The Master Mystery | Page 7

to the hallway of the great house.
In the hall the Automaton halted beside a small stand on which stood a
candlestick exactly like the one he carried. Quickly he picked up the
original candlestick and replaced it by the one he carried. Then he set
the original back of the portières, and with a glance at the library door
turned back to the cellar, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
Down the steps he went, toward the open door of the Graveyard of
Genius. Beside the door was the fuse-box of the lighting system of the
house.
The Automaton reached out and began rubbing sharply at the insulation
of the feed wires.
Up-stairs, in the dining-room, Brent had by this time flung off his coat
and was examining with Flint the curious model the adventurer had
brought from Madagascar. Brent was very excited and questioned Flint
eagerly.
"I tell you, Flint," cried Brent, at length, huskily, as he seized a pen and
dipped in into the ink, "the time has come for me to do what I have
long intended. I am going to do now what I should have done years
ago."
Brent started to write feverishly:
QUENTIN LOCKE,--I have done you a great injury about which you
know nothing, but I am willing to--
His hand had scarcely traced the last word when the room was plunged
into absolute darkness.
Down in the cellar the Automaton had succeeded in rubbing off the
insulation of the feed wires. There was a flash of light as he laid his

steel hand over the two feed wires--then darkness.
In the dining-room Brent and Flint, already keyed to the highest pitch,
leaped to their feet with an exclamation of terror.
Late as it was, Locke was working in his laboratory on the second floor
of the house when the lights winked out. Surprised for the moment, he
ran out into the hall.
Already there was the butler, groping about with a candle.
"What's the matter, Quentin?" asked a breathless voice behind them.
It was Eva in a filmy dressing-gown. Locke turned to vision a creation
of loveliness in the candle-light which set his heart thumping.
"Nothing," he reassured. "Just the lights short-circuited, that's all. I'll
see."
Just then the dining-room door opened and Eva saw her father,
disheveled and preoccupied, stride out and take the five-branched
candlestick from the hall table. Nervously he began to light the candles.
They sputtered a bit and he turned quickly, still holding the candlestick,
as the smoke drifted away from them all.
"Fix the fuses in the cellar," he directed the butler.
"Is anything--really the matter--father?" implored Eva.
"No, no, my child," he answered, hastily. "Go back to bed. And, Locke,
please don't let us be disturbed."
He was about to say more, then decided not to do so, and turned back
into the dining-room.
Again Brent carefully locked the door to the dining-room and rejoined
Flint.
He had placed the candles on the table, not noticing in the half-light

that the smoke from them was growing denser as they burned down.
The smoke drifted over as the draught carried it. Flint coughed and
moved a bit, his hand at his throat.
Brent seized the pen again and was about to write, when the smoke
from the candles drifted into his own face. He, too, coughed.
Uneasy, Brent glanced over at Flint. Flint laughed, a bit hysterically.
"What the devil's the matter?" demanded Brent, with lowered brows, a
strange dryness in his throat.
Flint was now leaning forward on his elbows and laughing foolishly,
stupidly. It was a queer laugh, and struck terror into Brent as he himself
coughed and clutched involuntarily at his throat. Brent stared at Flint.
"What is it?" he repeated, anxiously. "Have you suddenly gone mad,
man?"
But there was no reply. Instead, Flint laughed all the more madly.
Brent was more than startled. If he could have seen himself in a glass
he would have seen that he was already wide-mouthed and disheveled.
Suddenly the smoke again blew in his face. He coughed again. His
head reeled.
Then, in a flash, it all dawned on him.
He shielded himself from the candles. But it was too late.
"My God!" he exclaimed, starting up. "The Madagascar madness!"
Brent looked about wildly. He rushed to Flint and shook him. But Flint
only laughed. He turned and moved toward the candles, reaching out
for them. But even as he did so his hand faltered.
He stopped and passed his hand across his tightening forehead. Slowly
over his face came a stupid expression. He felt himself going, without

power of retraining himself. His lips twitched and he swayed.
Then he began to laugh uncontrollably.
Flint rose and clapped him on the shoulder. Then both laughed
foolishly, loudly.