There was
nothing but the sound of merriment inside, of uncontrollable laughter.
Could it be that Brent and Flint were drinking? He dared not betray a
fear to Eva. Instead he knocked.
At that moment he could hear the sound of some heavy body falling; then
more laughter as Brent in his hysteria struck the model of the automaton
to the floor.
With the model, unnoticed by Brent, now fluttered to the floor the
letter he had been writing. But the madman paid no attention to that now
as it sifted through the air and fluttered under the sideboard.
"Mr. Brent," called Locke, "please open the door."
Instead of an answer came a loud and insulting laugh, followed by an
incoherent mouthing of words. Eva looked startled, blanched. It was so
unlike her father. For the moment Locke was piqued. But he tried not to
show it as he turned away from the door.
"I am your father's employe," he said, sadly, "and it is his privilege,
I suppose, to laugh at me." He hesitated.
"Oh, but, Quentin--Mr. Locke--I'm--I'm so sorry. Surely he could not
have meant it."
At the head of the stairs Locke tried to smile.
"Don't worry," he said, repressing his feelings.
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