sed, days which were sheer torture to Eva. Paul
called every day, bringing her little gifts, and it must be acknowledged
that he showed exquisite taste.

They took long walks together. On horseback they cantered all over the
country. Friends called, and it was at such times that Eva found her
only relief from Paul's attentions. Many a rubber of bridge she played
just to escape being alone with him.

CHAPTER XVI

At last, late one afternoon, the faithful old butler announced to Eva
privately that Locke was on the wire and wished to speak to her.

Eva almost ran to the telephone, and her hand shook with sheer joy as
she took the receiver.

"Yes, everything is moving along even more rapidly than I expected,"
replied Locke to her eager inquiry. "Whenever Paul leaves Brent Rock he
goes directly to a miserable cafe and there I see him with a number of
people of the underworld. He seems to have a great deal of influence
over them. I'm sifting all the clues, and as soon as I unmask him I will
send for you."

Eva gave him a brief outline of how she had fared in his absence and an
account of her father's condition, which was now very bad. Everything
the doctor had done seemed to be without effect.

Locke assured her that he hoped soon to lay hands on the antidote that
would restore Brent to health and sanity, and begged Eva to be brave in
the mean time.

When the conversation was over Eva felt certain that no one had
overheard what she and Quentin had said. But she was mistaken, as she
was to learn at her cost. For, far down in the bowels of the earth, in
the den of the Automaton, an emissary had tapped in on the telephone
wire and had heard every word.

Down-town, among the haunts of Paul, on the west side, was the Black Tom
Cafe. Every attempt had been made to make the place bizarre. About the
walls were palings that represented a back fence, along which crawled
painted black cats in every conceivable state--a rather odd conceit for
a cabaret.

Although the sun had not yet set, the electric lights were already
agleam. On a raised platform three weary-eyed musicians were pounding
and thumping out the latest Broadway hit.

There were not half a dozen people in the place, and these were
obviously denizens of this quarter of the town. They were listless and
weary, mere shells of human beings. And yet it was such as these that
the slumming parties at night romantically dubbed bohemians.

They showed scant inter