"Oh, Flint," rallied Brent, with a sort of uneasiness, "you can't tell
_me_ that!"

"Believe it or not," insisted the adventurer, "I have been in Madagascar
and I know."

For a moment Brent paused at the vehemence of Flint's answer. What had
Flint to gain by misrepresentation? A thousand images of the past
flitted through Brent's brain. Then slowly a look of terror came over
Brent's face. Suppose it were indeed true--this Frankenstein, this
conscienceless inhuman superman? Brent gripped himself and composed his
features and his voice.

"But this thing," he rasped. "What does this prove?"

"Oh, this is merely automatic--a piece of mechanism--a model which I
stole. It works when it is wound up--not like the real one. Look."

Flint put a pencil in the little steel hand of the model and pressed a
lever as he held a piece of paper under the pencil. Brent leaned over,
fascinated.

Instantly the tiny hand began to trace on the paper one letter--the
simple letter "Q."

As the hand finished the tail of the "Q" Brent gripped the table for
support. His eyes bulged and stared wildly.

"My God!" burst from his lips. "It is the warning--Q!"