CHAPTER XXI
At the cove fishing-village, set on the extreme outskirts of the town, there stood an old fisherman's shack that was shunned by all the good folk of the city.
While there was nothing definite that could be said of the evil deeds of the inhabitants, there was much shaking of heads and wagging of tongues to the effect that all was not as it should be at the cove.
The owner of the old shack, Old Tom, was an ill-favored, taciturn man who would have naught to do with any of his neighbors, and asked only that they keep out of his path and leave him alone. He even evinced an aversion to dogs and to little children, driving them away from his shack whenever he found them near it.
The threat that "Old Tom will catch you" would make a cove fishing-village tractable at any time.
Old Tom rarely put to sea, and when he did it was more often than not after nightfall, a time when the good folk of the village were preparing for a night's rest.
It was stated by one old crony that often at night other men came to Old Tom's shack, that they entered slyly, and that well into the morning revelry, and often oaths and brawls, could be heard from within.
Some hinted that Old Tom was a smuggler; others, even, that he was a wrecker. True it was that often strange lights were seen to flicker outside the bar to the cove.
Also there had been wrecks, and often, in the morning, when the fishermen put out to a wreck, after a storm, it would be discovered that some one had been there before them, since valuable and readily portable parts of the wreck were frequently missing.
But while suspicion pointed to Old Tom and the strange men that frequented his place, proofs positive of a crime were invariably lacking, and so the village tolerated Old Tom's presence and predicted his bad end.
It was to this shack that there came very early one morning, before the break of day, a wounded man assisted by a woman. The woman gave a peculiar rap at the door. There was a quick scurry inside, as of fast-moving feet, then silence.
The woman rapped again, and this time with more force. After a moment a sash was raised and a querulous voice demanded what was wanted.
"It's De Luxe Dora and Paul Balcom, and he's wounded. Quick, open the door!"
There was a rush to open the door now and rough hands gently assisted the wounded man to a seat inside.
While Paul was not perhaps so dangerously wounded, yet it was easy to be seen that the wound was not to be trifled with, for the cut had been severe and the blood flowed copiously.
Dora, whatever her attitude toward others, had a true solicitude for Paul, and all the womanliness of her nature came to the surface as she tenderly bathed Paul's head and attempted to bind the wound with the rough bandages at hand.
There were several tough-looking men standing about, and from their ready sympathy, real or feigned, it was easy to be seen that these men, too, like the others of the underworld, stood ready to do Paul's slightest bidding, to guard him with their lives if need be.
What was this strange power that this man, scarcely more than a youth, wielded over these outlawed men?
"Quick!" exclaimed Dora. "Watch the window. We've probably been followed."
A grim-visaged man moved lumberingly over to the window and glued his head against the pane, straining his eyes as he peered out.
For a long time he did not move, while, with the others grouped around, Dora tried to stanch the flow of blood from Paul's injured head.
Suddenly the watcher at the window turned and shouted, "Man comin' up the lane!"
Instantly there was confusion within the shack. The men scattered in all directions, while one old hag, the only woman in the shack besides Dora, hobbled over to a stool and took up the mending of a huge net where she had left off.
Old Tom ambled over to Dora and for a moment they talked hurriedly. Finally Dora came to a decision, as she pointed to the old rickety stairway to an attic above.
"Carry him to the attic," she directed. "He can be well hidden there. As for the rest of you, remember, no one has come here to-night."
Two of the men lifted Paul, who, while not in an absolutely unconscious condition, was much too weak by this time from loss of blood to assist himself.
They carried him up the stairs and into an old, disused room to which Dora followed, and when the two men had descended the stairs she remained, alternately ministering to Paul and listening for what might happen below.
Paul and Dora had left the main room of the shack not a moment too soon. For barely had the two men who had carried Paul to the attic returned when a face was momentarily seen outside, while a pair of eyes peered into the room.
A moment later there was a peremptory knock at the door.
"Come in!" growled Old Tom.
With eyes that scanned every cranny and nook and searched every face, Locke stepped into the shack.
The men came forward a step, then halted. There was something in Locke's face that showed that he was in deadly earnest and not to be trifled with.
Locke looked from one to the other, then turned to Old Tom. "The wounded man who was brought here," he demanded, "where is he?"
"There 'ain't been no wounded man brought here," retorted Old Tom.
The men crowded a little closer, all denying vehemently that any one had entered.
At this instant a drop of blood fell on Locke's sleeve from the ceiling above. Quickly he checked the impulse to look up, although he was startled by it. He recovered himself on the instant and waited until under a pretext he could divert their attention to something else. Then he glanced hastily upward, as they looked in another direction. There, forming slowly, was another drop of blood, and it was about to fall.
Locke had gained his object. As surely as though he had been brought face to face with Paul, he knew that he was lying on the floor of the attic above.
Single-handed, against so many and in this shack, Locke realized that he could do nothing. He apologized gruffly for his intrusion, conveying the impression that he felt he had made a mistake, and backed his way to the door.
In an instant the door to the attic stairs was flung open and Dora rushed into the room.
"You fools!" she snarled at the surprised men who were just congratulating themselves on how they had put one over on Locke. "I tell you he's wise. He saw the blood. Look up above you. Now go get him."
But the fishermen had no desire for this outside work and hung back, while Dora raved at them.
From the ceiling, drop by drop, blood was falling, forming a little pool on the floor. Paul could not be moved now. They must make the best of it and be ready for any raid Locke might prepare.
At Brent Rock Eva was conversing with her lawyer. Matters had reached such a state in the affairs of International Patents that it was evident, even to her, that some drastic action must be taken, and at once.
In a corner of the room, coiled up in a big armchair, Zita was apparently reading a new magazine, but was, in reality, listening intently to every word that was being uttered.
Finally Eva and the lawyer were in full accord, and she accompanied the elderly attorney to the door. As they parted, Zita strained her ears to hear the last words. She did not get it all, but quite enough to tell her what they had decided upon.
"As my lawyer," she overheard Eva say, "I wish you to have Mr. Locke appointed receiver."
There was some more she missed, but that was quite enough for Zita. She got out of the chair quickly and left the room without being observed, and a few moments later she had left the house.
In a telephone-booth, not far from the cove fishing-village, Locke by this time had his chief of the Department of Justice on the wire.
"I've located him, Chief," he telephoned, excitedly, "but it will take four good men to capture him."
"I'll send them at once," the chief replied, as both hung up their receivers hurriedly.
Meanwhile, in Herbert Balcom's sumptuous, semi-Oriental apartment two men were in earnest conversation. One was the owner, Balcom, the other that strange, half-demented being, Doctor Q, whose mind now, for the moment, seemed to be lucid.
The matter under discussion was undoubtedly a weighty one, for both men sat with knitted brows, and for the moment, at least, seemed in a quandary about something.
Suddenly there came a hurried ringing at the outside-door bell and Balcom leaped to his feet. They could hear the door opened, quick footsteps in the hallway, and then, without ceremony, the door was flung open and Dora burst into the room.
Balcom scowled a welcome, for he hated this woman, who had, as he thought, spoiled the chances of his son with Eva. But Dora did not wait for the threatened outburst.
"Hurry!" she cried. "You must do something. Paul has been wounded—never mind how—but he lies in a fishing-shack down at the cove—and they are going to arrest him—Locke is!"
For the moment both men seemed to be stricken dumb, while Dora, in a state of wild excitement, pleaded for them to do something—anything to save the one person she loved.
It was at this juncture that the door opened again, admitting another woman. It was Zita, very agitated, though, of course, under better control than Dora. Besides, Zita did not know what had happened to Paul, nor did she love him. It was merely that she felt that things could be made to play into her own hands if the news she brought were immediately acted upon.
Hastily she told what she had overheard about the proposed receivership, and all four now—Balcom, Doctor Q, Dora, and Zita—talked excitedly.
But it was plainly Balcom who was in command of the situation. Although livid with rage at the news he had heard, yet he maintained control of the others, directing what they should do with a decisiveness that was truly remarkable. It showed the mental force of the man, demonstrating how greatly he was to be feared by any bold enough to be his enemy. For Balcom loved that spoiled son of his and would hesitate at no act, not even at a crime, to save him from even what he justly deserved.
At last their plan was formed, and all four departed their several ways to execute it.
Balcom had decided upon going directly to Brent Rock. His ire had not abated one iota during the trip, either, and, as he almost ran up the steps to the mansion, he pushed the astounded butler to one side as though he were merely a piece of furniture.
"Tell Miss Brent I want to see her at once," he threatened.
The butler raised a hand deprecatingly at Balcom's tone, but Balcom, beside himself, smashed it down and strode toward the library just as Eva, hearing the voices, was coming out. For an instant she drew back in apprehension and amazement as Balcom advanced on her, still snarling.
"See here, Eva," he hissed, "if Locke tries to arrest my son—he'll be killed."
For the instant Eva was stunned. What did the man mean? But as Balcom showed no signs of regaining control of himself, and every moment became more abusive and violent, indignation gave place to every other sentiment, and she sharply ordered Balcom to leave the house.
Threatening dire things and hinting even more if there were a receivership, Balcom strode out.
Eva stood for a long time shocked into inaction. Then, slowly, fears for Locke's safety came uppermost and she paced back and forth the length of the hall.
Finally the old butler came to her deferentially.
"And did you notice, ma'am," he asked, "that during his tirade he mentioned about a cove fishing-village? Might I suggest that that is where Mr. Paul is and Mr. Locke will not be found far off?"
Eva thought a moment, recognized the sound sense of the remark, and ordered that her car be brought. A few moments later she had taken the wheel and was soon out of sight of Brent Rock.
Close pressed against a wall of a back lane of the cove fishing-village, Locke was standing, waiting for the men whom his chief had promised to send.
Finally they came to him, first making their coming known to Locke by a peculiar low whistle.
"The other two will be along directly," whispered one of the pair. "Thought it better not to come in a bunch."
As Locke laid his plans, the other two came from out of the shadows.
The entire party now moved cautiously toward Old Tom's shack. Just before they arrived one of the men said that he could see two figures entering the place. But as Locke had seen nothing, no attention was paid to the remark.
Locke now placed one of his men on either side of the door. The other two he sent to the rear, so that they could surround the gang.
He knocked at the door. This time it was immediately opened. Followed by the detectives with revolvers drawn, Locke rushed boldly into the shack, while his other two men closed in from the rear.
The emissaries, finding themselves surrounded, would have capitulated, probably without a struggle, had not the old hag, to whom no one had paid much attention, picked up a small anchor and thrown it at Locke and the advancing detectives.
As it was, the anchor struck Locke a glancing blow and he stumbled backward against one of his own men, upsetting him. That, of course, gave the advantage to the thugs, and they advanced, attacking savagely.
It was at too close quarters, in the midst of such a mêlée, to use guns without danger of getting one of one's own party. Thus it was a primitive battle of brute force.
Locke and the detectives were trained men, however, and were surely gaining the upper hand, so much so that Locke managed to tear himself loose and dash for the door leading to the attic. He opened it, and there, with revolver leveled at his head, stood De Luxe Dora.
It was the work of only an instant to disarm her, however, and he rushed up the stairs, Dora after him.
There was a body lying on the floor—Paul, undoubtedly, thought Locke.
He took it by the shoulder and turned it over, then fell back in amazement, for there, smiling mockingly at him, was Zita!
"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" jeered Dora.
But it was no time to bandy words, and Locke left them and rushed down the stairs just as a horde of emissaries swarmed up to meet him, reinforcements to the fisher thugs.
For in some way the Automaton had been warned of Locke's presence, and with all the emissaries it could summon had hastened to Old Tom's shack.
Most unfortunate of all, the Automaton and its men had arrived just behind the car bearing Eva, and she, not suspecting the danger, had entered the shack.
Although she did not see Locke, she was overjoyed to see that the detectives held the upper hand. She had started to search for him, when there came a terrifying crash at the door and more emissaries, followed by the Automaton, came into the room.
The detectives were almost instantly overpowered, and the mob made for the stairs just as Locke was descending.
In that narrow space a most terrible battle took place. Man after man Locke hurled against his fellows, and they went crashing down, only to rise again and attack.
Finally they came to hand-grips, and Locke, lunging furiously to free himself, threw his body against the partition of the stairway and it came crashing down, hurling Locke and the emissaries to the floor below.
Locke was badly stunned, and before he could rise the emissaries had swathed him in the huge net that the old hag had been mending. Next they bound him with ropes until he was utterly helpless in the meshes of the net.
Eva, half crazed with horror, was in a far corner, and the Automaton was advancing upon her. She was paralyzed with fear.
What fate was in store for her—what for Locke?
