e models of the two
inventions, when Zita came down the hall carrying a fair sized package
which she tried hard to conceal. Eva greeted her and continued down to
the cellar, as Zita, with a sort of grim smile, left the house.

Eva came to the great door, pushed the secret spring, and in a moment
was inside the gloomy place. She went directly to the spot where the two
inventions had been kept. They were gone.

Alarmed, she rushed up-stairs.

Still Locke did not return. Nor did any word come from him. It was now
very near to eight. Eva decided to go, for surely Locke would be there.

When Zita arrived at the inventor's, in her hands was still the
mysterious package. She carried it gingerly, then raised it to her ear.
From within it there came a faint ticking sound. What was it inside?

She looked at her wrist-watch. It was still some minutes before eight.
She knocked at the inventor's door.

The inventor at once admitted her. It was a neat little workshop in
which every detail had been thought out with care--the home, one might
say, of a methodical workman.

The inventor manifested some surprise at seeing Zita, but politely asked
her to enter, and offered her a chair. Zita declined and plainly showed
her nervousness.

"Will you please give this package to Mr. Locke and Miss Brent when they
come at eight?" she asked.

Winters agreed and accepted the package, looking quizzically at her as
he did so, just as he had earlier in the day.

Zita, unable to control her curiosity, burst out with the question
uppermost on her mind.

"Why do you look at me in such a strange manner?" she queried.

The inventor merely turned his gaze away and shrugged.

"Mr Balcom tells me that you know the secret of my birth," pressed Zita.

The inventor looked up quickly. "Who did Mr. Balcom say you were?" he
asked.

"He told me that I was Brent's daughter," replied Zita, keenly watching
the aged face.

"Balcom lied to you," hastened the inventor.

Already there was a ponderous tread on the stairs, but Winters did not
seem to notice it.

"You are not Brent's daughter," he pursued, more slowly.

The door opened swiftly and an emissary stood framed there, a knife
poised in his hand. Behind him stood the Automaton.

"You are--"

At that instant the inventor caught sight of the intruders. With a look
of horror in his eyes he threw out his hands to protect himself, but he
was too late. The knife whizzed through the air and a sec