THE MASTER MYSTERY. Arthur B. Reeve
and his interference with his plans. As he stood meditating he noticed that Locke was looking at him, so he turned toward the young chemist and his whole expression changed. A bland smile crept across his face as he spoke.
"I was only suggesting that my partner be taken to an institution, because I believed that he would receive better treatment there." He addressed Locke, but looked toward Eva as he did so. "Miss Brent should have trust in me. I have only her interest at heart."
"It would be better for Mr. Brent to stay here," said Locke. "The treatment his daughter can give will be better than that of an outsider."
As he spoke he sauntered away with an air of finality, while Balcom shrugged his shoulders and gave orders to the ambulance men to go.
Locke walked toward the dining-room, and there amid the candle drippings and the wreckage of the night before espied the miniature automaton. He picked it up and examined it minutely as Balcom strolled in.
Balcom's quick gaze caught what Locke was looking at, and he approached the young chemist and sauvely said:
"It seems almost unbelievable, Mr. Locke, that a giant form like that could be endowed with a human brain."
As he spoke he pointed toward the miniature automaton in Locke's hands. Locke turned and faced him, his jaw tightening with a snap.
"Not unbelievable, but impossible, Mr. Balcom," he said. "I believe that there is some one in this thing that attacks us and calls himself Q."
He eyed Balcom as he spoke, to see the effects of his words. But if Balcom knew anything, he cunningly concealed it. Locke walked to the table and closely examined the candles and other stuff strewn about. He was looking for some clue to what had caused the madness of Brent and Flint. The crumpled anatomy chart lay on the floor, and as Locke stooped to pick it up Eva entered and came toward him. She shuddered slightly as she passed the miniature of the monster, and Balcom, with an air of satisfaction, noticed her fear. He turned and was about to go out, when the butler entered with the duplicate candlestick in his hands.
"Mr. Locke, in cleaning the hall I found this behind the portières at the entrance to below-stairs," he announced. "I was quite puzzled for a moment, for I knew the master had taken it into the dining-room with him last evening."
As he spoke he handed the candlestick to Locke, who quickly compared it with the one on the dining-room table which contained the burnt candles.
In appearance the candelabra were identical. Locke with great care examined every feature of them, looking for a clue. He took one of the whole candles from the candlestick which the butler had brought in and scraped the wax from in with his penknife. He examined the particles carefully, then approached the candlestick which stood on the table the fatal night, and very carefully removed the wax from the stumps of candles which were still in the sockets.
"The Madagascar madness came from that candlestick," he announced, with assurance, as he pointed toward the one on the table.
While he was so busily engaged Balcom was eying him cunningly. He watched his every move and was most intent in seeing just how the young man would prove his contention.
"Good morning, every one!" came the clear voice of Paul as he entered the room and crossed over to the side of his fiancée. He was particular to ignore Locke in his greeting, and as he approached Eva he bent over her hand and kissed it.
A close observer would have noticed that the girl rather drew her hand back from his caress.
"I am so sorry about your father, Eva," whispered Paul. "I trust the ailment is but temporary."
As he spoke Eva thanked him mechanically for his solicitations, while Balcom glanced at his son in admiration.
Locke, who was still engaged in looking at the candle drippings through his pocket magnifying-glass, paid slight attention to Paul, but glanced up in time to see that there was a look of insincerity on his face.
Could it be that this young scion of the Balcom fortune could in any way be connected with the Automaton? Could this man, this suave, polished gentleman, have any motive for seeking the ruin or death of his fiancée? Locke seemed to be busily engaged in his task, but he was making mental notes on the conduct of young Balcom. He looked up finally and turned to Eva.
"Miss Brent, I find minute particles of some foreign substance in the wax of these candles," he announced. "They seem to be of organic origin and I am certain that they contain the poison which has robbed your father of his mentality. I am going to take them to a chemical laboratory where there will be proper facilities to have them analyzed. Perhaps there is an antidote that will restore your father's sanity."
As Locke spoke he carefully wrapped up the particles of drippings in a piece of paper and put them in his pocket. As he did so, both Balcom and Paul exchanged hurried glances, and Balcom left the group and started toward the hall.
During all this procedure Zita, clad in a sumptuous morning frock hardly befitting a secretary, was standing behind the portières in the hall and listening intently to all she could hear within the dining-room. As she heard Balcom's footsteps she hurriedly turned and seemed to be going up the hall. He looked after her and then called.
She came toward Balcom with a nod of understanding, and, as she approached, he led her to a corner of the hall and whispered to her.
"It is imperative that we get Flint out of the house to-night. I can trust you to take care of this if I arrange the details?"
Zita quickly nodded acquiescence, looking furtively over her shoulder to see if they were observed.
"I will get him to your apartment," she hurriedly said, as she looked up at him for further instructions.
Balcom turned quickly from her, got his own hat and sack, and departed, just as Locke came into the hall, bound for the chemist's shop. He looked after the disappearing form of Balcom, and then turned and noticed that he was being watched by Zita. Zita in turn hastily entered the library, without looking over her shoulder.
"I wonder what her real position in this house can be," mused Locke, as he took his hat and went toward the front door.
In the dining-room Paul was now standing close to Eva and had taken her hand.
"You know it was your father's wish that we be married," he was saying, "and I know that he would be happy if we had the ceremony performed at once."
His eyes narrowed as he said this, but Eva was too preoccupied to see it. With a shudder, ever so slight, she looked up at his handsome face and spoke.
"I will not even speak of marriage until my father recovers, Paul, and I don't know how you can ask me to at such a time."
She was not thinking so much of her father as of a certain young chemist who had risked his life for her. Why had fate thrown him in her way, she wondered. What was there about Quentin Locke that compelled her attention—that made her feel secure when he was about? What was the difference between the young chemist and Paul that she felt perfect trust in the one whom she had known only a short time and distrust and uncertainty in the other to whom she was about to be married?
She hung her head and went into the drawing-room, leaving Paul standing there. He looked after her, and a slight smile crossed his face as he thought of what a fool she was to think that he cared for her. His self-assurance led him to believe that the reason that Eva was not consenting to his proposal was indeed because of her father's condition, for he little dreamed, nor would his egotism permit him to believe, that anything else could be the case.
His mouth hardened in a subtle smile as he sauntered after Eva to bid her farewell. He remembered that De Luxe Dora was waiting outside for him in her speedster.
He had made this paramour of his take him to the very door of his fiancée's home, and there wait until he had paid his respects to the moneyed lady who would make happiness possible by supplying him with the funds to pursue his pleasures and insure his father's hold on the International Patents, Incorporated.
Paul looked at his watch, then, after a few words