de her that the course was best. Even the solicitations of Paul
annoyed her. Paul was more than vexed at this new repulse from his
bride-to-be. His anger knew no bounds as he caught sight of Locke, who
had overheard and showed his doubt over the whole proposal for the care
of Brent. He plucked at his father's sleeve and nodded toward Locke.

Balcom needed no prompting from his crafty son.

"I'll have you understand, Locke," he cried, his face growing apoplectic
red, "that I am in charge here now. Your services are no longer
required."

"I quite understand," returned Locke, quietly. "We shall see."

Balcom stormed down from the room to the telephone, where, a moment
later, he telephoned to an asylum, asking them to send a conveyance with
nurses, keepers, and whatever paraphernalia was necessary to take care
of his partner, Brent.

"Is he violent?" demanded the doctor over the telephone.

"Yes. Bring a strait-jacket," snapped back Balcom. "And the sooner he is
under your care the better."

With that Balcom stamped out of the house.

In Brent's room, Paul was attempting still to ingratiate himself with
Eva, who was growing more distant toward him with every moment. Finally
Paul could stand it no longer. He turned on his heel and faced Locke
angrily in the hall.

"You'll regret this, confound you!" he ground out, as he swung out of
the room rapidly in a high state of feeling.

Unconcernedly Locke turned on his heel.

"Don't worry," he whispered to Eva. "I'll see that no harm comes to your
father."

For answer, her own heart too full for words, Eva pressed the hand of
the young scientist. It was reward enough for Locke.

Meanwhile, at Doctor Shaw's sanitarium, to which Balcom had telephoned
with the permission of the doctor, elaborate preparations had been
completed for the reception and transportation of Brent.

It was perhaps an hour later that the ambulance, with three
white-uniformed attendants, pulled out, carrying all those appurtenances
necessary for the care of the insane, including the strait-jacket which
Balcom had so testily suggested.

That same hour had seen intense activity in another quarter. In the den
of the Automaton, the hard-visaged emissaries had been already roused by
the entrance of the Automaton.

Hasty directions had been uttered by the metallic, phonograph voice of
the monster, and already four of the most desperate of the characters
had hurried through the entrance out on the cl