and Eva had tracked him and on his departure
would undoubtedly enter to investigate the place. Doctor Q, for such was
his odd name, understood now, and an evil grimace distorted his wrinkled
face.

"Let them come," he growled. "I am prepared. Why, I have even improved
certain features of the Chair of Death."

He led Balcom into an inner room where many electric bulbs were dimly
glowing. At their entrance two brutal-looking men straightened up from
their task and saluted Balcom with great deference. Then they resumed
their tasks as electricians.

"Want to see her work, sir?" one of the pair asked.

Stepping around a partition that separated the knife-switch from the
room in which stood the electric chair, Balcom watched.

The chair was of practically the same construction as the chairs used in
prisons for the supreme penalty, with electrodes to connect at the head,
arms, and legs of the man to be electrocuted.

"Stand back, sir," called one of the men as he shot the switch home.

Instantly a snapping sound was heard as the current surged through, and
the crackling sound such as the now familiar wireless makes as the long
sparks leap from pole to pole. It was Force.

A satisfied look came into Balcom's eyes and he warmly congratulated the
mad inventor, who followed him to the door and watched him as he mounted
the stairs to depart with his son.

Soon after the departure Doctor Q went to a strange-looking instrument
that seemed to have many of the characteristics of the periscope. He
pulled a lever, a panel opened, and immediately the space directly in
front of his street door was revealed to him. He stood there, watching
intently, much as a spider watches for a fly.

Soon Locke and Eva showed in the panel above. He next pressed a button
and saw the two enter. Then he went to a huge divan on the other side of
the room and whipped off a covering that was concealing some gigantic
thing beneath.

It was the Automaton, prostrate, at full length, without motion. At
least it seemed so.

The madman glanced around, and then glided into an inner room from the
larger one. He was just in time, for a moment later Locke and Eva
entered.

They, too, glanced around fearfully. They saw the dread form of the
Automaton and, although it did not move, Locke would have admitted he
was ready to beat a retreat.

It was uncanny, weird. In the dim light the monster seemed to assume
gigantic proportions. But he lay so still that their jangling nerves
became quieted. They even approached him, Locke with automatic in hand
in case the iron terror were shamming. But there was no sign of life--or
whatever it was that animated this thing.

Locke, handing his gun to Eva, determined to investigate further. He
went to the inner door and listened. But he could hear no sound. He
turned the knob and entered. He was amazed at what he saw. But, as there
was apparently no living thing about, he took courage and entered
farther. He took note of the switches, saw the deadly chair, and was
about to test the apparatus to see if it could be possible that a
practical electric chair existed in the heart of a peaceful city, when
he heard Eva shriek in heart-rending terror.

He rushed madly back to where he had left her. But as he passed through
the door some one dealt him a blow on the head, and as though pole-axed
he dropped to the floor.

After Locke had left her to go into the inner room Eva's fears revived
and she wished to follow him. But she was ashamed to have him think her
a coward. She forced herself to remain rooted to the spot.

Her eyes had followed Locke through the doorway and her ears were
strained to hear the faintest sound from the other room. In her anxiety
about Locke's safety she even forgot the Automaton, and, in turning the
better to watch the doorway, she drew nearer to the divan upon which the
monster lay.

It was this action that had brought her into peril. Slowly one of the
monster's arms commenced to move, and before Eva could spring away she
was enfolded in his deadly embrace. It was that that made her shriek
madly, wildly, in utter terror.

Then she saw Locke running through the door to her, saw him struck from
behind, and she fainted.

The Automaton, evidently thinking Eva dead, let her limp body slip to
the floor. For a moment it towered over her, as though contemplating
whether to trample on her or no. At this juncture an emissary distracted
its attention and the terror left her lying there without further
injury.

The Automaton now assumed command of Locke's electrocution.

Under its direction the emissaries picked up Locke's body and placed it
in the electric chair. They slit his trousers so that the deadly
electrodes might form a better contact with his flesh. His sleeves were
rolled back for the same reason. Next the headpiece was firmly adjusted.
Now all the straps were tightly clinched.

The Automaton waved his arm.

A man stepped to the switch.



CHAPTER XV


There was a moan from the front room. Eva was recovering from her faint.
The Automaton indicated to the emissary at the switch to do nothing
until he had found out what was going on.

Locke had, meanwhile, recovered consciousness and realized his awful
position. Here was a situation which, on its face, seemed unescapable.
Yet Locke would not give in.

Straining every effort, he tried to extricate himself before the deadly
current could sever the thread of life. Seconds seemed ages. Still he
tried.

With a mighty effort he strained every muscle of his gigantic chest and
the very straps that held him groaned from the force of his muscular
exertion. Even now the death-man was at the switch and it was barely a
question of seconds or heart-beats between him and death.

With a quick twist of his giant shoulder he threw his whole weight
against the chest strap and it parted. Lurching forward, he freed his
head and neck from the cruel straps, which snapped and parted.

The death-man paused for a fraction of a second to see what caused the
commotion in the chair. To that pause Locke owed his life. With a final
supreme effort he threw himself on the floor just as the knife-switch
swung into position and the wicked blue flame of death leaped across the
head electrodes.

Once freed, he catapulted himself across the room and with a vicious
upper-cut sent the emissary sprawling unconscious to the floor. Without
a thought of himself he rushed into the next room where Eva now stood in
panic, glued to the spot, in fear of the Frankenstein monster that would
crush her in its grasp.

With murderous mien the thing crossed the room slowly, until only the
table stood between her and destruction.

Like a wild animal Locke hurled himself into the room and with a master
stroke of quick wit flung the heavy oaken table over at the monster.
Then he seized Eva, and before the monster could turn in its tracks,
half dragged, half carried her from the room.

In the hall further difficulty confronted Locke, for the place was well
guarded. Several henchmen darted forth from dark corners of the murky
place and would have intercepted him.

As the first approached, Locke, with a quick jiu-jitsu thrust, hurled
him for a fall that would have broken the back of a less hardy man. The
next one was just turning the top of the stairs, and Locke, quick to
take advantage of the situation, adopted the only means of escape.

He seized the man bodily about the waist and, lifting him over his head,
threw him upon his other oncoming foe. The result was that the two were
flung down the stairs.

"Run!" he cried to Eva in a voice that was a command.

Without waiting he picked her up and carried her over the sprawling mass
of legs and arms to safety below.

Once outside, he felt a little embarrassed at having the beautiful girl
in his arms and he half murmured an apology as he placed her feet gently
on the ground.

Life at Brent Rock was far from monotonous.

Like a great game of checkers, the various members of the establishment
were being moved about, guided by some strange hand, it seemed.

Now one, then another seemed to gain the advantage, and as each strove
for control of the vast fortune, the battle of wits surged back and
forth.

Balcom was playing a game, it was plain. But to what extent? Sometimes
it seemed as though Zita was his aide and would stop at nothing to
succeed. Again it was that Zita played the game alone, still fostering
her secret but hopeless love for Locke. Again it seemed as if Paul were
playing the game, either alone or with some one else.

Just now it was apparent that Balcom and Zita, for their own ends,
whatever might be the identity of the Automaton, planned a coup for
themselves.

During one of Locke's absences Zita had secured access to his
laboratory, and while looking around had discovered the dictagraph
hidden in the desk drawer. Often Balcom and Zita, either together or
alone, had taken advantage of the discovery.

It was at a time when both were using the mechanical eavesdropper on
Locke and Eva in the library that Locke suddenly decided to return to
the laboratory, without saying anything about it.

Zita's quick ear heard him down the hall.

"Quick!" she warned. "Some one is coming!"

She sprang toward the closet door, which stood ajar, and in an instant
Balcom was with her. The two were concealed in the closet as the
laboratory door opened and Locke entered.

Locke walked to his table of test-tubes and picked up one containing
mercury. What prompted this action he did not know. Perhaps it was his
fascination for the elusive metal. Perhaps it was some subconscious
feeling. At any rate, he held it aloft and gazed at it in the light. As
he did so a strange thing happened. Reflected in its surface on the
glass, yet distorted like a convex mirror, he could see the door of the
closet open just a crack and the evil faces of Balcom and Zita peer out.

He did not move nor did he in any way betray what he saw, but
nonchalantly set the tube of precious metal down and pretended to seek
something from the table. He turned slowly and retraced his steps to the
library below, where he entered, holding his fingers to his lips in
warning to Eva not to speak. He walked quickly over to a writing-desk,
took a pencil, and began to write.

"Balcom and Zita are listening on the dictagraph. Pretend to quarrel
with me."

Eva read in amazement as he wrote. Quickly she comprehended. Then they
walked silently until they were almost under the chandelier which held
the transmitter of the dictagraph.

"I have something I want to say to you, Mr. Locke," began Eva, with a
wink and a smile at him, "and it grieves me to say it."

"What is it?" asked Locke, with distinct anxiety, winking back.

"I am afraid I shall have to dispense with your services," continued
Eva, as she reached out her hand and gave Locke's a little squeeze.

Up-stairs, Balcom and Zita listened intently, their heads close together
so that each could catch every word. Balcom was nodding with
satisfaction. Each looked at the other as though they could hardly
believe their ears.

"But I have tried to serve and protect you," protested Locke, as his
face wreathed in smiles at Eva, who was carrying the deception off
perfectly. Then he added, plaintively, "I am sorry that I have failed."

"Your protection has led me into danger," returned Eva, in her best
voice to denote anger, "and your seeming interest is out of place--and,
besides, _Mr._ Locke, Paul Balcom does not like your being here. You
know he is the man I am to marry."

As she said this, Eva looked roguishly at him. Locke's face clouded a
little, although he knew it was only in a joke.

"But, Miss Brent," he continued to protest, "I had hoped--"

"Not another word, Mr. Locke," interrupted Eva, as she edged very close
to him and gazed into his eyes. "Please leave this house at once--I hate
you!" And, not suiting the action to the word, she reached out and gave
his hand a squeeze that told more than words what her true thoughts in
the matter were.

Locke leaned over and was on the point of kissing her when she held up
her hand and pointed to the receiver above in the chandelier as if it
really had eyes as well as ears. He looked up and was forced to check a
laugh lest it be heard by the listeners above.

In the laboratory, Balcom had heard enough. He turned to Zita, and with
a hurried command told her to go down-stairs.

"Keep an eye on him and tell me where he goes," was the parting
instruction of Balcom as the two separated on the stairs at the very
time that Paul blustered in the front door.

"Morning, Governor," nodded Paul, as he gave his hat to the butler.

"A very good morning, Paul," emphasized Balcom, quite unctuously, as he
went on to tell his son of the supposed quarrel between Eva and Locke
which he had overheard.

A light of triumph came into Paul's eyes. Eva's happiness, even her
life, meant nothing to him. She was merely a means to his own evil ends
and he now felt sure that he held her in his grasp. Besides, in so far
as such a selfish nature can care for another human being, Paul cared
for De Luxe Dora. There was a fascination for him in her tigerish,
unscrupulous nature that a good woman could never inspire.

And now, as he eagerly listened to his father, he visualized new
motor-cars, a yacht, rivers of champagne, a life of mad gaiety with his
favorite pals, men and women.

Locke, in the library, was laughing quietly with Eva over the success of
the ruse. But there was, notwithstanding, an undercurrent of seriousness
running through their thoughts. For, although they had scored against
their adversaries in misleading them as to their intentions, both
realized that Balcom was a tremendously clever man, astute and wise
beyond the average in the ways of the world, and that the slightest lack
of caution, the smallest flaw in the acting of the parts they had
elected to play, would inevitably lose for them the advantage they had
gained.

They went into the most minute details of the plans they had formulated,
and they realized that in order to keep the wool pulled over Balcom's
and Paul's eyes it was necessary that they separate, at least
apparently, for a few days. Locke gave out that he was to seek evidence
in the lower quarters of the city, while Eva was to play the game at
home. It was to Eva that the more difficult role fell.

Locke bade her an affectionate farewell and left by a door opposite to
the one leading to the main hallway, where the voices of Paul and his
father were now audible.

Eva opened the hallway door and greeted Paul, feigning delight and
chiding him for his long absence--which had not been even a
day--intimating that there must be some woman in whom he was interested.
She made a pretty show of jealousy.

Paul, wearing his vanity on his sleeve, was delighted and his eyes shone
with satisfaction. He took a step forward and attempted to take Eva in
his arms. But she evaded him playfully, while he pursued her. Finally
she could bear no more. The game revolted her. She made the excuse that
she must attend her father, and ran up-stairs.

So a day or two passed, days which were sheer torture to Eva. Paul
called every day, bringing her little gifts, and it must be acknowledged
that he showed exquisite taste.

They took long walks together. On horseback they cantered all over the
country. Friends called, and it was at such times that Eva found her
only relief from Paul's attentions. Many a rubber of bridge she played
just to escape being alone with him.



CHAPTER XVI


At last, late one afternoon, the faithful old butler announced to Eva
privately that Locke was on the wire and wished to speak to her.

Eva almost ran to the telephone, and her hand shook with sheer joy as
she took the receiver.

"Yes, everything is moving along even more rapidly than I expected,"
replied Locke to her eager inquiry. "Whenever Paul leaves Brent Rock he
goes directly to a miserable cafe and there I see him with a number of
people of the underworld. He seems to have a great deal of influence
over them. I'm sifting all the clues, and as soon as I unmask him I will
send for you."

Eva gave him a brief outline of how she had fared in his absence and an
account of her father's condition, which was now very bad. Everything
the doctor had done seemed to be without effect.

Locke assured her that he hoped soon to lay hands on the antidote that
would restore Brent to health and sanity, and begged Eva to be brave in
the mean time.

When the conversation was over Eva felt certain that no one had
overheard what she and Quentin had said. But she was mistaken, as she
was to learn at her cost. For, far down in the bowels of the earth, in
the den of the Automaton, an emissary had tapped in on the telephone
wire and had heard every word.

Down-town, among the haunts of Paul, on the west side, was the Black Tom
Cafe. Every attempt had been made to make the place bizarre. About the
walls were palings that represented a back fence, along which crawled
painted black cats in every conceivable state--a rather odd conceit for
a cabaret.

Although the sun had not yet set, the electric lights were already
agleam. On a raised platform three weary-eyed musicians were pounding
and thumping out the latest Broadway hit.

There were not half a dozen people in the place, and these were
obviously denizens of this quarter of the town. They were listless and
weary, mere shells of human beings. And yet it was such as these that
the slumming parties at night romantically dubbed bohemians.

They showed scant interest as De Luxe Dora, unaccompanied for once,
swept into the place. Dora was gorgeously and flashily dressed and
fairly scintillated with jewels. She seated herself not far from the
door and ordered a cocktail. Then she whistled a bar of music
suggestively to the piano-player, who immediately caught it, and the
"orchestra" with a show of animation strummed out her suggestion. She
sent over drinks for them and was rewarded with more song hits.

Jauntily now Paul came in. A couple of men roused themselves and
slouched over to him. They held a whispered conversation, and Paul was
insistent on some point. He evidently had his way, for the men slunk
back to their places and, sprawling out, were in a moment as listless as
before.

Paul nodded to Dora in greeting, but she turned her back. He gave a low
whistle of astonishment and went over to her.

"Say, Dora, why the grouch?" he asked.

For a moment she disdained to answer and glared at him witheringly. Then
she blurted out, "You're throwing me down for that baby face with the
money!"

Paul gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't be silly," he
laughed. "She'll be our meal-ticket."

He sat down, and over a couple more cocktails he had Dora quite
mollified.

A few moments later Locke entered and slipped quickly into a chair,
since he did not wish to be seen. In his hand he carried a newspaper
which he now unfolded and held up in front of him so that it hid his
face. Next he poked a hole through the center of the sheet so that he
could see without being seen.

At this moment, seemingly in all earnestness, Paul and Dora resumed
their quarrel, and Dora's strident voice echoed through the cafe.

"If you throw me down you'd better look out," she bawled.

Paul jumped up, and for a moment it looked as though he would strike
her. But he changed his mind, cursed her, and finally stalked out of the
cafe.

Locke folded his paper, paid his bill to the sleepy waiter, and started
after Paul. At the entrance he stopped, thought a moment, and then went
directly to Dora's table and sat down.

"Why, what are you doing here?" she gasped, in great surprise. "Don't
you know that you may be _killed_?"

"It's a risk that I must run," replied Locke. "But tell me--you tried to
kill me once--why?"

"Because I was a fool, controlled by my love for Paul Balcom--the beast!
I hate him!"

Dora drank viciously, then, with jealous venom, leaned over to Locke,
and asked, "If that girl, Eva Brent, finds out about him, will she throw
him over?"

Locke played the game diplomatically, and apparently succeeded in
further incensing Dora against her lover, for, suddenly she jumped up.

"Meet me here in an hour. I'll have everything arranged to spoil Paul
Balcom's game," she whispered, as she swept out of the cafe with
demi-mondaine majesty.

Locke was elated at the thought of having won so powerful an enemy to
his side. But, had he heard Dora's remark to Paul as she met him around
a convenient corner, his elation would have given way to caution.

Paul eagerly questioned her with a glance as she approached.

"Well, he fell for it," she announced, toughly, then added, "just as you
fell for his dictagraph game with the girl."

There was just a bit of jealousy yet in the tone of Dora. She was not
yet convinced of her complete triumph over Eva.

At the same time Locke left the cafe and entered a telephone-booth, from
which he called up Eva.