But out of the
shadows there glided a low-hung runabout with a purling motor that
without effort kept Locke's taxi just in sight without seeming to be
following.
At the time that the emissaries abducted Flint he had been roughly
handled and some of his clothing had been torn. But as he had been
incapable of the slightest degree of real self-defense, the thugs had
soon desisted beating him up, with the result that he had escaped bodily
injury except for a few slight scratches.
The emissaries of the Automaton led him by devious winding paths down to
the shore, and, half walking, half running, pressing close to the high
cliffs, they urged him forward.
Soon they came to a cleft in the rock, and, with one hand using a
well-hooded electric torch to light the way, they dragged the poor
unfortunate into the cave entrance to the den.
This cave was a marvel of nature, hewn out of the solid rock by
countless tides, its dome lost in the darkness. It gave an impression of
immensity, while in many directions passageways gave off from what might
be called a main chamber.
Flint was roughly thrown on a rock, where, head in hands, he swayed
backward and forward, now moaning, now chuckling, now laughing outright.
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