After all that she had endured, this was almost the final blow to Eva. She thought of Flint and Baker's dock and five o'clock. There was no time to lose if she were to save her father. So she pulled herself together, seized her hat and cloak, and started for the door.
Here Zita stopped her and offered to accompany her, but she declined. She hastily asked the direction of Baker's dock from the butler, and then ran out of the house and sprang to the steering-wheel of her waiting car. With a whir of the starter she was away.
Flint had arrived at the dock long before and was now slinking in and out among the crates and boxes as he sought diligently for a safe hiding-place. But his nerves, none too strong at the best, were now running riot, and nowhere could he feel a sense of security so that he could remain quiet.
It was while he was sneaking from one pile of bales to another that an emissary hailed him.
"Are you Flint?" he demanded.
"Y-e-s," came quaveringly from Flint.
"Well, there's a lady in the office asking for you."
Such was the fascination of any of the emissaries of the Automaton over Flint by this time that he followed the man without question, particularly as he felt that he would be spared, since the lady in the office could be none other than Eva.
Together they walked toward the entrance and, with an order to wait, the emissary halted Flint close to a pile of crates and left him. Flint dared not move. A premonition of impending disaster must have come over him, for his knees shook and a clammy sweat broke out on his forehead.
Without sound a gigantic iron hand and arm protruded from behind a crate and, for a moment, hung suspended over Flint's head. Then, with a swift encircling movement, that hooklike arm wrapped itself around Flint's neck and drew him into the shadow. The mighty form drew the victim close—and it was over.