Quickly the man of steel raised and lowered his arms, as though to be sure that he could do so, at the same time indicating orders to his follower, who leaped to guard the entrance to the room.  Then the Automaton turned to open the safe, making swift use of the remaining seconds before the alarm might bring interference.

In almost no time he had the safe open, reached in, and seized a packet of precious papers, apparently.  Then he turned and was gone, regardless of the man whom he had sent to guard him.

In the hall, Locke’s sharp ears had detected the approach of the emissary.  Not knowing whether it might be the villain himself, he cautioned the men to wait an instant.  The emissary, coming along, crouching and listening, did not see Locke, and thus Locke was able to seize him and with a spectacular throw project him literally into the hands of the law in the person of one of his own men, who snapped the bracelets on the astonished thug as Locke, followed by Eva and the rest, ran on to the library.

No one was in the library as Locke ran in and looked about.  He turned toward the door to the hallway where the portieres were drawn.  As he was standing there, looking about, the portieres moved behind him.  Suddenly they were jerked aside from their fastenings and flung over his head.  As this happened, the ponderous hand of the Automaton descended on Locke’s head and he sank to the floor as the portieres wrapped about him.

When the department agents with Eva arrived, they were merely in time to untangle Locke from the curtains.  The Automaton had fled safely.

Although his head was still reeling from the blow, Locke started to question the prisoner, but gave it up as a bad job and hurried over to examine the safe, followed by Eva.

Their dismay was mutual.  Not only was the safe door open, but the paper was gone.

Question the emissary as they would, they could get nothing out of him.  Such men have keenly developed the gang instinct of silence.  They would sooner die than squeal.

Even a night in jail failed to break the reticence of the emissary, although he had been subjected to the most strenuous third degree.

Not only had his spirit not been broken, but the fellow was keenly alert and planning a way to secure his own release.

As a prison guard was taking the emissary back to his cell, after a thorough quizzing by Locke in the warden’s office, the emissary whispered: 

“Want to make a piece of change—­safe?”

The guard looked about, saw that the coast was clear to speak, but before he could do so the emissary spoke again.

“Give me a piece of paper and a pencil.”

Quickly the thug scratched away at a note.

“Deliver that,” he said to the guard, handing him the note he had written, “and you’ll get something worth while.”

The guard nodded as he shoved the thug into his cell and locked the door, then walked off, while the fellow watched eagerly through the bars.