The Master Mystery | Page 2

a small black disk about
the size of a watch. It was the receiving-end of the dictagraph.
Suddenly the young man's face broke out into a smile and without
thinking he stopped writing what the little mechanical eavesdropper
was conveying him from below. He listened intently as he heard a
silvery laugh over the wire.
"Oh, I didn't know you were busy. I thought these flowers--Well, never
mind. I'll leave them, anyway."
It was Eva Brent, daughter of the head of the firm, who had danced in

from the conservatory like a June zephyr in December.
"My dear," Locke could hear the patent magnate welcome, "it is all
right. Stay a moment and talk to this gentleman while I go down to the
museum."
Locke listened eagerly, glancing now and then at a photograph of Eva
Brent on his own desk, while she chatted gaily with the inventor. It was
evident that Eva had not the faintest idea of the hard nature of the
business of her father.
Meanwhile, Brent himself had left the library and passed through the
portièred door into the hall. He did not turn up the grand staircase in the
center of the wide hall, but hurried, preoccupied, to a door under the
stairs that opened down to the cellar.
He started to open it to pass down. As he did so he did not hear a light
footstep on the stairs as his secretary, Zita Dane, came down. But he
did not escape her watchful eye.
"Mr. Brent," she called, "is there anything I can do?"
Brent paused. "Wait a moment for me in the library," he directed, as he
turned again to enter the cellar.
He closed the door and Zita watched him with an almost uncanny
interest, then turned to the library to join Eva and the new-comer.
Down the cellar steps Brent made his way, and across the cellar floor,
pausing at the rocky wall of the foundation of the house blasted and
hewn out of the cliff on which it towered above the river. A heavy steel
door in the rock wall barred the way.
Brent whirled the combination and shot the bolts, and the door swung
ponderously open, disclosing a rock-hewn cavern. Three walls of the
cavern were lined with shelves containing inventions of all
kinds--telegraph and telephone instruments, engine models,
railroad-signaling and safety devices, racks of bottles containing

dangerous chemicals and their antidotes--all conceivable manner of
mechanical and scientific paraphernalia. It was literally a Graveyard of
Genius--harboring the ghosts of a thousand inventors' dead hopes.
Brent entered hastily and went directly to a shelf. There he picked up a
model of a motor. He blew the dust from it and examined it
approvingly.
Suddenly he saw something that caused him to start. He looked down
at his feet. There was a piece of paper on the floor.
He picked it up and read it, and as he did so he started back,
frightened--then angry. He looked about at the rock-hewn cavern
walls--then read again:
BRENT--This is my last warning. If you persist in your course you will
be struck down by the Madagascar madness. Q.
Under his breath, Brent swore. Again he looked about the cavern, then
turned hurriedly, picked up the motor, passed out the steel door,
clanged it shut, and locked it.
No sooner had Brent shut the door, however, than it seemed as if the
very face of the outer rocky wall of the cavern began to move--to tilt, as
if on hinges.
If a human eye had been in the Graveyard of Genius at that instant it
would have sworn that it perceived in the inky blackness of the tilting
rock a passage, and in the shadows of that passage a huge, weird,
grotesque figure peering in.
Then the tilting rock door closed again, as the figure disappeared down
the rocky passage on the opposite side--a menace and a threat to the
owner of Brent Rock, insecure even in his millions.
CHAPTER II
When Brent arrived back at the library he had quite recovered his poise,

at least to the eyes of those in the library. Zita had joined Eva with the
old inventor, Davis.
As Brent entered, Davis uttered an exclamation of joy at the sight of his
motor. For the moment Brent almost glowed.
"Along with your invention," he beamed, as he handed the model to the
old man, "I am going to release many others to the world."
All this not only Locke was noting, but Zita, too, appeared to be an
almost too interested listener.
The others were chatting when Zita heard a noise in the hall and hurried
out. She was just in time to see a rather hard-visaged man, with cruel,
penetrating eyes. It was Herbert Balcom, vice-president of the
company.
Zita