The old man chuckled and wagged his head in senile fashion.  Balcom grabbed both his shoulders so that the old man was facing him, and shook him slightly.

“Your enemies are here,” he emphasized.  “Have you prepared for their reception?”

And then the haze beclouding the old man’s brain seemed to pass away and his next moments were lucid.

“Ah, it’s you, Balcom.  You were just saying—­”

Balcom explained that Locke and Eva had tracked him and on his departure would undoubtedly enter to investigate the place.  Doctor Q, for such was his odd name, understood now, and an evil grimace distorted his wrinkled face.

“Let them come,” he growled.  “I am prepared.  Why, I have even improved certain features of the Chair of Death.”

He led Balcom into an inner room where many electric bulbs were dimly glowing.  At their entrance two brutal-looking men straightened up from their task and saluted Balcom with great deference.  Then they resumed their tasks as electricians.

“Want to see her work, sir?” one of the pair asked.

Stepping around a partition that separated the knife-switch from the room in which stood the electric chair, Balcom watched.

The chair was of practically the same construction as the chairs used in prisons for the supreme penalty, with electrodes to connect at the head, arms, and legs of the man to be electrocuted.

“Stand back, sir,” called one of the men as he shot the switch home.

Instantly a snapping sound was heard as the current surged through, and the crackling sound such as the now familiar wireless makes as the long sparks leap from pole to pole.  It was Force.

A satisfied look came into Balcom’s eyes and he warmly congratulated the mad inventor, who followed him to the door and watched him as he mounted the stairs to depart with his son.

Soon after the departure Doctor Q went to a strange-looking instrument that seemed to have many of the characteristics of the periscope.  He pulled a lever, a panel opened, and immediately the space directly in front of his street door was revealed to him.  He stood there, watching intently, much as a spider watches for a fly.

Soon Locke and Eva showed in the panel above.  He next pressed a button and saw the two enter.  Then he went to a huge divan on the other side of the room and whipped off a covering that was concealing some gigantic thing beneath.

It was the Automaton, prostrate, at full length, without motion.  At least it seemed so.

The madman glanced around, and then glided into an inner room from the larger one.  He was just in time, for a moment later Locke and Eva entered.

They, too, glanced around fearfully.  They saw the dread form of the Automaton and, although it did not move, Locke would have admitted he was ready to beat a retreat.

It was uncanny, weird.  In the dim light the monster seemed to assume gigantic proportions.  But he lay so still that their jangling nerves became quieted.  They even approached him, Locke with automatic in hand in case the iron terror were shamming.  But there was no sign of life—­or whatever it was that animated this thing.