Every fiber of Zita's body was galvanized into action as she threw the
whole weight of her body against the elevator emergency-control switch.
There was a sputtering of blue flame as the connection was made, and
Zita closed her eyes. With a shudder she heard the great elevator strike
the cellar floor and then rebound.
She dared not open her eyes. The last thing that she had seen was Locke
struggling frantically to escape from under the elevator that was only a
few inches above him and seemed destined to crush out his life.
Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes. Locke's body lay motionless at
her feet, separated almost literally by only the breadth of a hair from
the shaft.
The relief, the reaction from her terrible emotions, made Zita half
hysterical. Trembling in every limb, she made her way to Locke and fell
on her knees by him. She wrapped her arms about him and held his head
up.
It was thus that she was holding him when his eyes slowly opened and
gazed questioningly into her own, his brow knitted in perplexity.
Then, with a rush, it all came back to him--the descending elevator,
Zita standing at the switch, while his life hung in the balance, his
last frantic effort to escape just before the descending elevator had
grazed his head, rendering him unconscious. That Zita, at the last
moment, had attempted to save his life he did not know, nor why she now
gazed at him frankly with eyes of love.
It was all inexplicable to him.
Another instant and he had wrenched himself loose from Zita's arms and
was struggling with the ropes that still bound him even after he had
managed to roll out from under the elevator in the last nick of time.
He had suddenly realized that the sight of Eva being carried off by the
emissaries had not been a hideous dream, but a terrible actuality, and
that at this very moment she was probably in the most imminent danger.
Zita realized that he wanted freedom to rush to Eva's assistance. Had
she dared, she would have refused to release him from her arms, would at
least have hindered his untying his bonds. But there was a masterful
something about his silent demand to be released that would admit of no
refusal.
In a few seconds Locke completed the freeing of himself and was dashing
madly toward the door through which the gang, carrying Eva, had passed.
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_."
Zita turned and ran up the stairs leading to Old Meg's as Locke turned
to try to revive Eva.
But the hammer blows of the monster resounded throughout the cellar. At
any moment the door might come crashing down and Locke and Eva might
again be at the mercy of the iron fiend.
Locke caught up Eva in his arms again and, groping, sought the exit of
the warehouse.
He dared not follow Zita through Old Meg's den. Love that could for any
reason hesitate or injure the one loved was incomprehensible to him. He
felt that the hag's den might now be but an ambush and that Zita might
have run ahead to warn the uninjured emissaries of his coming.
By a lucky chance he found the path leading directly to the warehouse
steps and the street. Eva's speedster had not been moved or tampered
with and he placed Eva gently in the seat, climbed in, and started the
motor. As he did so three emissaries came running out of the alley
leading to Old Meg's. But shooting the gears into high speed, Locke
easily evaded them and turned up the first corner.
He was going to take Eva to the first doctor's or a drug-store, but it
proved not to be necessary. The rush of the air as the car moved rapidly
revived her, and in a few moments she was quite herself again, eagerly
questioning him about her rescue.
Although they were thankful for their escape, still they could not blind
themselves to the fact that all their efforts had been in vain, that
they stood no nearer to their great desire, and that, at least until
now, their enemies had proved too wily and too strong for them.
But they were young, courageous, and resourceful, and as they drew up
before Brent Rock they were busily engaged with plans for the future.
It was the following afternoon in the Chinese quarter. The Celestials
were celebrating one of their numerous feasts. Long multicolored banners
and streamers were hanging from every window and balcony and were even
strung across the narrow street, almost brushing the faces of the motley
throng that passed beneath. Tom-toms and cymbals beat and clashed, while
from the Chinese theater came the shrill piping of reeds and the
high-pitched chanting voices of Chinamen.
Street venders cried their wares and the windows of the Oriental shops
were gaily bedecked for the holiday.
Through the dense happy throng a man made his way. He, too, was an
Oriental, but of a different race. A giant in size, he calmly pushed and
shoved the smaller Celestials out of his path, and, although they
chattered angrily at him, their resentment went no farther, for his size
and the menace of his swarthy face made them pause.
Before the entrance of a curio-shop he halted and consulted a card.
Then, satisfied that he had found his destination, he picked up a wicker
carrying-case that for the moment he had placed on the curb and entered
the shop.
A Chinaman stepped forward, scrutinized him closely, and, nodding
significantly, bade the new-comer follow him.
They went to the back of the shop. The Chinese clapped his hands, and a
panel in the wall slid back, disclosing a stairway. The new-comer
stepped through the aperture and the panel closed behind him. He mounted
the stairs and came to a room, magnificent in its Oriental splendor.
Priceless rugs covered the floor and walls, while on wonderfully carved
teakwood stands reposed ancient porcelains, specimens of bygone
dynasties, antique arms and armor cunningly wrought, jades and ivories
marvelously fashioned by master craftsmen long since dead. Seen through
the filmy haze of rising incense, the room was a veritable
treasure-house of Oriental art.
On low settees a few richly clad Chinese were reclining, and in a far
corner, gazing intently into a globe of crystal, sat a man of the same
race as the new-comer, a Madagascan.
Startled at the entrance of the giant, he left off his shadow-gazing and
came hastily forward, cringing as he did so.
The giant, in an impressive, booming voice, now spoke for the first
time.
"I, the Strangler, have come from Madagascar with the Great Torture."
A door opened and Doctor Q entered the room, his head wagging from side
to side.
As he caught sight of the Madagascan he stopped short and put his hand
to his head with a gesture of perplexity, striving piteously to place
the stranger. He could not succeed. With a half-running, half-stumbling
gait he withdrew to a corner of the room and furtively watched the two
Madagascans.
There came the sound of a gong. A panel slid back, and into the room
there majestically swept a Chinaman of pure Mongolian type.
He was gorgeously clad in flowing silks and wore the princely cap with a
button. At a glance his piercing eye took in every detail of the room.
Then he went directly to the Madagascan, whose overbearing air of
assurance immediately forsook him at the Chinaman's approach.
He bowed low and reverently, for it was Long Fang to whom he made
obeisance, Long Fang, leader of a great Tong, and implacable foe to all
others, a Chinese whose tentacles of power reached into every corner of
the underworld, spreading terror.
In an incisive, icy voice that sent a chill through the big man's frame,
he now spoke.
"You have been overlong on your journey and we have been waiting for
you." Then with a menace in his voice he snarled, "It is well for you
that you came at last."
The big man shuddered and remained silent. Long Fang crossed to Doctor
Q.
"The instrument of torture is here," he said. "The Madagascan has just
brought it. He is an unrivaled strangler."
"Let him approach," commanded Doctor Q.
Long Fang beckoned, and the Strangler came forward. His eyes had been
fixed on the Chinese, but now they roved to the figure of Doctor Q, and
he fell back in consternation, clutching the other Madagascan by the
shoulder and gasping in awestruck tones.
"In our country his magic is supreme!"
With difficulty he controlled himself and bowed low, his forehead almost
touching the floor. Then he looked away, cringing.
"I see that you recognize me," Doctor Q chuckled, fiendishly. "Good! You
will not be so foolish as to fail me."
"No, no, master, I swear it by--"
"Never mind your oath. My power is my guaranty. Go--follow Long Fang. He
will direct you to the torture-chamber."
Doctor Q turned on his heel and hobbled out of the room.
Long Fang and the Strangler were about to proceed to the torture-chamber
when footsteps were heard on the stairway that led to the curio-shop
below. Long Fang and the Madagascan stopped and listened.
Another moment and De Luxe Dora and Paul Balcom stepped into the room.
With a curt command Paul called Long Fang to him and the Chinaman,
important as he was, hastened to obey.
What was this strange power that Paul, at will, could exercise
throughout the underworld?
With a few terse questions Paul ascertained the exact condition of
affairs.
"You say, Long Fang, that all is ready?"
"All, master. We only awaited your coming."
Then with a graceful gesture he asked, "Will you so far honor your
humble servant?" as he indicated the way into another room.
Dora, followed by Paul and the Chinese, stepped through the portal and
came to a Chinese temple.
It was a large room and the decorations, although equally well executed
as those in the room they had just left, were actually terrifying.
Flying dragons and serpents done in bronze hung from the ceiling, while
on a raised dais at the farther end of the room was an enormous
squatting figure of the seven-handed god. Before it, in braziers, fire
gleamed, giving off a heavy, pungent odor that was almost overpowering
to Occidental nostrils.
On either side of the huge image hung silken curtains, in all
probability covering doorways into yet other chambers.
For the first time Dora showed signs of interest. With the shop and the
first chamber she was already familiar, but this was something new,
something to give the spur to her satiated, _blasé_ nature. She moved
about the place, fingering the rare tapestries, contemplating probably
what gorgeous hangings they would make for her own apartment.
Dora's preoccupation gave Long Fang his opportunity to confer with Paul
alone and he moved closer to him.
"Master," he nodded, "why not use the beautiful lady to lure the other
one into our power?"
Paul shook his head negatively. He knew that Eva was aware that Dora was
her enemy.
"But, master," persisted the Chinese, "you told me that this Miss Brent
loves her father, and that she would do anything for his recovery. Let
this lady tell her that the Madagascan has brought an antidote that will
restore his reason. She will come here and we shall trap her."
For a moment Paul stood in deep thought, then called to Dora.
At first she laughed at the idea that Eva would even listen to her. But
Dora was clever and conceited and in the end she agreed that at least
she would make the attempt.
At this moment in another quarter of town Paul's father was ready to
leave his apartment, yet from his nervousness it could readily be seen
that he was waiting for some one. A Madagascan servant entered and
salaamed.
"Master," he announced, "the Strangler has arrived from Madagascar."
Balcom's face lighted up with intense satisfaction and cunning at the
news. He waved the servant away, picked up his hat and stick, and
hurried out.
In the library at Brent Rock Eva and Locke were having an earnest
conversation. Locke had on his motoring togs and was on the point of
going out.
"By elimination," he was saying, "I will prove that either Paul or his
father is the Automaton. I am going to trap Paul."
"Quentin," cautioned Eva, "for my sake be careful."
Locke strove to quiet her fears, pointing out that his scheme was
necessary in order to save her father, and in the end Eva reluctantly
consented.
She went with him to the porte-cochère where his car was already
waiting.
"Good luck!" she tried to call cheerfully, in spite of her misgivings.
Long after his car had disappeared in the distance she stood there
gazing after it, a world of anxiety in her eyes.