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Clutching the quarter, reluctantly given, Peter Q. Hornswoggle left.
In a small and dimly lit room somewhere in the lower reaches of First Avenue, Michael Maguire, known to the police by the far more euphonious name of Mike the Slug, cleaned his trusty revolver and hummed a tuneless song. The door opened a crack and Mike looked up.
“That you, Slappy?”
“Yeh,” a short, wizened person sidled in, “I brung ye de evenin’ sheet. De cops are still tinkin’ Bragoni pulled de job.”
“Yeh? That’s good.” He bent unconcernedly over the revolver. “Anything else doing?”
“Naw! Some dippy dame killed herself, but dat’s all.”
He tossed the newspaper to Mike and left. Mike leaned back and flipped the pages in a bored ma
A headline attracted his eye and he read the short article that followed. Having finished, he threw aside the paper, lit a cigarette, and did some heavy thinking. Then he opened the door.
“Hey, Slappy, c’mere. There’s a job that’s got to be done.”
Walter Sills was happy, deliriously so. He walked about his laboratory king of all he surveyed, strutting like a peacock, basking in his new-found glory. Eugene Taylor sat and watched him, scarcely less happy himself.
“How does it feel to be famous?” Taylor wanted to know.
“Like a million dollars; and that’s what I’m going to sell the secret of ammonium metal for. It’s the fat of the land for me from now on.”
“You leave the practical details to me, Walt. I’m getting in touch with Staples of Eagle Steel today. You’ll get a decent price from him.”
The bell rang, and Sills jumped. He ran to open the door.
“Is this the home of Walter Sills?” The large, scowling visitor gazed about him superciliously.
“Yes, I’m Sills. Do you wish to see me?”
“Yes. My name is J. Throgmorton Bankhead and I represent the Acme Chromium and Silver Plating Corporation. I would like to have a moment’s discussion with you.”
“Come right in. Come right in! This is Eugene Taylor, my associate. You may speak freely before him.”
“Very well.” Bankhead seated himself heavily. “I suppose you surmise the reason for my visit.”
“I take it that you have read of the new ammonium metal in the papers.”
“That’s right. I have come to see whether there is any truth in the story and to buy your process if there is.”
“You can see for yourself, sir,” Sills led the magnate to where the argon-filled container of the few grams of pure ammonium were. “That is the metal. Over here to the right, I’ve got the oxide, an oxide which is more metallic than the metal itself, strangely enough. It is the oxide that is what the papers call ‘substitute gold.’ “
Bankhead’s face showed not an atom of the sinking feeling within him as he viewed the oxide with dismay. “Take it out in the open,” he said, “and let’s see it.”
Sills shook his head. “I can’t, Mr. Bankhead. Those are the first samples of ammonium and ammonium-oxide that ever existed. They’re museum pieces. I can easily make more for you, if you wish.”
“You’ll have to, if you expect me to sink my money in it You satisfy me and I’ll be willing to buy your patent for as much as-oh, say a thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars!” exclaimed Sills and Taylor together.
“A very fair price, gentlemen.”
“A million would be more like it,” shouted Taylor in an outraged tone. “This discovery is a goldmine.”
“A million, indeed! You are dreaming, gentlemen. The fact of the matter is that my company has been on the track of ammonium for years now, and we are just at the point of solving the problem. Unfortunately you beat us by a week or so, and so I wish to buy up your patent in order to save my company a great deal of a
“We’ll sue if you do,” said Taylor.
“Have you got the money for a long, protracted-and expensive-lawsuit?” Bankhead smiled nastily. “I have, you know. To prove, however, that I am not unreasonable, I will make the price two thousand.”
“You’ve heard our price,” answered Taylor stonily, “and we have nothing further to say.”
“All right, gentlemen,” Bankhead walked towards the door, “think it over. You’ll see it my way, I’m sure.”
He opened the door and revealed the symmetrical form of Peter Q. Hornswoggle bent in rapt concentration at the keyhole. Bankhead sneered audibly and the ex-Congressman jumped to his feet in consternation, bowing rapidly two or three times, for want of anything better to do.
The financier passed by disdainfully and Hornswoggle entered, slammed the door behind him, and faced the two bewildered friends.
“That man, my dear sirs, is a malefactor of great wealth, an economic royalist. He is the type of predatory interest that is the ruination of this country. You did quite right in refusing his offer.” He placed his hand on his ample chest and smiled at them benignantly.
“Who the devil are you?” rasped Taylor, suddenly recovering from his initial surprise.
“I?” Hornswoggle was taken aback. “Why-er-I am Peter Quintus Hornswoggle. Surely you know me. I was in the House of Representatives last year.”
“Never heard of you. What do you want?”
“Why, bless me! I read in the papers of your wonderful discovery and have come to place my services at your feet.”
“What services?”
“Well, after all, you two are not men of the world. With your new invention, you are prey for every self-seeking unscrupulous person that comes along-like Bankhead, for instance. Now, a practical man of affairs, such as I, one with experience of the world, would be of inestimable use to you. I could handle your affairs, attend to details, see that-”
“All for nothing, of course, eh?” Taylor asked, sardonically.
Hornswoggle coughed convulsively. “Well, naturally, I thought that a small interest in your discovery might fittingly be assigned to me.”
Sills, who had remained silent during all this, rose to his feet suddenly. “Get out of here! Did you hear me? Get out, before I call the police.”
“Now, Professor Sills, pray don’t get excited,” Hornswoggle retreated towards the door which Taylor held open for him. He passed out, still protesting, and swore softly to himself when the door slammed in his face.
Sills sank wearily into the nearest chair. “What are we to do, Gene? He offers only two thousand. A week ago that would have been beyond anything I could have hoped for, but now-”
“Forget it. The fellow was only bluffing. Listen, I’m going right now to call on Staples. We’ll sell to him for what we can get (it ought to be plenty) and then if there’s any trouble with Bankhead-well, that’s Staples’ worry.” He patted the other on the shoulder. “Our troubles are practically over.”
Unfortunately, however, Taylor was wrong; their troubles were only begi
Across the street, a furtive figure, with beady eyes peering from upturned coat-collar, surveyed the house carefully. A curious policeman might have identified him as “Slappy” Egan if he had bothered to look, but no one did and “Slappy” remained unmolested.
“Cripes,” he muttered to himself, “dis is go
Nor was “Slappy” alone with his ideas. Peter Q. Hornswoggle, as he walked away, found strange thoughts wandering through his massive cranium-thoughts which involved a certain amount of unorthodox action.
And J. Throgmorton Bankhead was likewise active. Belonging to that virile class known as “go-getters” and being not at all scrupulous as to how he “go-got,” and certainly not intending to pay a million dollars for the secret of Ammonium, he found it necessary to call on a certain one of his acquaintances.
This acquaintance, while a very useful one, was a bit unsavory, and Bankhead found it advisable to be very careful and cautious while visiting him. However, the conversation that ensued ended in a pleasing ma
Walter Sills snapped out of an uneasy sleep with startled sudde
“Gene, Gene, wake up! Come on, get up!”
“Eh? What is it? What are you bothering-”
“Shut up! Listen, do you hear it?”
“I don’t hear anything. Leave me alone, will you?”
Sills put his finger on his lips, and the other quieted. There was a distinct shuffling noise down below, in the laboratory.
Taylor’s eyes widened and sleep left them entirely. “Burglars!” he whispered.
The two crept out of bed, do
They had traversed perhaps half the flight, when there was a sudden, surprised shout from below, followed by a series of loud, threshing noises. This continued for a few moments and then there was a loud crash of glassware.
“My ammonium!” cried Sills in a stricken voice and rushed head-long down the stairs evading Taylor’s clutching arms.
The chemist burst into the laboratory, followed closely by his cursing associate, and clicked the lights on. Two struggling figures bunked owlishly in the sudden illumination, and separated.
Taylor’s gun covered them. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he said.
One of the two lurched to his feet from amid a tangle of broken beakers and flasks, and, nursing a cut on his wrist, bent his portly body in a still dignified bow. It was Peter Q. Hornswoggle.
“No doubt,” he said, eyeing the unwavering firearm nervously, “the circumstances seem suspicious, but I can explain very easily. You see, in spite of the very rough treatment I received after having made my reasonable proposal, I still felt a great deal of kindly interest in you two.
“Therefore, being a man of the world, and knowing the iniquities of mankind, I just decided to keep an eye on your house tonight, for I saw you had neglected to take precautions against house-breakers. Judge my surprise to see this dastardly creature,” he pointed to the flat-nosed, plug-ugly, who still remained on the floor in a daze, “creeping in at the back window.
“Immediately, I risked life and limb in following the criminal, attempting desperately to save your great discovery. I really feel I deserve great credit for what I have done. I’m sure you will feel that I am a valuable person to deal with and reconsider your answers to my earlier proposals.”