 CHAPTER XIV Ava flattened herself against the door at her back. She could feel and hear Locke pounding on the other side. She thought that she would die of sheer terror. The automaton raised his mighty fist, and Ava instinctively ducked under the monster's arm. There was an inner room. Could she reach it in time? Would the door be unlocked? At most she could only try. The emissary tried to catch her, but she proved too quick for him. She reached the door. It opened, and she flew into the room, slamming and bolting it behind her. Now she could hear the thunderous blows of the automaton raining against the door. One huge fist of the monster crashed through the panel. Ava crouched down in a far corner and closed her eyes. At that instant the time bomb exploded and the house was rocked to its foundations. Everything was demolished. One entire side of the house was blown out. The door leading to the workshop, which a moment before, Locke had been vainly striving to open, crashed full upon him and felled him, half stunned to the floor. The force of the explosion had dazed Ava. As for the automaton and the emissary, they had both been blown through a gaping aperture in the wall to land in the garden beneath. Only Zeta in the lower hallway was totally untouched by the catastrophe. Locke, dazed, crawled from under the door and made his way into the demolished room in search of Ava, a cold fear gripping his heart. How could any living thing have lived after such an occurrence? But in another instant he saw her as she half swooned and staggered into the room. Quentin, she gasped. He caught her in his arms. But the next moment she remembered what she had witnessed in the hallway below and she drew herself away from him. Go to the girl you really love, she scorned. The girl I really love, repeated Locke. Then there ran through his mind what had happened, as though it had been ages ago. He protested and tried to explain. But protestations and explanations only made matters worse, as usual. Had she not, with her own eyes, seen Locke in Zeta's arms? Ava, he persisted manlike, I swear that she was only trying to save my life. I cannot help it if she... Locke saw that his defense was only making an innocent matter worse and checked himself. His mind recalled that someone had once said that a jealous woman believes a man guilty until he proves himself innocent. When he has proved himself innocent, she merely still suspects. Ava's manner was very constrained. At that moment a policeman, followed by Zeta, entered and Zeta, running up to Locke, cried anxiously, You're not hurt, are you? Locke answered in an annoyed negative. The policeman now questioned them very closely and examined the dead inventor's body. Then he entered their names and addresses in his notebook. Next the officer led the entire group down to the garden. There the horribly injured emissary was trying miserably to crawl away. The automaton had totally disappeared. Ava immediately ordered that the injured man be taken to Brent Rock in her car. Then she turned sharply to Zeta. How did you come to be here? She demanded. Zeta 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. Ava was stricken dumb with astonishment at this startling claim, but Locke laughed outright. What nonsense, he scoffed. Ava, don't listen to it. Zeta glared at him and with a haughty nod to Ava, swept out of the garden. Ava 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 Ava 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 jaundedly, 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 shutter 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 gleaned from his eyes as they encountered those of Balcom made even that well-poised man recoil and shutter. 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 denounce. 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 Ava 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, netled. Locke turned to Paul and regarded his injured arm questioningly. Paul, however, never lost his accustomed aplomb. I was heard 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 unctioned. 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 Ava. He made an almost imperceptible signal to Ava, 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 hardly. Immediately Locke called for the runabout. Ava came running downstairs, 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's 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 seeing him, and raising the alarm, would, he realized, be impossible. Therefore he waited for nearly a half an hour before his patience was rewarded, by seeing Balcom come out of the house, jump into the car, and drive off hardly 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 Ava, and they argued pro and con about the advisability of attempting to enter. Locke insisted on entering alone, but Ava 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 of 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 frockcoat 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 the waist. At times the man talked rationally, in fact with the forcefulness of a great savant. Then, abroad, Balcom and Balcom were at the same time. Partly 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. Dr. 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 Ava had tracked him, and on his departure would undoubtedly enter to investigate the place. Dr. 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 your 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, Dr. 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 Ava 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 Ava 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 Ava, 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 Ava shriek in heart-rending terror. He rushed madly back to where he had left her. But as he passed through the door someone 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 Ava'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 Ava could spring away she was unfolded 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 Ava 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 not. 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 clenched. The automaton waved his arm. A man stepped to the switch. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 15. Chapter 15. There was a moan from the front room. Ava 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 threat 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 heartbeats 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 uppercut sent the emissary sprawling unconscious to the floor. Without a thought of himself he rushed into the next room where Ava now stood in panic, glued to the spot, in fear of the Frankenstein monster that would crusher in its grasp. With murderous mean 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 Ava 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 hearty 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 fall. The result was that the two were flung down the stairs. Run! he cried to Ava 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 Zeta was his aide and would stop at nothing to succeed. Again it was that Zeta 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 someone else. Just now it was apparent that Balcom and Zeta, for their own ends, whatever might be the identity of the automaton, planned a coup for themselves. During one of Locke's absences Zeta had secured access to his laboratory, and while looking around had discovered the dictograph hidden in the desk drawer. Often Balcom and Zeta, 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 Ava in the library that Locke suddenly decided to return to the laboratory without saying anything about it. Zeta's quick ear heard him down the hall. Quick, she warned, someone 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 tables 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 Zeta 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 Ava not to speak. He walked quickly over to a writing desk, took a pencil, and began to write. Balcom and Zeta are listening on the Dictograph. Pretend to quarrel with me. Ava 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 Dictograph. I have something I want to say to you, Mr. Locke, began Ava 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 Ava, as she reached out her hand and gave Locke's a little squeeze. Upstairs, Balcom and Zeta 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 Ava, 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 Ava and 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, Ava 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 Ava 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, letting Ava be heard by the listeners above. In the laboratory, Balcom had heard enough. He turned to Zeta and with a hurried command told her to go downstairs. 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 Ava and Locke, which he had overheard. A light of triumph came into Paul's eyes. Ava's happiness, even her life, meant nothing to him. She was merely a means to his own evil end, and he now felt sure that he held her in his grasp. Besides, insofar as such a selfish nature can care for another human being, Paul cared for Deluxe Dora. There was a satisfaction 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 Ava 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 Ava was to play the game at home. It was to Ava 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. Ava 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 Ava 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 upstairs. So a day or two passed, days which were sheer torture to Ava. 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 Ava found her only relief from Paul's attentions. Many a rubber of bridge she played just to escape being along with him. End of Chapter 15. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 16 of The Master Mystery. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Master Mystery by John W. Gray and Arthur B. Reeve. Chapter 16. At last, late one afternoon, the faithful old butler announced to Ava privately that Locke was on the wire and wished to speak to her. Ava 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 café, 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. Ava gave him a brief outline of how she had fared in his absence and in the count 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 Ava to be brave in the meantime. When the conversation was over, Ava felt certain that no one had overheard what she in 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. Downtown, 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 black 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 a gleam. On a raised platform, the lights were already gleam. 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 deluxe 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. Gently, 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 café. 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 café. Locke folded his paper, paid his bill to the sleepy waiter, and started after Paul. At the entrance he stopped, thought for 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, Ava 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 café with Demi Mondane Majesty. Locke was elated at the thought of having one 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 Dictograph 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 Ava. At the same time, Locke left the café and entered a telephone booth, from which he called up Ava. Come to the black tome immediately, he said. Dora is now on our side, and will learn the truth, she promises. Ava at once started to get ready so that she would arrive at the time Locke had fixed, while he loitered in the neighborhood, waiting until the hour agreed upon with Dora. Dora was almost gone. Dora was already waiting for him outside the place when he returned to the black tome. How is everything? inquired Locke. All arranged. You'll get Paul right. Just then a man slouched past. Follow that fellow! whispered Dora. Locke nodded and did so. The man proceeded into the café and Locke followed. But instead of sitting down in the main room, the man passed through into an inner room. Locke followed. He looked about. It seemed to be a sort of storeroom as nearly as he could make out. His guide pressed a secret panel, and stepping through an aperture, beckoned Locke to follow. Locke drew his automatic and went ahead in the inky blackness that lay beyond the panel. The next moment the very floor under his feet seemed to give way. He felt himself thrown down bodily into a sort of sub-seller. Locke was immediately pounced upon by lurking emissaries who seized him after a terrific battle and held him firmly. Where's a rope? growled one. There was no answer as the men struggled. The question was repeated. Apparently one of them looked about. Use the wire! he growled. The questioner gave a grunt of brutal satisfaction. There in this storeroom lay a huge roll of barbed wire. Coil after coil of this barbed wire was wound about Locke, as he struggled, but ever more feebly, for with each coil now the barbs began to cut cruelly into his flesh. Someone lighted a candle, and by its light he saw many car boys of acid standing in a row. Directly behind them so that there could be no doubt of the horrible fate and store for him stood the automaton. Already at the entrance to the Black Tom Cafe Ava's speedy runabout came to a stop. Dora was at the curb to meet her and was all winning smiles. Instinctively Ava shrank from this overdressed woman, but it had been Locke's desire that she come to this place, and she decided to follow the woman. For would it not lead to the unmasking of Paul whom she hated? Once or twice on the descent into the cafe Ava hesitated, but was gently urged on by Dora. Ava was utterly disgusted by the flotsam and jetsam in human guys that she found sprawling at the tables, but she decided to brave the place. Wait a moment and I'll get Mr. Locke, smiled Dora. For a moment, the better to blot out the distasteful scene, Ava closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was to look into the ferocious, bestial face of the giant emissary, who, with fingers clutched like the talons of some foul bird, was reaching toward her to grasp her by the throat. In the noisome cellar Locke lay as though fascinated by the dread form that confronted him, as well as by its more dreadful purpose. The automaton drew back its massive foot and deliberately kicked over one after another of the car-boys. A pungent odor at once permeated the cellar air as the acid ate into the floor. Its purpose accomplished, the automaton stocked toward Locke and stood towering above him. Would it crush out Locke's life under its ponderous heel? Or would it leave him to a death more horrible? Like writhing serpents, the rivulets of seething, burning acid crept closer, closer. End of Chapter 16 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 17 of The Master Mystery This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Recording by Roger Maline The Master Mystery by John W. Gray and Arthur B. Reeve Chapter 17 The automaton and its emissaries left the cellar. In the distance a door slammed and Locke was left to his terrible fate. Except for the gurgling of the flowing acid and the scampering of the rats, all was silent. Locke tried to move. But the sharp barbs of the wire cut into his flesh, a torture to test the fortitude of a stoic. Moreover, Locke had barely recovered from the shock of his fall into the cellar. Thus for a few seconds that seemed to him to be ages, he lay there watching the fiery death creep closer. Then the will to live surged through him and he struggled furiously to escape from the deadly path of the acid. Gone now was as flinching and shrinking as the sharp barbs lacerated his tender flesh. Gone was the calmness that denoted surrender and the acceptance of his fate. With bunching muscles he writhed inch by inch to one side, out of the path of the flow of the acid. He was just in time, for at his last mighty effort the consuming fluid flowed past, not an inch from his face. To extricate himself from the coils of the wire was a slow and painful task. Wounded with a hundred wounds, with each movement of his body adding a further injury, many times Locke was forced to desist in his efforts to free himself. However, he persisted, though strongman that he was, the tears of agony burned his eyes and beads of cold sweat stood in his brow even before the first coil was loosened. He could not, even to save his own life, have persisted in this self-inflicted torture, had it not been for the thought of Ava hurrying to this dreadful den. That thought almost drove him mad and spurred him to furious effort. It was well that it did, for at this very moment the beastly emissary in the café above was closing in on her. Locke gave a final heave and tugged at the last strands of the wire that held him prisoner. His clothes ripped to tatters and his flesh torn and lacerated, he at last stood free. Without an instant's pause he collected packing cases and even barrels. He stacked them one upon the other, pyramiding them under the trap door through which he had fallen into the cellar. Then he climbed upon them, leaped, and tried to grasp the edge of the floor above him, but fell short and came tumbling down amid the boxes and barrels, only to start stacking them up all over again. Finally he managed to grasp the edge of the floor with one hand and draw himself up. For a few moments he lay panting on the floor, then groped for the panel through which he had entered not half an hour before. It was Locke, but a shrewd kick above the Locke opened it to him, and he rushed through the storeroom and out into the now brilliantly lighted café. He was barely in time. The emissary already had Eva in his grasp and was choking her into unconsciousness. The foul habituaries of the resort, far from aiding the poor girl, seemed for the first time that day to be showing interest and to be thoroughly enjoying the brutal sight. With a shout Locke charged. His right swing landed just behind the emissary's ear and the man dropped, pulling Eva down with him. But Locke had her up and behind him in a second. Three other emissaries appeared as though by magic and attacked him on all sides. Locke's automatic had been lost when he fell into the cellar. Consequently he grabbed up one of the café chairs which he wielded like a club. One emissary had worked around until he was at one side of Locke and almost behind him, a blackjack raised in his hand. But Eva warned Locke in time. Whirling about he made a full swing with the chair and caught the emissary full in the face with it. The man went down and stayed down. Run! Quick as you can! Panted Locke to Eva. Get the car started! She was reluctant to leave him and Locke saw that delay was dangerous. He hurled what remained of the chair into the faces of the last two emissaries, then turned and rushed up the steps carrying Eva along with him. A whir of the starter, the throbbing of the engine as the gas in the cylinders ignited and they were streaking toward Brent Rock, safe. In a still fashionable but older part of the town, the elder Balcom had his quarters. They were spacious and furnished in Oriental style, with many a suggestion of the Indian Ocean. Balcom was evidently annoyed and seriously so. He was striding up and down the apartment, scowling and puffing furiously at a black cigar. In his hand was a letter, and from time to time he halted and glanced at it, then fell back to his quick walking again, while a sinister light came into his eyes. Yet the contents of the note were hardly such as would have seemed likely to cause a man of honest purpose any agitation. Mr. Herbert Balcom, International Patents, Inc. Dear Sir, a special meeting of the Executive Board of International Patents, Inc. will be called at Brent Rock this afternoon to determine the future policies of this company. Signed, Eva Brent. Balcom had read the notice for the tenth time when a Negro servant entered and announced that his son Paul wished to see him. Show him in, then, growled Balcom to the servant. Paul entered. He was evidently somewhat chagrined and crestfallen. Nor did his father's next words tend to cheer him up. I suppose you'll acknowledge that you've made a miserable mess of it, accused the older man. When will you stop mixing women with business? Paul was silent. Indeed, there was nothing that he could say. And now look at this note, pursued Balcom in a growling rage. It brings things to a head. What can we do? He thrust the note at Paul, who read it. Balcom himself re-read it, crumpled it in anger, tore it, and threw the pieces in violence on the floor. This time it was to be Paul who was to formulate a plan. It was of such a dark and criminal nature that even Herbert Balcom, hardened as he was himself, was for the moment appalled at his son's temerity. But as he listened to Paul's words, they fascinated him, and he leaned forward the better to take in the scheme. As Paul and his father planned, it seemed that here was power unlimited, wealth beyond all counting, and without the possibility of discovery. For like most men of his caliber, the approbation of the community was dear to Balcom. Good, Paul, approved Balcom. Go to it at once. Paul looked keenly at his father. Haven't you anything to add? No, I have nothing to advise. The scheme is perfect, and as you conceived it, you can also execute it. The best of luck to you, my boy! A few moments later Paul went out, his dark face beaming at being reinstated in his father's good graces. He was full of his plan. Down in one of the city's worst sections, and near the river front, there stood an old ramshackle building. Why it had not been condemned by the building inspectors was a mystery. But it stood in all its squalid ugliness. The door and the windows were locked and shuttered. One could see at a glance that the building had been long unused. There was an alley strewn with tin cans and other refuse leading to the back of the house, and it was down a flight of broken brick steps that old Meg, the fortune teller, had her den where, through the superstitions of those inhabiting the neighborhood, she managed to eke out a miserable existence. The interior of the den was unspeakably filthy. The furniture consisted of a broken down couch, a chest of drawers in a light condition, a card table, a few kitchen chairs, and some boxes. Most of the panes of the windows had been broken, and the empty spaces had been covered with old newspapers. Consequently a candle thrust into an old wine bottle supplied the only real light. At the table, idly shuffling a pack of grimy cards, sad old Meg, a horrible old hag, wrinkled in face like a mummy, with only the stumps of teeth which had more the appearance of tusks. Her unkempt hair was matted and ugly wisps of it hung down over her bleary eyes. For clothes she wore an old-fashioned, faded, gingham wrapper, and around her shoulders a dirty torn shawl. On her feet was a pair of man's shoes, many sizes too large, which had evidently been cast away as useless by some former owner, himself squalid. These she managed to keep on by tying the tops with wrapping cord. A more unlovely human being it would have been hard to find in all the great city. There she sat, crooning a ballad to herself in a high, cracked voice. It sounded like an incantation. A step sounded in the alley, and old Meg looked up and listened intently. The sound came nearer. She got up and retreated into a dark corner, for she knew the neighborhood well, and many a time some thug, brutal with drink, had entered her den and wrung her last few pennies from her. But it was no inhabitant of this quarter of the town who entered this time. It was Paul Balcombe. The hag grinned in a horrible way, Adam, for it was not unusual for people of his kind to visit her, and it always meant money. With her apron she dusted off the chair that stood at the table and begged him to be seated. Then she shuffled the cards and cut, shuffled and cut, and then, as though at last satisfied, she laid them face downward on the table and spoke. Wish, my handsome gentleman, and may your wish come true. Go ahead with the hocus-pocus, growled Paul. Mother Meg picked up one card after another, and her cracked voice was evidently following a set formula. If the Queen of Spades comes between the King of Clubs and the Queen of Hearts, Paul listened with a strained intentness as the hag sing-songed on and on. Then a look of satisfaction came into his eyes, and he smiled happily. Next his look changed to a nasty look of determination, and he abruptly got up, tossing a bank-note on the table, which old Meg grabbed with avidity, calling down Heaven's blessings on the handsome gentleman until Paul, running upstairs, could hear no more. Paul returned immediately to his father's apartment, where Balcom was impatiently waiting for him. He described minutely old Meg, her eagerness for money, and the squalid quarters in which she lived. The elder Balcom seemed satisfied, and they left the apartment together. Paul, directed Balcom, get out to Brent Rock as soon as you can while I make arrangements with this old Meg. Balcom stepped into his own car while Paul hailed a taxi cab, and a few minutes later Balcom alighted before the house of old Meg. He walked down the alley and descended into the den. As before Meg was in hiding in a dark corner until she could ascertain just who her visitor might be. Seeing Balcom, she came out and curtsied and scraped as she had for Paul. Balcom announced the object of his visit immediately, and while he was speaking, he fingered a roll of bills which he had taken from his pocket, the better to arouse the old hag's avariciousness. It had the desired effect, and her eyes fairly gleamed with the craving of possession. Do as I tell you, Meg, directed Balcom, and I'll make you rich. Do you understand? Rich, he emphasized, rolling out the last word silkily on his tongue. Old Meg's last scruples, had she ever had even one, fell before this temptation, and she became almost the slave of Balcom. Balcom now gave a command, and the old hag sidled to the door of an inner room. Jimmy! Jimmy! she called. Come here to me! In a moment a boy slunk into the room. He was sharp-faced, pinched for food, and in tatters, as disreputable looking as the hag herself. Meg whispered something to him, and as though galvanized by an electric current, the boy shot upstairs. He was soon back again with two brutal-looking men who looked suspiciously at Balcom, and then shuffled into a corner, where they conferred eagerly with Old Meg. At first it was plain to be seen that they were refusing to do her bidding, but Meg made a movement as though she were counting money. After that it was equally plain that they agreed. Meg sidled over to Balcom, and he unwrapped a few bills of large denomination, and handed them to her. She immediately hid them in her dress, with many a furtive look toward her accomplices. Balcom's eyes followed those of the old hag, and, realizing that his whole conspiracy might fail, unless the men were assured of further reward on the completion of their task, he approached them smoothly. Of course, he insinuated, you understand that if you three follow instructions to the letter, I'll double that amount. Then he left the place, brushing his coat with his handkerchief as he did so. Brent Rock, he said to his chauffeur, curtly, as he stepped into his car, end of Chapter 17, recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 18 of The Master Mystery The Master Mystery by John W. Gray and Arthur B. Reeve. Chapter 18 Ava and Locke were seated at a long table in the library of Ava's home. Before them were many ledgers of international patents incorporated. Ava was reading certain entries in the books, while Locke was making notes to be used at the coming director's meeting. Ava closed the ledger from which she had been reading, and announced, I intend at the meeting to insist that the patents held in the graveyard of genius be released to the world. It is the only honorable thing to do, agreed Locke. You will undoubtedly meet with violent opposition from Balcom and some few who owe their fortunes to him, but in the end you will win. If we could only have found the antidote, sighed Ava, and my father could only be again in control of things. All we can do is to act as we think he would have acted if he were in control, soothed Locke. May I speak to you a moment, Mr. Locke? interrupted a voice. It was Zeta who had entered noiselessly and now stood well within the room. How long had she been there? How much had she overheard? Both Ava and Quentin exchanged worried glances. Locke rose and went over to Zeta who spoke to him in a whispered undertone. The matter was so trivial that it hardly warranted her intrusion. Locke was puzzled, but he was a man and therefore did not understand. For as Zeta continued there was a world of longing in her eyes. She even went so far as to finger the lapel of his coat. Ava understood only too well and her face crimsoned. She bit her lips, and in vexation at Zeta her fingernails pressed into her palms. Paul's entrance at this moment was a distinct relief, much as she despised the man. What's all the fuss about? he inquired. Paul had a gaiety of manner that he could slip on like a coat, and it was this quality that made him dangerous. He was popular and attractive. Paul took Ava's hand and managed to hold it just the fraction of a second longer than was necessary to convey friendship. Then Ava withdrew her hand, but not before Locke saw it and scowled. It was not long before the elder balcony also arrived. Good afternoon, my children, he greeted jovially. I'm just a bit ahead of time, I imagine. But why you children don't leave dry matters of business to us older heads, I'm blessed if I know. Mr. Balcom retorted Ava keenly. The older head that would protect my interests and the interests of those poor inventors lies stricken, as you know, in the room above. In his absence the children, as you are pleased to call us, will do their best. Balcom glared, while Zeta, with a strange glance toward Ava, left Locke and joined Balcom in a far corner of the room. Zeta, Balcom whispered, the time has arrived to take you out of this false position. Zeta trembled with suppressed excitement as she heard this, and followed Balcom back toward the table, where the others were already seating themselves. It was approaching the hour when Ava rose and was about to speak. Balcom motioned and stopped her with a gesture. One moment, please, Miss Brent, he interrupted. Before the others arrive, I am going to establish Zeta's real position in this house. All at the table looked at one another in openly expressed astonishment. Zeta, with eyes cast down, hands clasped in her lap, seemed almost demure, though about her mouth played a faint smile. Even Paul did not understand this phase of the conspiracy, and looked at his father as much as to say, I wonder what the old man is up to now. Locke was the first to recover his coolness. Just what, Mr. Balcom, do you mean? he asked. I mean, began Balcom, then stopped. But first I will produce a witness who can vouch for all the facts which I am about to relate. Balcom went to the door and opened it. There, bobbing her head and smirking mechanically, stood that loathsome creature, old Meg. In these rich surroundings her frightful squalor was all the more accentuated. Those at the table drew back in utter disgust as she tottered into the room. As she passed Zeta, she paused. I held you in these arms when you were but a wee baby, she muttered hideously. Zeta drew away from her and looked at Balcom questioningly. Balcom now leaned far over the table and spoke impressively. Twenty years ago Brent was secretly married to his secretary. There was a child. But Brent craved money and power that the money would bring. Saddled with a wife and child he was barred from his ambition, which was to marry some rich woman. So he made a hell on earth for his wife, until in desperation she consented to an annulment of their marriage. The room was breathlessly quiet as Balcom continued. Years passed and then his conscience smote him. He made his own child his secretary. Then he turned to Zeta, pointing at her. There she sits, he exclaimed. And half of the voting power of this company belongs to her. Zeta Brent. Zeta Dane Brent. Instantly Locke was on his feet. Balcom, you lie, he rasped. Lie or no lie, retorted Balcom, as vice president of the company I refuse to permit any action to be taken until Zeta's position is legally established. Locke turned to Ava. Miss Brent, he asked with a bow, may I speak for you? Ava nodded. Then Balcom, remarked Locke, we shall carry the proposed motion over your head. You cannot produce sufficient proofs to retard our action. My protests, sneered Balcom as he strode toward the door, will be entered in the minutes of this meeting. Zeta, in the excitement, had already disappeared. Paul bowed to Ava and Locke mockingly and followed his father. Old Meg squeezed herself against the walls of the library and was trying to get out of the room without being detected. But Locke was too alert for her and caught her by the shoulder, detaining her. She tried to fight him off with her feeble arms. Again and again he tried to question her. The story is true, I tell you, gospel true! Meg repeated over and over again. Locke let her go and she started toward the door. Then the habit of a lifetime overcame her and she turned. If you would know the truth, my pretty! she croaked at Ava. Come to old Meg! Then she hobbled out. Ava was naturally perturbed, although Locke tried to comfort her. Yet she could not forget what had happened between him and Zeta, just before the meeting, and womanlike she now held aloof. Ava pleaded Locke, won't you trust me? Things are in such a critical state that we must not have any misunderstanding. But Ava merely tossed her pretty head. I don't care for Zeta or her actions, she replied, petulently. Locke diplomatically changed the subject. I believe, he said slowly, that that old hag is in the play of either Paul or his father, and I mean to find out which it is. Locke had started across the hallway when Ava called him back. Quentin, she said earnestly, I trust you, absolutely. Then she hid her face in her hands and almost ran into the dining-room. Had she been a moment sooner, she would have caught that mysterious person, Dr. Q., who had entered the house some time before, and on overhearing heated words coming from the library, had remained with his ear glued to the keyhole, absorbing every word that was said until Balcom left. But he had shuffled away before she ran in. Back in Old Meg's den, some time later, the little gutter rat, who, a few hours before, had brought the two thugs back to Balcom and Old Meg, was coiled up in a corner asleep. With light footsteps that did not awaken the sleeping boy, a strange little figure now came scurrying down the brick stairs. The figure hesitated a moment, then entered the foul den. In tatters, like the sleeping-street gammon, this other boy still had something winsome, something elusively handsome about him, a certain refinement of features. However, a black patch over one eye showed that this gammon was manly enough, evidently, when it came to fighting. He stirred the sleeping boy with his foot, and the boy, cursing volubly and beyond his years, roused himself. They talked excitedly in whispers, and the boy who had just entered gave the street Arabs some money. Then, together, they tiptoed into the other room and down a flight of rickety steps into the cellar. This cellar connected with another cellar of a large size that was used as a storehouse. The boys barely spoke, but the boy, who had just entered, spoke, and, when it was necessary, only in whispers. They came to a pile of cotton bales, found a convenient space between the bales, crawled in, and lay still. Night was coming fast as the hag, trailed by Locke, left Brant Rock. She walked fast for so old a woman, but finally, coming to a streetcar line, she took the first car that came along. Locke had had the foresight to have himself followed by one of the numerous Brant cars, and so was able to keep the streetcar in sight until the old woman alighted in her squalid quarter of town. Locke got out of his machine and followed her on foot, keeping close to the walls of the buildings to avoid having her see him. Old Meg turned the corner that ran alongside her dwelling, and there, for the first time, gave an indication that she was aware that she was being followed. She chuckled to herself, gave a few stumbling capers which might have been an imitation of a dance step, then waved her hand. Was it a signal? Locke was never to reach the alley. Old Meg had whipped around the corner so quickly that for a moment he was puzzled as to just where she had disappeared. He stopped with his back half turned to a flight of stairs leading down to the cellar entrance of a big warehouse. Suddenly he was sent stumbling forward to his knees, half dazed by a treacherous blow dealt from behind. He was up again in an instant and was defending himself from the attack of half a dozen thugs. He put up a splendid fight, but the odds were too great, and in a few minutes he was down on the ground, unconscious and bound. The emissaries of the automaton, for such they were, carried him down the steps and into the warehouse cellar. Already, on leaving Brent Rock, Paul Belcombe had not been idle. He had been immediately driven to a telegraph office, where, after having used nearly an entire pad of blanks, he succeeded in composing the following message. Dearest Quentin, have proofs that Old Meg spoke the truth. Meet me immediately at her place. Zeta. The message was addressed to Locke at Brent Rock and was marked important. That ought to fetch her, muttered Paul, as he left the office. Twenty minutes or so later the telegram was delivered to the butler at Brent Rock, who brought it at once to Ava. At first she was loathed to open a message addressed to someone else, but Quentin's affairs and her own were so intertwined by this time that she felt that the telegram would, in all probability, concern her as well as Locke. She tore it open. Dearest Quentin, she read, and for a minute could get no farther, for it seemed as if 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. Ava 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 Ava'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 curtsying and mumbling greetings, while her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction that was positively hellish. Mr. Locke, where is he? Ava gasped. All in good time, my pretty, all in good time, mummled the hag. You're to wait for him here. But Ava 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, Ava sat at the card table while Old Meg droned her old fortune-telling rigamarole. In spite of her growing fear and agitation, Ava became interested. There was something calming in the monotonous voice of the old crony. When the queen of spades comes between the jack of hearts and the king of diamonds and the, uh, the, a door directly behind Ava 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 gammon who had given the sleeping boy money. But now, in the candlelight, with only the head showing, it was no boy who glared malevolently at Ava, but a woman. And that woman was the implacable Zeta. 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 Ava. And the hand of one was an old gunny sack. And the queen of hearts, Ava was so interested now that she leaned far over the table, her eyes fastened on the cards as they fell. A thug stumbled. Ava 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 lock had staggered with their burden into the warehouse cellar until, coming to a closed door, one of them wrapped on it in a peculiar manner that was evidently a signal. An instant, and the door opened. Through it stocked the automaton. The monster gazed intently at lock 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 lock'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 Ava. A few feet behind them, still in boy's clothes, was Zeta. The jar to his body, as the emissaries threw him on the concrete floor, had tended to bring lock 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. Lock 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 Ava passed by, followed by others. Apparently they took no notice of him, but continued on their way with the helpless girl. Lock, his own danger forgotten, became frantic with apprehension for her and tore savagely at the restraining ropes. Zeta stopped. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions as she saw Lock struggling at the bottom of the shaft. Floor by floor, inch by inch, the enormous elevator that would crush out Lock's life as though he were an insect, continued to descend. Zeta stepped to an electric switch. That switch would stop the elevator immediately and save Lock's life. She raised her hand, and then, looking after the retreating thugs and emissaries, she saw Ava again. Zeta's lips formed a cruel line and a flinty hardness came into her eyes. Her hand dropped. There were only a few feet between Lock and the descending elevator. Lock was struggling frenziedly to escape and rescue Ava. Zeta's hand went out again and grasped the handle of the switch. She hesitated, hate on her face. Would she, for the love of Lock, 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 Lock. End of Chapter 18, Recording by Roger Maline Every fiber of Zeta'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 Zeta 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 Lock 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. Lock'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 Zeta half hysterical. Trumbling in every limb she made her way to Lock 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, Zeta 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 Zeta, 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 Zeta'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 Ava being carried off by the emissaries had not been a hideous dream but a terrible actuality, and at this very moment she was probably in the most imminent danger. Zeta realized that he wanted freedom to rush to Ava'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 Ava had passed. The door was unlocked, and hesitating not an instant Quentin dashed through and into a large room. Ava, 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 Ava. 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 bolted out beneath the dead weight of the automaton as it hurled its massive form against the other side. Zeta was still waiting at the elevator shaft when Locke, carrying Ava in his arms, entered. At the sight Zeta'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 Ava. Zeta 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. Zeta turned and ran up the stairs leading to old Megs as Locke turned to try to revive Ava. But the hammer blows of the monster resounded throughout the cellar. At any moment the door might come crashing down and Locke and Ava might again be at the mercy of the iron fiend. Locke caught up Ava in his arms again and, groping, sought the exit of the warehouse. He dared not follow Zeta through old Megs 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 Zeta 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. Ava's speedster had not been moved or tampered with and he placed Ava 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 Megs. But, shooting the gears into high speed, Locke easily evaded them and turned up the first corner. He was going to take Ava to the first doctors 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 they still 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 symbols beat and clashed while from the Chinese theatre came the shrill piping of reeds and the high-pitched chanting voices of Chinaman. Street vendors 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 swirly 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 newcomer 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 newcomer 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 unwonderfully 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 satis 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 newcomer, 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 Dr. 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 gate 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, a 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 abesance. Long Fang, leader of the 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 Dr. Q. The instrument of torture is here, he said. The Madagascan has just brought it. He is an unrivaled strangler. Let him approach, commanded Dr. Q. Long Fang beckoned and the stranger came forward. His eyes had been fixed on the Chinese, but now they rove to the figure of Dr. 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, Dr. Q. chuckled, fiendishly. Good! You will not be so foolish as to fail me. No, no, Master, I swear it, but never mind your oath. My power is my guarantee. Go, follow Long Fang. He will direct you to the torture chamber. Dr. 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 deluxe 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 days 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 blaze 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 someone. A Madagascan servant entered and salound. 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 Port Cochère 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. End of chapter 19 Recording by Roger Maline