He pulled the trigger of his automatic again and again as he rushed forward.  By some strange trick of fate the figure reeled for a second and one of its arms dropped swinging to its side.  The bullet had entered a joint.  Had it in some way deranged the mechanism, causing the Automaton to turn in its tracks and confront Locke as he charged forward?  Or was some human being concealed in the armored creature and wounded?

Eva, in her semi-conscious state, saw the mass of metal charge toward Locke, and closed her eyes so as not to be a witness to his end.  She waited, dumb and helpless with fright, and before her surged the meaning of this man’s great sacrifice for her.  In the brief interval she realized that men of his ilk were few.  She realized that her interest in the young chemist was more than a passing fancy and the truth was driven home to her in his hour of peril.  She closed her eyes and all before her went blank.

As the Automaton faced Locke voices could be heard in the hall, and the gardener of Brent Rock, who had summoned aid, came to Locke’s assistance.  Armed with clubs and garden tools, the men charged the monster.  Like a lion at bay, the thing turned from its task of destroying Locke to face its new enemies. En masse they attacked the Automaton, but it shook them off, one by one, as a terrier would rats, and made its way toward the grand staircase.  Some of the gardener’s aids suffered broken bones, while others were left unconscious as a result of the conflict.

Locke picked himself up and rushed to Eva’s side.  He took the prostrate form in his arms and looked down into her beautiful face.  The room was in ruins, and Eva slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him.  Her hand went out in a momentary caress, but as she fully recovered consciousness she moved her hand away lest he really know.  She looked up at him gratefully, and Locke, a little confused, took his arm from around her waist.  With boyish bashfulness he hung his head and asked her if she was all right.  The sound of his own voice amid the ruins brought back his composure.

“We must see about father.  Perhaps something has happened to him,” said Eva, as she started toward the door.

Locke looked after the girl, then followed her.

Propped up in bed, Peter Brent presented a pitiable sight.  His glassy stare and shrill laugh like a coyote baying at the moon sent cold chills down Eva’s back as she entered the room.  This man, at one time a power in the business world, was only a shell of his former self, and his inhuman laughter caused even Locke to shudder a little as he entered the room.

Eva walked over to her father and put her hand to his brow, looking wistfully in his eyes for some sign of recognition.

She kissed him on the forehead and called him, but he still stared blankly ahead of him, unconscious of even her presence.  Locke felt the pulse of the patient and looked at the dilated pupils.