It was thus that she was holding him when his eyes slowly opened and gazed questioningly into her own, his brow knitted in perplexity.

Then, with a rush, it all came back to him—­the descending elevator, Zita standing at the switch, while his life hung in the balance, his last frantic effort to escape just before the descending elevator had grazed his head, rendering him unconscious.  That Zita, at the last moment, had attempted to save his life he did not know, nor why she now gazed at him frankly with eyes of love.

It was all inexplicable to him.

Another instant and he had wrenched himself loose from Zita’s arms and was struggling with the ropes that still bound him even after he had managed to roll out from under the elevator in the last nick of time.

He had suddenly realized that the sight of Eva being carried off by the emissaries had not been a hideous dream, but a terrible actuality, and that at this very moment she was probably in the most imminent danger.

Zita realized that he wanted freedom to rush to Eva’s assistance.  Had she dared, she would have refused to release him from her arms, would at least have hindered his untying his bonds.  But there was a masterful something about his silent demand to be released that would admit of no refusal.

In a few seconds Locke completed the freeing of himself and was dashing madly toward the door through which the gang, carrying Eva, had passed.

The door was unlocked, and, hesitating not an instant, Quentin dashed through and into a large room.

Eva, the gunny sack removed and still unconscious, lay on the floor.  The emissaries were grouped around her.  In the background, dimly visible, stood the iron monster.

Startled, they looked up as Locke rushed into the room.  But before they could do more, Locke had whipped out his automatic and, point-blank, was blazing away at the murderous crew.  Two emissaries fell dead or mortally wounded.  The others scattered.

Only the Automaton, man of iron that he was, showed no sign of fear.  Instead, he advanced ponderously upon Locke.

The automatic barked again, but did not succeed in deterring the monster.  Locke realized the futility of using this puny weapon against such a foe.

He dashed toward Eva.  It was the work of only an instant to snatch her up, practically from under the monster’s feet, to turn, and to carry her through the door by which he had been brought in.  Holding her in one arm, he slammed the door shut and shot the bolt.

He was just in time, for the next instant the door bulged out beneath the dead weight of the Automaton as it hurled its massive form against the other side.

Zita vas still waiting at the elevator shaft when Locke, carrying Eva in his arms, entered.  At the sight Zita’s whole body expressed her unquenched hatred of the unconscious girl.  Her eyes narrowed, her lips became livid, and her hands clenched as though she would like to strike the helpless Eva.