CHAPTER XIII
The box that held Locke a prisoner was now undoubtedly resting on the slimy bottom. Eva had totally disappeared. The Automaton, convinced that at last he had rid himself of his victims, waved away the emissaries and departed.
Except for the tiny lights of ships on the river and the staccato exhaust of a tugboat, the river flowed with nothing to remind one of the two tragedies of only a few seconds ago.
As far as the eye could see, the surface of the water was unbroken. Then, suddenly, the scene changed. For from out the water, as though hurled up by a catapult, shot a man's body.
It was Locke.
By what miracle had he escaped from the watery grave?
From the time he was a small boy the study of locks and bolts, of knots and strait-jackets, of anything that could restrain or bind a man, had held a marvelous fascination for him, until now he was recognized as one of the world's greatest experts on these subjects. The great lock concerns often sent for him to test new inventions, and invariably he could point to any flaw in the constructions of them that existed. As he came to manhood his knowledge had grown apace until to many he seemed a veritable sorcerer.
It was by a trick known only to himself that he had been able to extricate himself from his desperate plight at the river's bottom. True, his flesh was lacerated. True, he was on the verge of total collapse. But he lived.
He made his way slowly toward the dock and was resting against one of the piles when he heard a faint cry. He strained his ears to locate the direction whence it came. Once again that feeble call floated across the water, and in it there sounded something vaguely familiar.
He was more rested now and he swam farther under the dock. Again came the cry. With a thrill now he recognized the voice.
"Eva!" he called, again and again.
"Here I am," came back the echo.
With a powerful stroke he breasted the current and in a moment he was supporting her half-fainting body. Precarious though their position was, Locke felt the thrill of her words. The effect was to spur him on to fresh efforts.
Eva had become stronger now. For a few moments he swam, in order, if possible, to find some means by which they might escape from the water and reach the dock.
They had no way of knowing but that the Automaton and his emissaries might still be lurking above, ready to thrust them back into the water or to reserve for them some even more terrible fate. But it was a risk that they realized must be taken and at once. An attempt to swim to another dock could end only disastrously.
Locke soon returned with the cheering news that he had discovered a ladder that came even to the surface of the water, a landing for small boats. More than that, he had mounted the ladder, and from a short survey he had seen no sign of their enemies.
Carefully aiding Eva, Locke swam to this ladder and soon they stood upon the dock, safe.
With great caution they moved toward the street and, without harm, finally passed beneath the arched gates again and were in the city street.
Eva went at once to her father's room. His condition was one of great weakness. The laughing madness had abated in so far that the poor victim was so weak that the spasms could not maintain a very violent form.
Eva practised all those little kindnesses which are known only to women, and tears were in her eyes as she stroked his poor gray head.
How terrible was it that, after all they had attempted, all that they had suffered, they should still stand defeated in their aim to get the antidote that would cure her father's malady. However, the brave girl was not one to admit herself beaten, and even as she sat there she was planning new ways to discover who were her terrible adversaries and to bring defeat to them.
At Brent Rock the next morning an aged inventor named Winters arrived before Locke was down-stairs, and was shown into the library to wait.
Locke soon descended from the laboratory and went into the room to meet him. But Winters was so agitated that at first he could hardly speak. It was some moments before he gained control.
"What can I do for you, sir?" inquired Locke, although he knew the man must be one wronged by the patents company.
"One of my inventions was returned to me, when I protested once," the man replied, "but nothing has been done about two others."
"Please try to have a little further patience," pleaded Locke. "Everything is being done to assure justice to all."
"But, Mr. Locke," the man persisted, "I must insist on the return or the immediate marketing of the two inventions now in the possession of International Patents or I will—"
He paused, for Eva had entered and was overhearing what Winters was demanding.
"I am sure that, as my father returned one of your inventions," she interrupted, "he would wish me to return the other two, and I shall do so at once. Mr. Locke, will you be so kind as to get them?"
Locke immediately left the room and descended to the Graveyard of Genius for the two models.
In the laboratory above were Balcom and Zita, for she had told him of her discovery of the dictagraph. Balcom had the headpiece firmly clamped over his head and was drinking in the purport of the conversation down in the library.
Zita was almost beside herself with curiosity, as Balcom repeated only scraps of the conversation that went on below, but finally the real subject of the whole matter was repeated to her and she was satisfied at last. A peculiar look came into her eyes. As for Balcom, one would have thought that a whole world's treasure had suddenly been placed within his grasp. Yet each was cautious not to betray too much to the other.
Over the dictagraph came the words spoken by Eva, "Mr. Locke and I will come to your workshop at eight this evening to complete the transaction."
Locke in the mean time had brought the two models into the library and the inventor had almost danced with joy at seeing the children of his brain again.
Sent down by Balcom, Zita had been ordered to spy on Eva and Locke. She had been nearly caught by Locke as he was returning from the Graveyard of Genius, but had slipped behind a pair of portières at the end of the hall and had emerged only when Locke had entered the library. She had crept close to the door and was listening.
She, too, now heard the inventor exact a promise from Eva and Locke not to fail to be at his workshop at eight that night.
Zita had but a second to glide backward from the door as the inventor came out into the hallway where she stood. He gazed at her in such a strange, fixed manner that an uncanny feeling came over her. Then he passed out, just as Balcom came down the stairs.
"Why did that man look at me in such a strange manner?" she queried of Balcom.
A moment Balcom considered her, as though undecided to speak, then made up his mind.
"Because," he replied, slowly, "he knows the secret of your birth, knows who you really are."
Zita had no further chance to question Balcom, for at this instant Eva and Locke, still carrying the inventions, were leaving the library. Locke turned down again toward the stairway leading to the Graveyard of Genius, while Eva, nodding pleasantly to Zita and Balcom, mounted the stairs leading to her father's room.
Zita turned questioningly again to Balcom.
"Half of everything that girl possesses rightfully belongs to you," he whispered.
Zita apparently did not understand. "What shall I do to obtain my rights?" she asked.
"Do as I say," returned Balcom, as he left quickly.
It was some hours later that in the dark corner of the Graveyard of Genius the huge rock slowly swung outward. There was a clanging and clanking of metal. Two fiery eyes gleamed through the aperture and out stalked the hideous monster, the Automaton. With strange ominousness it went directly to the two models which Locke had returned, took them, turned and went back through the great gap in the wall from which it had come. Again slowly the huge rock swung back into place.
Locke, with some sort of intuition, had deduced that young Paul Balcom by his very absence might have played a leading part in all the events in which both Eva and himself had been thwarted and almost killed. Accordingly he determined to find and trail Paul.
It was some time after the models had been stolen in his absence that, in a taxicab, Locke, having gone from place to place which he knew Paul frequented, at last caught sight of him leaving a dance-hall of very ill repute. Paul was just stepping into a car which whisked him off rapidly and Locke gave an order to his own driver to follow him.
They wove in and out of various streets and finally turned up the Drive, where, after a few minutes, Paul's car came to a stop before a palatial apartment-house and Paul alighted. Looking up and down the Drive and seeing nothing to cause him suspicion, Paul entered the house.
Locke carefully noted the address, then leaned back in his cab to await developments.
Paul was taken to the third floor and there was admitted to a gorgeous apartment.
"I thought you'd never get here," languidly greeted the feline De Luxe Dora.
She led him to a chaise-longue seductively, taking care, however, that he should see a pile of unpaid bills that lay upon a table near it.
Paul was not entirely at his ease and wasted no time in coming to the point.
"Look here, Dora," he began; "I know you can't run this shack on air. I got your note this morning. I've been busy and I've got an idea. I've made up my mind to take a couple of those inventions the company owns and sell them. It means coin."
Dora's eyes gleamed avariciously.
"Be patient," Paul added, "and I'll have you swimming in gold."
At this juncture three young fellows of the cabaret type, better known as "lounge lizards," were admitted to the apartment.
Paul cast a glance at Dora which clearly spelled jealousy and reproach. He knew the fellows. In fact, there were few denizens of the underworld whom he did not know. Concealing his vexation, he tried to greet them easily.
The fellows returned the salutation hastily.
"Say, Balcom," hastened one of them, "some one is on your trail, shadowing you."
Paul was startled and furious, but in this emergency it was Dora who thought out the plan of action.
"In a taxicab?" she repeated, as the others told what they had seen outside. "Listen to me, Paul. Go to the window and show yourself. Then leave the house. This fellow Locke will investigate—and we'll tend to the rest."
Paul moved to the window, opened it, and stepped out on a small balcony. Dora slipped to his side and for a moment they stood there gazing apparently at the view of the river. Then they re-entered the apartment.
"Now go, Paul," said Dora. "Whoever this fellow is, we'll handle him."
Paul started to get his hat, then stopped and from his pocket drew out a small package.
"I was going to use this elsewhere," he said, "but it might come in handy to—"
Dora reached for the package, but Paul withdrew it hastily.
"Careful, Dora," he admonished. "There's a small gas-bomb inside."
The five now conferred a bit and it was agreed that this time the inquisitive Mr. Locke would surely trouble them no more.
"With Locke out of the way," promised Paul to Dora, "the road to our fortune is clear."
A moment later Paul left the apartment, descended in the elevator, and jumped into a taxicab and was off.
Locke from his cab had, of course, seen all this, had seen Paul and Dora on the balcony and the departure. But he knew nothing of the three men who had gone to the same apartment.
He waited until Paul passed out of sight, then stepped out of his cab, making a careful calculation as to the exact location of the woman's apartment, for he had determined to find out about her. From the hall boy he learned that it was De Luxe Dora, of whom he knew, and it was only a matter of seconds when he was admitted.
Dora swept over graciously toward him.
"Will you answer me one question?" he asked, in answer to a query from her.
She nodded assent.
"How long have you known Mr. Balcom's son?"
"He is an old friend," she replied. "I'm expecting him to return at any moment. Won't you be seated? Please excuse me just a moment."
Before Locke could say a word she had left the room. Left alone himself, Locke took in all the details of the room and again and again his eye wandered to a Louis XIV desk.
Feeling certain that this woman was without doubt connected in some way with the plots, he felt justified in opening the desk to obtain evidence. He tiptoed over to it and tried to open it. It stuck at first, but after one or two silent, well-directed blows which he so well knew how to administer the sliding panel stood unlocked.
He glanced around. There was no one to be seen. He moved back the panel. There was a flash and a tiny puff of smoke. Locke coughed once, clutched at his throat, and lay gasping on the floor.
Immediately the three men rushed out, carrying ropes and holding handkerchiefs to their nostrils. One ran to the window and threw it wide open, admitting gusts of air to clear away the fumes. The others began to bind Locke as De Luxe Dora appeared in the doorway and calmly directed operations.
On the roof of the apartment several moments later in the just-gathering dusk five figures might have been seen. Three men and a woman were conferring, while at their feet was a man tightly bound and unconscious.
In the background was a huge water-tank, with a ladder leading to its brim.
Suddenly the conspirators straightened up. They had come to a decision. The three men lifted the unconscious figure and bore it up the ladder. The tank was empty. One of the men jumped down into it, while the others lowered their victim after him. Then they passed down ropes.
There were two spouts at the bottom of the tank through which water was pumped. Also there were pipes running upward. To these pipes they tied Locke. Then the men climbed out and, as their last fiendish act, turned the water on.
With a sneer Dora turned and led the way down-stairs again.
"They'll find his body when they have to clean the tank again," she exclaimed.
At Brent Rock, during the absence of Locke, Eva had donned her street clothes, since it was nearing the hour of eight when she and Locke were due to be at the inventor's workshop to render the restitution. She went down-stairs and asked the butler about Locke. But the man replied that Mr. Locke had not yet returned.
Eva was very uneasy by this time, and, thinking to save time, was about to go down to the Graveyard of Genius to get the models of the two inventions, when Zita came down the hall carrying a fair sized package which she tried hard to conceal. Eva greeted her and continued down to the cellar, as Zita, with a sort of grim smile, left the house.
Eva came to the great door, pushed the secret spring, and in a moment was inside the gloomy place. She went directly to the spot where the two inventions had been kept. They were gone.
Alarmed, she rushed up-stairs.
Still Locke did not return. Nor did any word come from him. It was now very near to eight. Eva decided to go, for surely Locke would be there.
When Zita arrived at the inventor's, in her hands was still the mysterious package. She carried it gingerly, then raised it to her ear. From within it there came a faint ticking sound. What was it inside?
She looked at her wrist-watch. It was still some minutes before eight. She knocked at the inventor's door.
The inventor at once admitted her. It was a neat little workshop in which every detail had been thought out with care—the home, one might say, of a methodical workman.
The inventor manifested some surprise at seeing Zita, but politely asked her to enter, and offered her a chair. Zita declined and plainly showed her nervousness.
"Will you please give this package to Mr. Locke and Miss Brent when they come at eight?" she asked.
Winters agreed and accepted the package, looking quizzically at her as he did so, just as he had earlier in the day.
Zita, unable to control her curiosity, burst out with the question uppermost on her mind.
"Why do you look at me in such a strange manner?" she queried.
The inventor merely turned his gaze away and shrugged.
"Mr Balcom tells me that you know the secret of my birth," pressed Zita.
The inventor looked up quickly. "Who did Mr. Balcom say you were?" he asked.
"He told me that I was Brent's daughter," replied Zita, keenly watching the aged face.
"Balcom lied to you," hastened the inventor.
Already there was a ponderous tread on the stairs, but Winters did not seem to notice it.
"You are not Brent's daughter," he pursued, more slowly.
The door opened swiftly and an emissary stood framed there, a knife poised in his hand. Behind him stood the Automaton.
"You are—"
At that instant the inventor caught sight of the intruders. With a look of horror in his eyes he threw out his hands to protect himself, but he was too late. The knife whizzed through the air and a second later pierced his throat. He fell to the floor—dead.
At the moment when the emissary, followed by the Automaton, entered, Zita, watching her chance, managed to escape from the room, stumbled, and almost half-fell down the stairs.
Already, in the huge water-tank that stood on the roof of the apartment of Dora, Locke had revived as he felt the water and had found himself already half submerged, with the water rapidly pouring in. At first he could not grasp his terrible predicament, but before long the full horror of it burst on him and he struggled madly to free himself. Since his body was stretched at full length, it was impossible to use the ordinary tricks of which he was master. His arms were bound, and he well knew that to release one of them constituted his sole chance of escape.
He contracted his muscles and, inch by inch, he worked his right arm free. By this time the water had risen until he was fairly beneath its surface. Could he last long enough to free himself?
He worked frantically. Finally, with his lungs almost bursting, he managed to free the other arm, then the rope that bound his neck. To release his feet was, to him, child's play, and he stood up.
But the water had risen almost to the top of the tank before he was able to grasp its brim and draw himself out.
Once on the roof, there was only one thought in his mind. It was nearing eight o'clock, and if Eva kept the appointment at the inventor's he knew his adversaries well enough to be sure that they would take advantage of his absence.
He dashed down the stairs and out of the building. Dora and her evil band could wait. He must reach the inventor's shop. As the seconds sped, so increased his premonition that all would not be well there.
It was at the moment that Zita came flying down-stairs that Locke burst into the hallway to the inventor's.
Zita saw him. Above, she knew was the terrible Automaton and his bloodthirsty emissary. More horrible yet, she had her fears of the package that had been given her by Balcom to deliver.
"You must not go up there!" she cried, impulsively, flinging her arms about Locke's neck.
Locke tried to remove her arms as he questioned her. But Zita either would not or could not tell more. Instead she merely clung to him.
Thus it was that Eva, determined at keeping her appointment with the inventor at all costs, entered the hallway at just this unpropitious moment. To her it looked as if Locke and Zita were very familiar. Could it be that Quentin was such a cad? She could not deny the evidence of her eyes.
Indignantly she brushed past them and rushed up the stairs. Locke called after her, but she refused to heed him. He flung off the arms of Zita and dashed after her. But Eva was too quick for him. She opened the door to the inventor's and went in, slamming it behind her. The lock snapped. In an instant Eva saw what she had fled into. There was the Automaton, near him the emissary with the knife—and on the floor their victim in a pool of blood. She shrieked and tried to escape. But the lock had snapped. Besides, the emissary, now directed by the monster, blocked her retreat.
Outside, Locke pounded on the door, but could not open it. It was of stout oak and would take some moments to break down.
The emissary circled in one direction. Eva turned, and there was the Automaton advancing on her from the other side of the room.
On the table the clock-work bomb, delivered by Zita, whether with full knowledge or not, ticked out the last few seconds before its timing at precisely eight!