The door was unlocked, and, hesitating not an instant, Quentin dashed through and into a large room.
Eva, the gunny sack removed and still unconscious, lay on the floor. The emissaries were grouped around her. In the background, dimly visible, stood the iron monster.
Startled, they looked up as Locke rushed into the room. But before they could do more, Locke had whipped out his automatic and, point-blank, was blazing away at the murderous crew. Two emissaries fell dead or mortally wounded. The others scattered.
Only the Automaton, man of iron that he was, showed no sign of fear. Instead, he advanced ponderously upon Locke.
The automatic barked again, but did not succeed in deterring the monster. Locke realized the futility of using this puny weapon against such a foe.
He dashed toward Eva. It was the work of only an instant to snatch her up, practically from under the monster's feet, to turn, and to carry her through the door by which he had been brought in. Holding her in one arm, he slammed the door shut and shot the bolt.
He was just in time, for the next instant the door bulged out beneath the dead weight of the Automaton as it hurled its massive form against the other side.
Zita vas still waiting at the elevator shaft when Locke, carrying Eva in his arms, entered. At the sight Zita's whole body expressed her unquenched hatred of the unconscious girl. Her eyes narrowed, her lips became livid, and her hands clenched as though she would like to strike the helpless Eva.
"Zita," demanded Locke, suspiciously, "why did you hesitate to save my life?"
"Because," she replied—and her voice indicated the force of her answer whether it were really the truth or not—"I love you, and would not save you—for her"