Locke. She tore it open.
"Dearest Quentin," she read and for a minute could get no farther, for
it seemed as if a mist had formed before her eyes. She clutched at the
balustrade. Then pride, jealousy, and a certain anger surged up within
her and she finished reading the telegram.

Eva was in a quandary what to do. She paced up and down the hallway,
biting her lips and repressing the tears.

Could it be possible, after all, that Locke was faithless? Was this the
man who had been so kind, who had saved her from a thousand dangers? At
any rate, she would find out once and for all.

Faint and heart-sick, she gave orders to have her runabout brought
around. It was a long drive from Brent Rock, but Eva's fast speedster
covered the ground quickly. Twice policemen tried to stop her and,
failing, probably took the number of her car. Nothing could deter her.
And, as the cool evening wind lashed her face, faith in Locke revived
and the suspicion came that she might be rushing into danger. But no
thought of herself entered her mind as she stepped on the accelerator
and the car shot forward. Her single thought was of speed, more speed,
to get to Locke quickly.

She was appalled at the squalor of the neighborhood in which she finally
found herself. Disgusted and revolted at the filth of Old Meg's abode,
still not for an instant did she falter or hesitate. She ran down the
steps to Old Meg's home.

The old hag was evidently awaiting her, for this time she did not hide
at the sound of approaching footsteps, but came forward, courtesying and
mumbling greetings, while her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction that was
positively hellish.

"Mr. Locke--where is he?" Eva gasped.

"All in good time, my pretty, all in good time," mumbled the hag.
"You're to wait for him here."

But Eva insisted on seeing Locke at once and the old hag lied volubly.
He had been here, and had stepped out for a moment. No, she did not know
where--to get a cigar, maybe. Would the pretty lady hear her fortune
told while she waited?

As there was apparently nothing that she could do until Locke returned,
Eva sat at the card-table while Old Meg droned her old fortune-telling
rigamarole.

In spite of her growing fear and agitation Eva became interested. There
was something calming in the monotonous voice of the old crone.

"When the queen of spades comes between the jack of hearts and the king
of diamonds and the--a--the--"

A door directly behind Eva silently and slowly opened. Stealthily a
boy's head was thrust out. On the young face was a world of deadly
hatred. As the sputtering candle burned brighter for a moment,
startlingly, a vague change was noticeable in the lineaments of the
features.

It was the same gamin who had given the sleeping boy money. But now, in
the candle-light, with only the head showing, it was no boy who glared
malevolently at Eva, but a woman--and that woman was the implacable
Zita!

The head disappeared to give place to the visages of two
horrible-looking men, the same brutes who were present when Balcom had
spread the net of his conspiracy.

"When the jack of clubs," droned the witch, "and the--"

With barely a sound the two thugs entered the room behind Eva. In the
hand of one was an old gunny sack.

"--and the queen of hearts--"

Eva was so interested now that she leaned far over the table, her eyes
fastened on the cards as they fell.

A thug stumbled. Eva, startled, sat back quickly and tried to rise. But
the next instant she felt herself struggling in the heavy folds of the
grimy gunny sack.

The emissaries, carrying Locke, had staggered with their burden into the
warehouse cellar until, coming to a closed door, one of them rapped on
it in a peculiar manner that was evidently a signal. An instant, and the
door opened.

Through it stalked the Automaton.

The monster gazed intently at Locke as though to determine whether it
were indeed he, then waved the emissaries on to the shaft of a huge
freight elevator.

In the shaft, directly under the elevator platform, they now cast
Locke's unconscious body.

"Are you sure the watchman's still up above?" asked one.

"Sure."

"Then give a ring for the basement."

A thug pressed the button that signaled. In a moment, creaking and
groaning, the massive elevator started to descend.

A shuffling of feet was heard and down the stairs leading from Old Meg's
quarters came the two thugs carrying Eva. A few feet behind them, still
in boy's clothes, was Zita.

The jar to his body as the emissaries threw him on the concrete floor
had tended to bring Locke back to consciousness. For a moment he lay
still. Then the sound of the descending elevator attracted his
attention. He gazed upward and dimly saw the slowly moving platform. In
a flash he realized his danger.

Locke struggled fiercely to dislodge his bonds. He contorted his body,
expanded his powerful chest in an effort to break the ropes that held
him a prisoner.

At this moment the thugs that were carrying Eva passed by, followed by
others. Apparently they took no notice of him, but continued on their
way with the helpless girl.

Locke, his own danger forgotten, became frantic with apprehension for
her and tore savagely at the restraining ropes.

Zita stopped. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions as she saw
Locke struggling at the bottom of the shaft.

Floor by floor, inch by inch, the enormous elevator, that would crush
out Locke's life as though he were an insect, continued to descend.

Zita stepped to an electric switch. That switch would stop the elevator
immediately and save Locke's life.

She raised her hand--and then, looking after the retreating thugs and
emissaries, she saw Eva again. Zita's lips formed a cruel line and a
flinty hardness came into her eyes.

Her hand dropped.

There were only a few feet between Locke and the descending elevator.
Locke was struggling frenziedly to escape and rescue Eva.

Zita's hand went out again and grasped the handle of the switch.

She hesitated, hate on her face.

Would she, for love of Locke, who had not returned her love, save him?

Could she bring herself to save this man--for a woman she hated, who had
won him from her?

If she saved him it would be only to lose him to the other woman.

With a great creaking the massive elevator was within only a few short
inches of Locke.



CHAPTER XIX


Every fiber of Zita's body was galvanized into action as she threw the
whole weight of her body against the elevator emergency-control switch.

There was a sputtering of blue flame as the connection was made, and
Zita closed her eyes. With a shudder she heard the great elevator strike
the cellar floor and then rebound.

She dared not open her eyes. The last thing that she had seen was Locke
struggling frantically to escape from under the elevator that was only a
few inches above him and seemed destined to crush out his life.

Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes. Locke's body lay motionless at
her feet, separated almost literally by only the breadth of a hair from
the shaft.

The relief, the reaction from her terrible emotions, made Zita half
hysterical. Trembling in every limb, she made her way to Locke and fell
on her knees by him. She wrapped her arms about him and held his head
up.

It was thus that she was holding him when his eyes slowly opened and
gazed questioningly into her own, his brow knitted in perplexity.

Then, with a rush, it all came back to him--the descending elevator,
Zita standing at the switch, while his life hung in the balance, his
last frantic effort to escape just before the descending elevator had
grazed his head, rendering him unconscious. That Zita, at the last
moment, had attempted to save his life he did not know, nor why she now
gazed at him frankly with eyes of love.

It was all inexplicable to him.

Another instant and he had wrenched himself loose from Zita's arms and
was struggling with the ropes that still bound him even after he had
managed to roll out from under the elevator in the last nick of time.

He had suddenly realized that the sight of Eva being carried off by the
emissaries had not been a hideous dream, but a terrible actuality, and
that at this very moment she was probably in the most imminent danger.

Zita realized that he wanted freedom to rush to Eva's assistance. Had
she dared, she would have refused to release him from her arms, would at
least have hindered his untying his bonds. But there was a masterful
something about his silent demand to be released that would admit of no
refusal.

In a few seconds Locke completed the freeing of himself and was dashing
madly toward the door through which the gang, carrying Eva, had passed.

The door was unlocked, and, hesitating not an instant, Quentin dashed
through and into a large room.

Eva, the gunny sack removed and still unconscious, lay on the floor. The
emissaries were grouped around her. In the background, dimly visible,
stood the iron monster.

Startled, they looked up as Locke rushed into the room. But before they
could do more, Locke had whipped out his automatic and, point-blank, was
blazing away at the murderous crew. Two emissaries fell dead or mortally
wounded. The others scattered.

Only the Automaton, man of iron that he was, showed no sign of fear.
Instead, he advanced ponderously upon Locke.

The automatic barked again, but did not succeed in deterring the
monster. Locke realized the futility of using this puny weapon against
such a foe.

He dashed toward Eva. It was the work of only an instant to snatch her
up, practically from under the monster's feet, to turn, and to carry her
through the door by which he had been brought in. Holding her in one
arm, he slammed the door shut and shot the bolt.

He was just in time, for the next instant the door bulged out beneath
the dead weight of the Automaton as it hurled its massive form against
the other side.

Zita vas still waiting at the elevator shaft when Locke, carrying Eva in
his arms, entered. At the sight Zita's whole body expressed her
unquenched hatred of the unconscious girl. Her eyes narrowed, her lips
became livid, and her hands clenched as though she would like to strike
the helpless Eva.

"Zita," demanded Locke, suspiciously, "why did you hesitate to save my
life?"

"Because," she replied--and her voice indicated the force of her answer
whether it were really the truth or not--"I love you, and would not save
you--for _her_."

Zita turned and ran up the stairs leading to Old Meg's as Locke turned
to try to revive Eva.

But the hammer blows of the monster resounded throughout the cellar. At
any moment the door might come crashing down and Locke and Eva might
again be at the mercy of the iron fiend.

Locke caught up Eva in his arms again and, groping, sought the exit of
the warehouse.

He dared not follow Zita through Old Meg's den. Love that could for any
reason hesitate or injure the one loved was incomprehensible to him. He
felt that the hag's den might now be but an ambush and that Zita might
have run ahead to warn the uninjured emissaries of his coming.

By a lucky chance he found the path leading directly to the warehouse
steps and the street. Eva's speedster had not been moved or tampered
with and he placed Eva gently in the seat, climbed in, and started the
motor. As he did so three emissaries came running out of the alley
leading to Old Meg's. But shooting the gears into high speed, Locke
easily evaded them and turned up the first corner.

He was going to take Eva to the first doctor's or a drug-store, but it
proved not to be necessary. The rush of the air as the car moved rapidly
revived her, and in a few moments she was quite herself again, eagerly
questioning him about her rescue.

Although they were thankful for their escape, still they could not blind
themselves to the fact that all their efforts had been in vain, that
they stood no nearer to their great desire, and that, at least until
now, their enemies had proved too wily and too strong for them.

But they were young, courageous, and resourceful, and as they drew up
before Brent Rock they were busily engaged with plans for the future.

It was the following afternoon in the Chinese quarter. The Celestials
were celebrating one of their numerous feasts. Long multicolored banners
and streamers were hanging from every window and balcony and were even
strung across the narrow street, almost brushing the faces of the motley
throng that passed beneath. Tom-toms and cymbals beat and clashed, while
from the Chinese theater came the shrill piping of reeds and the
high-pitched chanting voices of Chinamen.

Street venders cried their wares and the windows of the Oriental shops
were gaily bedecked for the holiday.

Through the dense happy throng a man made his way. He, too, was an
Oriental, but of a different race. A giant in size, he calmly pushed and
shoved the smaller Celestials out of his path, and, although they
chattered angrily at him, their resentment went no farther, for his size
and the menace of his swarthy face made them pause.

Before the entrance of a curio-shop he halted and consulted a card.
Then, satisfied that he had found his destination, he picked up a wicker
carrying-case that for the moment he had placed on the curb and entered
the shop.

A Chinaman stepped forward, scrutinized him closely, and, nodding
significantly, bade the new-comer follow him.

They went to the back of the shop. The Chinese clapped his hands, and a
panel in the wall slid back, disclosing a stairway. The new-comer
stepped through the aperture and the panel closed behind him. He mounted
the stairs and came to a room, magnificent in its Oriental splendor.

Priceless rugs covered the floor and walls, while on wonderfully carved
teakwood stands reposed ancient porcelains, specimens of bygone
dynasties, antique arms and armor cunningly wrought, jades and ivories
marvelously fashioned by master craftsmen long since dead. Seen through
the filmy haze of rising incense, the room was a veritable
treasure-house of Oriental art.

On low settees a few richly clad Chinese were reclining, and in a far
corner, gazing intently into a globe of crystal, sat a man of the same
race as the new-comer, a Madagascan.

Startled at the entrance of the giant, he left off his shadow-gazing and
came hastily forward, cringing as he did so.

The giant, in an impressive, booming voice, now spoke for the first
time.

"I, the Strangler, have come from Madagascar with the Great Torture."

A door opened and Doctor Q entered the room, his head wagging from side
to side.

As he caught sight of the Madagascan he stopped short and put his hand
to his head with a gesture of perplexity, striving piteously to place
the stranger. He could not succeed. With a half-running, half-stumbling
gait he withdrew to a corner of the room and furtively watched the two
Madagascans.

There came the sound of a gong. A panel slid back, and into the room
there majestically swept a Chinaman of pure Mongolian type.

He was gorgeously clad in flowing silks and wore the princely cap with a
button. At a glance his piercing eye took in every detail of the room.
Then he went directly to the Madagascan, whose overbearing air of
assurance immediately forsook him at the Chinaman's approach.

He bowed low and reverently, for it was Long Fang to whom he made
obeisance, Long Fang, leader of a great Tong, and implacable foe to all
others, a Chinese whose tentacles of power reached into every corner of
the underworld, spreading terror.

In an incisive, icy voice that sent a chill through the big man's frame,
he now spoke.

"You have been overlong on your journey and we have been waiting for
you." Then with a menace in his voice he snarled, "It is well for you
that you came at last."

The big man shuddered and remained silent. Long Fang crossed to Doctor
Q.

"The instrument of torture is here," he said. "The Madagascan has just
brought it. He is an unrivaled strangler."

"Let him approach," commanded Doctor Q.

Long Fang beckoned, and the Strangler came forward. His eyes had been
fixed on the Chinese, but now they roved to the figure of Doctor Q, and
he fell back in consternation, clutching the other Madagascan by the
shoulder and gasping in awestruck tones.

"In our country his magic is supreme!"

With difficulty he controlled himself and bowed low, his forehead almost
touching the floor. Then he looked away, cringing.

"I see that you recognize me," Doctor Q chuckled, fiendishly. "Good! You
will not be so foolish as to fail me."

"No, no, master, I swear it by--"

"Never mind your oath. My power is my guaranty. Go--follow Long Fang. He
will direct you to the torture-chamber."

Doctor Q turned on his heel and hobbled out of the room.

Long Fang and the Strangler were about to proceed to the torture-chamber
when footsteps were heard on the stairway that led to the curio-shop
below. Long Fang and the Madagascan stopped and listened.

Another moment and De Luxe Dora and Paul Balcom stepped into the room.
With a curt command Paul called Long Fang to him and the Chinaman,
important as he was, hastened to obey.

What was this strange power that Paul, at will, could exercise
throughout the underworld?

With a few terse questions Paul ascertained the exact condition of
affairs.

"You say, Long Fang, that all is ready?"

"All, master. We only awaited your coming."

Then with a graceful gesture he asked, "Will you so far honor your
humble servant?" as he indicated the way into another room.

Dora, followed by Paul and the Chinese, stepped through the portal and
came to a Chinese temple.

It was a large room and the decorations, although equally well executed
as those in the room they had just left, were actually terrifying.
Flying dragons and serpents done in bronze hung from the ceiling, while
on a raised dais at the farther end of the room was an enormous
squatting figure of the seven-handed god. Before it, in braziers, fire
gleamed, giving off a heavy, pungent odor that was almost overpowering
to Occidental nostrils.

On either side of the huge image hung silken curtains, in all
probability covering doorways into yet other chambers.

For the first time Dora showed signs of interest. With the shop and the
first chamber she was already familiar, but this was something new,
something to give the spur to her satiated, _blase_ nature. She moved
about the place, fingering the rare tapestries, contemplating probably
what gorgeous hangings they would make for her own apartment.

Dora's preoccupation gave Long Fang his opportunity to confer with Paul
alone and he moved closer to him.

"Master," he nodded, "why not use the beautiful lady to lure the other
one into our power?"

Paul shook his head negatively. He knew that Eva was aware that Dora was
her enemy.

"But, master," persisted the Chinese, "you told me that this Miss Brent
loves her father, and that she would do anything for his recovery. Let
this lady tell her that the Madagascan has brought an antidote that will
restore his reason. She will come here and we shall trap her."

For a moment Paul stood in deep thought, then called to Dora.

At first she laughed at the idea that Eva would even listen to her. But
Dora was clever and conceited and in the end she agreed that at least
she would make the attempt.

At this moment in another quarter of town Paul's father was ready to
leave his apartment, yet from his nervousness it could readily be seen
that he was waiting for some one. A Madagascan servant entered and
salaamed.

"Master," he announced, "the Strangler has arrived from Madagascar."

Balcom's face lighted up with intense satisfaction and cunning at the
news. He waved the servant away, picked up his hat and stick, and
hurried out.

In the library at Brent Rock Eva and Locke were having an earnest
conversation. Locke had on his motoring togs and was on the point of
going out.

"By elimination," he was saying, "I will prove that either Paul or his
father is the Automaton. I am going to trap Paul."

"Quentin," cautioned Eva, "for my sake be careful."

Locke strove to quiet her fears, pointing out that his scheme was
necessary in order to save her father, and in the end Eva reluctantly
consented.

She went with him to the porte-cochere where his car was already
waiting.

"Good luck!" she tried to call cheerfully, in spite of her misgivings.

Long after his car had disappeared in the distance she stood there
gazing after it, a world of anxiety in her eyes.



CHAPTER XX


Darkness had settled down upon Brent Rock, following the departure of
Locke, when a trim runabout drew up under the porte-cochere and Dora
stepped lightly out of it.

She paused for a moment and looked about curiously. For some time she
hesitated. In this house lived the girl whom in her heart Dora hated
bitterly.

What sort of reception might she expect? Yet Paul and his
underworldlings had played on Dora's pride until they had prevailed on
her to undertake the mission. As she looked about all her old assurance
came back to her and Dora turned and approached the door boldly.

Eva was just about to go up-stairs to her room when she heard the butler
at the door and a woman's voice asking whether Miss Brent was at home.
Eva paused a moment.

There was evidently a slight altercation between the butler and the
new-comer as the latter raised her voice sharply.

"You will tell Miss Brent I must see her," reiterated Dora.

There was a pause, during which the butler was heard to murmur
something, and then the woman's voice was heard again.

"Tell Miss Brent that if she refuses to see me she will regret it all
her life."

Eva was intensely interested now, for she recognized the voice of De
Luxe Dora. But with her interest there came a feeling of repulsion with
which this woman always inspired her, and her first impulse was to have
Dora shown out of the house.

The very nature of the danger with which they were all surrounded,
however, prohibited such a drastic course. Yet how dare that woman enter
Brent Rock?

Still, the very fact of her so daring pointed to some serious matter
which Eva felt she ought to know. At any rate, there could be no harm to
listen to Dora's reason for coming, and there would probably be much to
be learned.

Eva called to the butler and he stepped aside, and Dora, all smiles now,
and with her hand extended in greeting, advanced toward Eva, who ignored
her extended hand.

"Need I tell you," remarked Eva, coldly, "that I am astounded at your
presumption in coming here?"

"Miss Brent," replied Dora, "believe me, nothing but my present mission
could have induced me to do so. There are wheels within wheels which
have made it appear that I am your enemy. But that is far from being the
truth, as my present mission to you will prove."

Dora was clever and played her cards cleverly. However, Eva was on
guard.

"Please come to the point," she insisted. "Tell me exactly why you have
come."

Dora paused a moment, then replied, impressively, "I have come to save
your father's life."

Eva caught herself almost gasping in astonishment as Dora covertly
watched the effect of her words. "You have the antidote, then?" asked
Eva, breathlessly.

"Not exactly that," replied Dora, quickly. "But I can take you where you
can obtain it. A man has arrived from Madagascar who has it in his
possession."

"What shall I do?" almost wailed the poor girl. "How can I know that you
speak the truth?"

Dora's voice now assumed a cold decisiveness. "That is for you to
decide," she said merely. "Refuse to come with me and your father will
surely die of his madness. Consent--and he may live."

Eva could hesitate no longer. Bidding Dora wait, she ran up the stairs,
returning in a few moments garbed for the street.

They left the house together, but not before the butler had
surreptitiously slipped a large automatic into Eva's hand-bag.

In the Chinese temple, or Joss-house, the last devotee had departed. The
hanging lights had been dimmed and now the fantastic shapes with which
the place was decorated, seen in the subdued light, stood out in all
their shadowy weirdness.

From the raised dais, the seven-handed god assumed an added majesty and
awfulness, while, deep-seated as though from a smoldering caldron, two
points of fire gleamed from the god's eyes with utmost malevolence.

Slowly a panel in the wall slid back and the bestial visage of the
Strangler peered out.

After making sure that there was no one about, with noiseless tread he
glided into the temple.

Like a shadow, a second figure, that of a Chinaman, followed him. The
two made a complete circuit of the temple, stopping now and again to
examine some object which arrested their attention. Then, as if by a
prearranged signal, they both prostrated themselves before the fire god.

After making many obeisances they got to their feet and, as mysteriously
as they entered, slipped away in the same manner that they had come. A
panel closed behind them, but not the same panel.

The inner room in which they now found themselves was divided by a
partition that extended a few feet out into the temple room itself.

This room was vividly painted with weird figures depicting Chinese forms
of torture, a veritable charnel-house of what in Europe would be called
the Dark Ages. There were plenty of evidences that at no very distant
date this chamber had been in use to punish horribly those who had
offended against the fire god or the commands of the Tong leaders.

On one side of the partition was a large iron wheel to which was
attached a rope extending through the partition and forming a loop or
noose on the other side. The purpose of this device was only too
apparent. Once the neck of a victim was in the noose, a few turns of the
wheel, the noose would tighten, and the victim would be inevitably
strangled to death. In a slightly changed form it was the
garroting-machine of old Spain.

The Strangler tested the rope, twisted the wheel, while his companion
occupied himself by watching the effect of the wheel on the noose on the
other side of the partition.

Apparently satisfied that the machine was in good working order, the
Madagascan straightened up and waved his companion out of the room.

The Chinaman returned by means of the sliding panel into the temple
again.

As she left Brent Rock behind, Eva's fears increased. Speeding through