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 portieres, 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.
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