home.

The old hag was evidently awaiting her, for this time she did not hide
at the sound of approaching footsteps, but came forward, courtesying and
mumbling greetings, while her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction that was
positively hellish.

"Mr. Locke--where is he?" Eva gasped.

"All in good time, my pretty, all in good time," mumbled the hag.
"You're to wait for him here."

But Eva insisted on seeing Locke at once and the old hag lied volubly.
He had been here, and had stepped out for a moment. No, she did not know
where--to get a cigar, maybe. Would the pretty lady hear her fortune
told while she waited?

As there was apparently nothing that she could do until Locke returned,
Eva sat at the card-table while Old Meg droned her old fortune-telling
rigamarole.

In spite of her growing fear and agitation Eva became interested. There
was something calming in the monotonous voice of the old crone.

"When the queen of spades comes between the jack of hearts and the king
of diamonds and the--a--the--"

A door directly behind Eva silently and slowly opened. Stealthily a
boy's head was thrust out. On the young face was a world of deadly
hatred. As the sputtering candle burned brighter for a moment,
startlingly, a vague change was noticeable in the lineaments of the
features.

It was the same gamin who had given the sleeping boy money. But now, in
the candle-light, with only the head showing, it was no boy who glared
malevolently at Eva, but a woman--and that woman was the implacable
Zita!

The head disappeared to give place to the visages of two
horrible-looking men, the same brutes who were present when Balcom had
spread the net of his conspiracy.

"When the jack of clubs," droned the witch, "and the--"

With barely a sound the two thugs entered the room behind Eva. In the
hand of one was an old gunny sack.

"--and the queen of hearts--"

Eva was so interested now that she leaned far over the table, her eyes
fastened on the cards as they fell.

A thug stumbled. Eva, startled, sat back quickly and tried to rise. But
the next instant she felt herself struggling in the heavy folds of the
grimy gunny sack.

The emissaries, carrying Locke, had staggered with their burden into the
warehouse cellar until, coming to a closed door, one of them rapped on
it in a peculiar manner that was evidently a signal. An instant, and the
door opened.

Through it stalked the Automaton.

The monster gazed intently at Loc