“I’ll send them at once,” the chief replied, as both hung up their receivers hurriedly.

Meanwhile, in Herbert Balcom’s sumptuous, semi-Oriental apartment two men were in earnest conversation.  One was the owner, Balcom, the other that strange, half-demented being, Doctor Q, whose mind now, for the moment, seemed to be lucid.

The matter under discussion was undoubtedly a weighty one, for both men sat with knitted brows, and for the moment, at least, seemed in a quandary about something.

Suddenly there came a hurried ringing at the outside-door bell and Balcom leaped to his feet.  They could hear the door opened, quick footsteps in the hallway, and then, without ceremony, the door was flung open and Dora burst into the room.

Balcom scowled a welcome, for he hated this woman, who had, as he thought, spoiled the chances of his son with Eva.  But Dora did not wait for the threatened outburst.

“Hurry!” she cried.  “You must do something.  Paul has been wounded—­never mind how—­but he lies in a fishing-shack down at the cove—­and they are going to arrest him—­Locke is!”

For the moment both men seemed to be stricken dumb, while Dora, in a state of wild excitement, pleaded for them to do something—­anything to save the one person she loved.

It was at this juncture that the door opened again, admitting another woman.  It was Zita, very agitated, though, of course, under better control than Dora.  Besides, Zita did not know what had happened to Paul, nor did she love him.  It was merely that she felt that things could be made to play into her own hands if the news she brought were immediately acted upon.

Hastily she told what she had overheard about the proposed receivership, and all four now—­Balcom, Doctor Q, Dora, and Zita—­talked excitedly.

But it was plainly Balcom who was in command of the situation.  Although livid with rage at the news he had heard, yet he maintained control of the others, directing what they should do with a decisiveness that was truly remarkable.  It showed the mental force of the man, demonstrating how greatly he was to be feared by any bold enough to be his enemy.  For Balcom loved that spoiled son of his and would hesitate at no act, not even at a crime, to save him from even what he justly deserved.

At last their plan was formed, and all four departed their several ways to execute it.

Balcom had decided upon going directly to Brent Rock.  His ire had not abated one iota during the trip, either, and, as he almost ran up the steps to the mansion, he pushed the astounded butler to one side as though he were merely a piece of furniture.

“Tell Miss Brent I want to see her at once,” he threatened.

The butler raised a hand deprecatingly at Balcom’s tone, but Balcom, beside himself, smashed it down and strode toward the library just as Eva, hearing the voices, was coming out.  For an instant she drew back in apprehension and amazement as Balcom advanced on her, still snarling.