The Master Mystery | Page 6

tell me," demanded Brent, "that a human brain has
been made to control a thing of no use except as a terrible engine of
destruction?"
"Not only possible," reiterated Flint, "but it is true."
"Oh, Flint," rallied Brent, with a sort of uneasiness, "you can't tell me
that!"
"Believe it or not," insisted the adventurer, "I have been in Madagascar
and I know."
For a moment Brent paused at the vehemence of Flint's answer. What
had Flint to gain by misrepresentation? A thousand images of the past
flitted through Brent's brain. Then slowly a look of terror came over
Brent's face. Suppose it were indeed true--this Frankenstein, this
conscienceless inhuman superman? Brent gripped himself and
composed his features and his voice.
"But this thing," he rasped. "What does this prove?"
"Oh, this is merely automatic--a piece of mechanism--a model which I
stole. It works when it is wound up--not like the real one. Look."
Flint put a pencil in the little steel hand of the model and pressed a
lever as he held a piece of paper under the pencil. Brent leaned over,
fascinated.

Instantly the tiny hand began to trace on the paper one letter--the
simple letter "Q."
As the hand finished the tail of the "Q" Brent gripped the table for
support. His eyes bulged and stared wildly.
"My God!" burst from his lips. "It is the warning--Q!"
For minutes Brent strove to regain his composure.
Nor was Flint less impressed than the man before him.
What would have been the emotions of both if they had been able to
penetrate with the eye through the rocky cliffs on which the stately
mansion of Brent Rock stood would have been hard to say.
For, down in a rock-hewn cavern, not many hundred yards away and
below them, reached by a secret entrance from the shrubbery of the
cliffs near the shore, already had congregated several rough characters.
They were playing cards and drinking, now and then glancing furtively
at the passage entrance, as though they were expecting the arrival of
some one or something.
Suddenly came a dull metallic clank through the passage, strangely
echoing. At once all leaped to their feet, at attention, not unmixed with
awe and fear that sat strangely on their desperate features. What was it
that they, who feared neither God nor man, feared?
They strained their eyes, looking into the passage that led darkly away
into blackness.
Dimly down it now could be seen two gleaming spots of light, points in
the Cimmerian darkness. They seemed to be growing larger and
coming nearer as with each hollow reverberation the dull metallic thuds
increased.
Faintly now could be made out in the blackness a huge, stalking figure,
having the shape of a man, with gigantic, powerful shoulders, powerful

arms, a thick body, hips, and thighs that spelled terrific strength, legs
and feet that suggested irresistible force.
"The Automaton!" escaped involuntarily from all lips.
Slowly, irresistibly, the horrendous figure stalked forth into the dim
light. There it paused for a moment--a figure of steel, larger than most
men, yet not so large but that it might have incased a man. And yet its
motions, its every action, were like nothing mortal. Even these
hardened denizens of the underworld shuddered.
In its hand the Automaton carried a five-branched candlestick, for what
purpose none seemed to know. Yet all bowed and quaked at every
pantomime motion of the figure, ready to do the bidding of the least
motion of their inhuman master.
Still holding the candlestick with its five huge yellow candles before
him, the Automaton stalked forward to the table and impressively
deposited the candlestick on it, then stepped back a pace and waved his
ponderous hand at the assembled emissaries, who scarcely repressed
their own abject terror.
CHAPTER IV
At a motion from the Automaton a dark-skinned Madagascan stepped
forward and lighted the five candles. At once a dense smoke began
drifting from the candles.
The men looked at one another, showing an uncomfortable fear of what
the negro and the Automaton were doing. Even the negro edged away
fearfully and all crouched back, afraid of the fumes.
A moment later the Automaton, with a mighty blast of air, snuffed all
the candles at once, then, without a word, picked up the candlestick and
stalked off through the passage on the opposite side of the den from the
entrance, the passage that led to the Graveyard of Genius.
A few moments later the secret rock door from this passage into the

Graveyard swung open and the Automaton stalked in, going carefully,
noiselessly, now. Across the floor he walked to the steel door, which he
swung open, then on out into the cellar of Brent Rock and up the steps
to the door under the stairs that led