It was well that it did.  For at this very moment the beastly emissary in the cafe above was closing in on her.

Locke gave a final heave and tugged at the last strands of the wire that held him prisoner.  His clothes ripped to tatters and his flesh torn and lacerated, he at last stood free.

Without an instant’s pause he collected packing-cases and even barrels.  He stacked them one upon the other, pyramiding them under the trap-door through which he had fallen into the cellar.  Then he climbed upon them, leaped, and tried to grasp the edge of the floor above him, but fell short and came tumbling down amid the boxes and barrels, only to start stacking them up all over again.

Finally he managed to grasp the edge of the floor with one hand and draw himself up.  For a few moments he lay panting on the floor, then groped for the panel through which he had entered not half an hour before.  It was locked, but a shrewd kick above the lock opened it to him and he rushed through the storeroom and out into the now brilliantly lighted cafe.

He was barely in time.

The emissary already had Eva in his grasp and was choking her into unconsciousness.  The foul habitues of the resort, far from aiding the poor girl, seemed for the first time that day to be showing interest and to be thoroughly enjoying the brutal sight.

With a shout Locke charged.  His right swing landed just behind the emissary’s ear and the man dropped, pulling Eva down with him.  But Locke had her up and behind him in a second.

Three other emissaries appeared as though by magic and attacked him on all sides.

Locke’s automatic had been lost when he fell into the cellar.  Consequently he grabbed up one of the cafe chairs, which he wielded like a club.

One emissary had worked around until he was at one side of Locke and almost behind him, a blackjack raised in his hand.  But Eva warned Locke in time.  Whirling about, he made a full swing with the chair and caught the emissary full in the face with it.  The man went down and stayed down.

“Run quick as you can,” panted Locke to Eva.  “Get the car started.”

She was reluctant to leave him, and Locke saw that delay was dangerous.  He hurled what remained of the chair into the faces of the last two emissaries, then turned and rushed up the steps, carrying Eva along with him.

A whir of the starter, the throbbing of the engine as the gas in the cylinders ignited, and they were streaking toward Brent Rock, safe.

In a still fashionable, but older, part of the town, the elder Balcom had his quarters.  They were spacious and furnished in Oriental style, with many a suggestion of the Indian Ocean.

Balcom was evidently annoyed, and seriously so.  He was striding up and down the apartment, scowling and puffing furiously at a black cigar.  In his hand was a letter, and from time to time he halted and glanced at it, then fell back to his quick walking again, while a sinister light came into his eyes.  Yet the contents of the note were hardly such as would have seemed likely to cause a man of honest purpose any agitation.