This cave was a marvel of nature, hewn out of the solid rock by countless tides, its dome lost in the darkness.  It gave an impression of immensity, while in many directions passageways gave off from what might be called a main chamber.

Flint was roughly thrown on a rock, where, head in hands, he swayed backward and forward, now moaning, now chuckling, now laughing outright.  The echo of that laugh resounded hollowly in the dismal place and must have notified the supreme master of this underground world that his domain had been invaded.

A metallic clanging in the distance, as of struck anvils, a crunching, as the smaller rocks broke in twain under the enormous weight of the iron monster, then far, far down the passageway two points of fire—­the eyes of the thing—­and with arms swinging like flails, from out the passageway there stalked—­the Automaton.

Even the emissaries, slaves to this monster through fear, and seeing it often, fell back in awe and consternation, so terrible was its menace.

It strode over to Flint and, pushing him backward, glared at him with burning eyes that seemed to search his soul.  The monster then turned to one of the emissaries and, with a sweeping gesture, gave a command.

The emissary understood and immediately ran up one of the passageways, returning in a few moments with a bottle which contained a purplish mixture.  At another sign from the Automaton the emissary took a drinking-glass and poured out a portion of the purple fluid.  Then he forced the draught between Flint’s clenched teeth.

A violent trembling shook Flint from head to foot, a shudder of so exhausting a nature that after the spasm Flint, weakened, reclined against the cold wall of the cave, his body in a clammy perspiration.  But gradually there came a change in his dazed, mad eyes.  The iris contracted and became more normal.  Even the leaden hue of his face slowly passed away.  The face muscles relaxed and gradually the light of reason appeared in his eyes.

In a questioning manner Flint gazed about him.  He saw the cave with its scintillating points of fire, as the man with the torch gesticulated.  He saw the emissaries, and the realization that his position was perilous came to him.  But it was only when he saw the towering form of the Automaton that his blood froze with horror and he made a frantic effort to escape the very thing which he had feared existed in Madagascar and had attempted to betray to Brent on the fatal night.

It was useless.  He was soon borne down by the thugs, who stationed two of their number to guard him.  Seeing the utter hopelessness of any attempt to escape, Flint sat quietly, while his crafty mind schemed for some other plan.  Suddenly he saw the bottle, the contents of which had restored his reason.  Reaching out slyly, he turned it around until he could read the label, and then, even in his predicament, he exulted over his discovery.  It was the antidote.  Like a flash came to him a shrewd scheme to use the knowledge.