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 carboys.
A pungent odor at once permeated the cellar air as the acid ate into the floor.
Its purpose accomplished, the Automaton stalked 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.
CHAPTER XVII
The Automaton and its emissaries left the cellar. In the distance a door slammed and Locke was left to his terrible fate.