The jar to his body as the emissaries threw him on the concrete floor had tended to bring Locke back to consciousness.  For a moment he lay still.  Then the sound of the descending elevator attracted his attention.  He gazed upward and dimly saw the slowly moving platform.  In a flash he realized his danger.

Locke struggled fiercely to dislodge his bonds.  He contorted his body, expanded his powerful chest in an effort to break the ropes that held him a prisoner.

At this moment the thugs that were carrying Eva passed by, followed by others.  Apparently they took no notice of him, but continued on their way with the helpless girl.

Locke, his own danger forgotten, became frantic with apprehension for her and tore savagely at the restraining ropes.

Zita stopped.  Her face was a study of conflicting emotions as she saw Locke struggling at the bottom of the shaft.

Floor by floor, inch by inch, the enormous elevator, that would crush out Locke’s life as though he were an insect, continued to descend.

Zita stepped to an electric switch.  That switch would stop the elevator immediately and save Locke’s life.

She raised her hand—­and then, looking after the retreating thugs and emissaries, she saw Eva again.  Zita’s lips formed a cruel line and a flinty hardness came into her eyes.

Her hand dropped.

There were only a few feet between Locke and the descending elevator. 
Locke was struggling frenziedly to escape and rescue Eva.

Zita’s hand went out again and grasped the handle of the switch.

She hesitated, hate on her face.

Would she, for love of Locke, who had not returned her love, save him?

Could she bring herself to save this man—­for a woman she hated, who had won him from her?

If she saved him it would be only to lose him to the other woman.

With a great creaking the massive elevator was within only a few short inches of Locke.

CHAPTER XIX

Every fiber of Zita’s body was galvanized into action as she threw the whole weight of her body against the elevator emergency-control switch.

There was a sputtering of blue flame as the connection was made, and Zita closed her eyes.  With a shudder she heard the great elevator strike the cellar floor and then rebound.

She dared not open her eyes.  The last thing that she had seen was Locke struggling frantically to escape from under the elevator that was only a few inches above him and seemed destined to crush out his life.

Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes.  Locke’s body lay motionless at her feet, separated almost literally by only the breadth of a hair from the shaft.

The relief, the reaction from her terrible emotions, made Zita half hysterical.  Trembling in every limb, she made her way to Locke and fell on her knees by him.  She wrapped her arms about him and held his head up.