Outside, in the hall, Eva and Locke had been standing, talking for a
moment, when suddenly, below, they heard a terrific noise in the cellar.
Involuntarily Eva's hand clutched Locke's arm. Locke drew a revolver
and, in spite of Eva's fearsome caution, hastened down the cellar
stairs.
About in the blackness of the cellar he groped until his foot touched
something soft, a mass on the floor. He bent over. It was the butler, in
a heap, unconscious, but still breathing.
There was not a sound, not another being in the cellar.
Together Eva and Locke helped the now half-conscious man to his feet and
pushed and pulled him up the stairs; as slowly he recovered his power of
speech.
"What was it--tell us?" urged Locke.
"I--I went down to fix the fuses--as the master ordered," muttered the
butler, incoherently. "A huge figure--steel hand--it flung me across the
floor--the last I remember."
He passed his hand over his head as though recollection even was too
horrible for description.
Locke listened a bit doubtfully, then sent the butler on his way to bed,
while Eva could scarcely restrain her fears.
Over to the dining-room door Locke strode and listened.
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