“Pardon me!  But it is not necessary for you to go to any trouble.  Moreover—­I beg of you not to think me rude—­your opinions in the matter have no interest for me.”

Ashton-Kirk acknowledged this with a grave nod.  The pencil was instantly at work again.

“As I have said, I expected a visitor; but I will now add that I did not expect to be here to receive him.”

Ashton-Kirk looked swiftly into Locke’s face as he read this; the expression was unmistakable, and the investigator leaped to his feet.  But the mute uttered a strange parrot-like cry—­evidently the same that Edyth heard that night in Christie Place—­and Ashton-Kirk saw his hand go swiftly to a button at one side of the work-bench.  Instantly the investigator paused; once more a gesture bade him be seated.

Slowly he obeyed; and once more Locke began to trace bold characters upon the stiff paper.  This message read: 

“You are a wise man.  I had arranged everything before you came in, and had sat down to make an end of it.  This button at my hand once started an electric apparatus; but now it is connected with a quantity of an explosive—­my own invention, and a terrible one.  Believe me, one touch and everything in this building is in fragments.”

Ashton-Kirk, when he had finished reading, nodded quietly.  Again the mute began to write.

“I have no ill will toward you,” the words ran, “you have two minutes to leave here, and get safely away.”

When he saw that this had been read, Locke threw down the paper and took out his watch.  Then he pointed toward the door and sat waiting.

It was strange to see the little man sitting there calmly, with only the pressure of a finger between him and eternity.  But Ashton-Kirk knew stern resolution too well to mistake the look on the mute’s face.  There was nothing to do but to obey.  He waved his hand in a farewell.  Locke returned the gesture.  Then Ashton-Kirk walked to the door, opened it and stepped out.

Pendleton, patiently watching among the trees, saw him emerge and at once moved toward him; to his amazement the investigator took him by the arm and broke into a run.

“What the deuce is the matter now?” asked Pendleton, after they had passed the gate and were racing down the road.

“You’ll know in a few moments,” returned Ashton-Kirk grimly.

He permitted no pause until they reached the car, the engine of which had not been stopped.

“Quick, for your lives!” he ordered, as he leaped in.

Pendleton and Burgess followed instantly.  The car had scarcely begun its plunge forward when a horrible rending shock staggered them.  And as they sped away the debris of the deaf-mute’s work-shop was falling all about them.

The evening papers were glaring with the news from Cordova by the time the two friends were once more alone in Ashton-Kirk’s library.  Pendleton seemed to be pondering.