“See here, Eva,” he hissed, “if Locke tries to arrest my son—­he’ll be killed.”

For the instant Eva was stunned.  What did the man mean?  But as Balcom showed no signs of regaining control of himself, and every moment became more abusive and violent, indignation gave place to every other sentiment, and she sharply ordered Balcom to leave the house.

Threatening dire things and hinting even more if there were a receivership, Balcom strode out.

Eva stood for a long time shocked into inaction.  Then, slowly, fears for Locke’s safety came uppermost and she paced back and forth the length of the hall.

Finally the old butler came to her deferentially.

“And did you notice, ma’am,” he asked, “that during his tirade he mentioned about a cove fishing-village?  Might I suggest that that is where Mr. Paul is and Mr. Locke will not be found far off?”

Eva thought a moment, recognized the sound sense of the remark, and ordered that her car be brought.  A few moments later she had taken the wheel and was soon out of sight of Brent Rock.

Close pressed against a wall of a back lane of the cove fishing-village, Locke was standing, waiting for the men whom his chief had promised to send.

Finally they came to him, first making their coming known to Locke by a peculiar low whistle.

“The other two will be along directly,” whispered one of the pair.  “Thought it better not to come in a bunch.”

As Locke laid his plans, the other two came from out of the shadows.

The entire party now moved cautiously toward Old Tom’s shack.  Just before they arrived one of the men said that he could see two figures entering the place.  But as Locke had seen nothing, no attention was paid to the remark.

Locke now placed one of his men on either side of the door.  The other two he sent to the rear, so that they could surround the gang.

He knocked at the door.  This time it was immediately opened.  Followed by the detectives with revolvers drawn, Locke rushed boldly into the shack, while his other two men closed in from the rear.

The emissaries, finding themselves surrounded, would have capitulated, probably without a struggle, had not the old hag, to whom no one had paid much attention, picked up a small anchor and thrown it at Locke and the advancing detectives.

As it was, the anchor struck Locke a glancing blow and he stumbled backward against one of his own men, upsetting him.  That, of course, gave the advantage to the thugs, and they advanced, attacking savagely.

It was at too close quarters, in the midst of such a melee, to use guns without danger of getting one of one’s own party.  Thus it was a primitive battle of brute force.

Locke and the detectives were trained men, however, and were surely gaining the upper hand, so much so that Locke managed to tear himself loose and dash for the door leading to the attic.  He opened it, and there, with revolver leveled at his head, stood De Luxe Dora.