ke as though to determine whether it
were indeed he, then waved the emissaries on to the shaft of a huge
freight elevator.

In the shaft, directly under the elevator platform, they now cast
Locke's unconscious body.

"Are you sure the watchman's still up above?" asked one.

"Sure."

"Then give a ring for the basement."

A thug pressed the button that signaled. In a moment, creaking and
groaning, the massive elevator started to descend.

A shuffling of feet was heard and down the stairs leading from Old Meg's
quarters came the two thugs carrying Eva. A few feet behind them, still
in boy's clothes, was Zita.

The jar to his body as the emissaries threw him on the concrete floor
had tended to bring Locke back to consciousness. For a moment he lay
still. Then the sound of the descending elevator attracted his
attention. He gazed upward and dimly saw the slowly moving platform. In
a flash he realized his danger.

Locke struggled fiercely to dislodge his bonds. He contorted his body,
expanded his powerful chest in an effort to break the ropes that held
him a prisoner.

At this moment the thugs that were carrying Eva passed by, followed by
others. Apparently they took no notice of him, but continued on their
way with the helpless girl.

Locke, his own danger forgotten, became frantic with apprehension for
her and tore savagely at the restraining ropes.

Zita stopped. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions as she saw
Locke struggling at the bottom of the shaft.

Floor by floor, inch by inch, the enormous elevator, that would crush
out Locke's life as though he were an insect, continued to descend.

Zita stepped to an electric switch. That switch would stop the elevator
immediately and save Locke's life.

She raised her hand--and then, looking after the retreating thugs and
emissaries, she saw Eva again. Zita's lips formed a cruel line and a
flinty hardness came into her eyes.

Her hand dropped.

There were only a few feet between Locke and the descending elevator.
Locke was struggling frenziedly to escape and rescue Eva.

Zita's hand went out again and grasped the handle of the switch.

She hesitated, hate on her face.

Would she, for love of Locke, who had not returned her love, save him?

Could she bring herself to save this man--for a woman she hated, who had
won him from her?

If she saved him it would be only to lose him to the other woman.

With a great creaking the massive elevator was