"Assuredly," hastened Balcom.
"Then I'll be right over."
As Balcom hung up the receiver he chuckled sardonically. He was just turning to an antique brazier to arrange for Locke's reception when Zita was announced and at once admitted.
"I've failed, Mr. Balcom," she apologized, "failed miserably. Locke took Mr. Brent away from me—and they ordered me never to return to the house."
"You little idiot!" Balcom almost hissed. "I'll not tolerate a failure, either. Get out!"
Although Zita almost went on her knees in her pleading to him, Balcom was adamant, and finally she left in utter despair.
Outside, she telephoned to Paul to see if she might induce him to use his influence in reinstating her in his father's good graces.
As soon as Zita was gone Balcom busied himself with the ancient brazier and was standing before a small image of Buddha. He took a small package and from it poured a powder into the bowl of the brazier. Then, going to the table, he wrote a short note, after which he went to a divan and awaited Locke's coming.
Balcom had not long to wait. A ring came at the door and Balcom leaped to his feet and lighted the powder in the brazier. Then he adjusted a gas-mask that Doctor Q had given him, and, returning to the divan, lay down, pulling a camel's-hair coverlet well over himself as he awaited results.
There was a rap at the door and a peremptory demand for entrance—a pause—and a whispered consultation outside.