issaries leaped
upon him. Although weakened by his previous battle, Locke proved no easy
customer for them. Time after time he struggled free from them and with
arms working like piston-rods for a while he kept them at a distance.
But, like a pack of wolves, they were not to be denied, and they finally
succeeded in holding him firmly.

One of them brought leg-irons which he snapped around Locke's ankles.
Once again Locke managed to get one of his arms free and, before they
could prevent him, two emissaries lay prostrate on the wharf. But that
effort marked his last, for the Automaton, stalking up behind him,
pinioned his arms as though he was a baby.

An emissary now placed a pair of handcuffs on his wrists and, to bind
him more securely, fastened a chain that extended from the handcuffs to
the leg-irons.

Two of the thugs now carried him to the edge of the wharf, while a third
attached a heavy weight to Locke's feet. Locke realized his
helplessness, realized that his death was imminent. But he determined to
rid the world of at least one murderer. By a mighty effort he shook off
his captors and, as one rushed forward, he grabbed him in his manacled
hands and leaped with him into the river as they grappled.

At the shore end of the wharf an emissary was leading Eva, as she
thought, to Flint.

Locke and the thug sank immediately to the bottom of the river and,
under water, there ensued a terrific battle. Locke, semi-helpless
because of his shakles, had the greatest difficulty in preventing the
thug from breaking loose. But he was determined that the fellow at least
would pay for his crimes with his life.

The thug's struggles gradually became more feeble. Air bubbles rose from
his bestial lips and he became limp in Locke's grasp. Locke released him
and, feet first, he floated upward, dead.

Locke's lungs were almost bursting now as he struggled at his chains;
his senses reeled; he thought of Eva, and redoubled his efforts. If he
could only get rid of that great weight that was holding him down. A
singing came in his ears.

CHAPTER X

As Eva hurried down the dock, looking for the renegade, Flint she found
herself cornered between the emissary and the terrible Automaton
himself. With a scream of terror she ran until she came to a door that
divided the dock into fireproof sections. Through it she darted, the
Automaton following relentlessly.

Meanwhile Locke, his lungs almost bursting and the blood surging