The door had been left ajar and, although he thought it strange, Locke
was without suspicion and entered the hallway. He called to his old
friend, but the dead lips could not answer and the emissaries would not.
Greatly alarmed now, Locke strode to the laboratory. For a moment he
stood as though petrified as the horrid scene burst upon his vision. He
ran to the chemist and knelt beside his battered body.
With a rush the emissaries darted from their hiding-place and were upon
him.
Although taken unawares, Locke was, in a measure, ready for them. One he
grabbed in a clever jiu-jitsu hold and sent him hurtling through the air
to crash in a heap in a far corner of the room. Leaping to his feet, he
beat another to the floor. The third villain was of tougher fiber. Up
and down the laboratory they battled, stumbling over broken furniture,
now falling to the floor, where they rolled over and over, first one,
then the other gaining the mastery, while the broken glass with which
the floor was littered cut their clothing to ribbons and bit into their
flesh.
Locke was slowly gaining the upper hand when the thug whom he had thrown
over his head recovered.
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