The Master Mystery | Page 4

Locke
watched, motionless, as the couple turned back to the house.
Somehow Eva must have felt his gaze. She turned and looked upward
at the laboratory window. As she saw Locke her face broke into a smile
and she waved her hand gaily. Paul saw it and a swift flush of anger
crossed his face. He pulled Eva abruptly by the arm.
"Let's go into the house," he said, almost angrily.
Seeing the action, Locke also turned from the window to encounter Zita,
still watching. Without a word he left the laboratory.
While this little quadrangle of conflicting emotions of Locke, Eva, Paul,
and Zita was being enacted the two partners in the library were
disputing hot and heavy. As they argued, almost it seemed as if
Balcom's very face limned his thoughts--that he desired Brent out of
the way, as a weakling in whom he had discovered some traces of
conscience which, to Balcom, meant weakness.
Balcom leaned forward excitedly. "I do not intend to let you wreck this
company because your conscience, as you call it, has begun to trouble
you," he hissed.
Brent's hand clutched nervously. He was afraid of Balcom--so much so
that he fought back only weakly.
Locke was down in the hallway just in time to meet Eva and Paul as
they entered.

"Oh--do you know, I'm so glad--I think my father is the most
kind-hearted of men," Eva trilled to Locke, as she recounted what had
happened in the library with Davis.
Locke listened with restrained admiration for the girl, whatever might
have been his secret opinion of her father or of the story he already
knew.
On his part, Paul did not relish the situation, nor did he take any pains
to conceal it. He shrugged and turned away.
"Come," he said, with a tone of surly authority, "I think I hear my
father in the library."
Eva looked back swiftly at Locke and smiled as Paul led her toward the
library door. But that, also, made Paul more furious.
"Why do you make me ridiculous before that fellow?" he demanded.
"I'm sorry," replied Eva, in surprise. "I didn't meant to do that."
Vaguely Paul understood. The girl was too unsophisticated to have
meant it. Somehow that made it worse. Though she did not know it, he
did. Unknown to herself, there was a response in the presence of Locke
which was not inspired in his own society. He hurried her into the
library.
It was as though the entrance of Paul and Eva had been preconcerted.
The partners, in their dispute, stopped and turned as the young people
entered and moved over to a divan. Balcom lowered his voice and
plucked at Brent's sleeve as he nodded toward the couple.
"I could trust you better if they were married within a week," suggested
Balcom.
Brent recoiled, but Balcom affected not to notice.
"Then I will believe that you are dealing fairly with me," he
emphasized.

Brent studied a moment, then nodded assent. Balcom extended a cold,
commanding hand and the partners shook hands.
Outside, Locke had paused, about to enter the library. The pause had
been just long enough for him to hear--and it was a blow to him. He
watched, dazed, as the two older men walked over to the younger
couple; then he turned away, heart sick.
"My dear," began Brent, as he patted the shoulder of the girl, the one
spot of goodness that had shone in the otherwise blackness of his life,
making him at last realize the depth to which lust of money had made
him sink, "we were just saying that perhaps it would be advisable
to--er--hasten your marriage to Paul--say--perhaps next week."
The words seemed to stick in his throat.
As for Eva, she felt a shiver pass over her. Without knowing why, she
drew back from Paul, at her side, shrank even closer to her father,
trying not to tremble. Did Paul realize it?
Brent felt the shudder with a pang. He leaned over. "Promise to do
this--for my sake," he whispered, so low that there was no chance of
the others hearing. "By to-morrow all may be changed."
There was something ominous about the very words.
CHAPTER III
Brent had no intention of keeping the promise which Balcom had
extracted from him by a species of moral duress that afternoon.
In fact, already he had gone too far in his plans for restitution--or was it
self-preservation?--to turn back. It was late in the night that he himself
secretly admitted to the house a tall, dark-haired stranger who evidently
called by appointment.
"Well, Flint," he greeted, in a hushed tone, "what was it you asked to
see me about?"

Flint replied not a word, but impressively tapped a bundle which he
carried under his arm and