In its hand the Automaton carried a five-branched candlestick, for what purpose none seemed to know.  Yet all bowed and quaked at every pantomime motion of the figure, ready to do the bidding of the least motion of their inhuman master.

Still holding the candlestick with its five huge yellow candles before him, the Automaton stalked forward to the table and impressively deposited the candlestick on it, then stepped back a pace and waved his ponderous hand at the assembled emissaries, who scarcely repressed their own abject terror.

CHAPTER IV

At a motion from the Automaton a dark-skinned Madagascan stepped forward and lighted the five candles.  At once a dense smoke began drifting from the candles.

The men looked at one another, showing an uncomfortable fear of what the negro and the Automaton were doing.  Even the negro edged away fearfully and all crouched back, afraid of the fumes.

A moment later the Automaton, with a mighty blast of air, snuffed all the candles at once, then, without a word, picked up the candlestick and stalked off through the passage on the opposite side of the den from the entrance, the passage that led to the Graveyard of Genius.

A few moments later the secret rock door from this passage into the Graveyard swung open and the Automaton stalked in, going carefully, noiselessly, now.  Across the floor he walked to the steel door, which he swung open, then on out into the cellar of Brent Rock and up the steps to the door under the stairs that led to the hallway of the great house.

In the hall the Automaton halted beside a small stand on which stood a candlestick exactly like the one he carried.  Quickly he picked up the original candlestick and replaced it by the one he carried.  Then he set the original back of the portieres, and with a glance at the library door turned back to the cellar, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

Down the steps he went, toward the open door of the Graveyard of Genius.  Beside the door was the fuse-box of the lighting system of the house.

The Automaton reached out and began rubbing sharply at the insulation of the feed wires.

Up-stairs, in the dining-room, Brent had by this time flung off his coat and was examining with Flint the curious model the adventurer had brought from Madagascar.  Brent was very excited and questioned Flint eagerly.

“I tell you, Flint,” cried Brent, at length, huskily, as he seized a pen and dipped in into the ink, “the time has come for me to do what I have long intended.  I am going to do now what I should have done years ago.”

Brent started to write feverishly: 

  Quentin Locke,—­I have done you a great injury about which you know
  nothing, but I am willing to—­

His hand had scarcely traced the last word when the room was plunged into absolute darkness.