Chapter IX

The dull grey light of dawn was just creeping in through the windows. Atkill was sitting on the edge of his bed, and there was an expensive English cigarette between his lips. Shorty Grimm sat across the table from him. His face was white, his hands trembled and his breath reeked of cheap whisky. There was a bottle of Atkill's private and very fine stock on the table, and a half empty glass between it and an over-flowing ash tray. Grimm's eyes held a look of blank horror and terror.

"Gawd, Atty, I saw it. I saw Mike flyin' through the air, then I saw him fly inta that tree—then the tree fell down, and there was Mike, cryin' like a baby, and laughin' somethin' awful. A man ain't meant to laugh that way.

"But that Thing seemed all soft, like a rubber sponge, but it knocked that tree down so easy it didn't even jar Mike. And that white thing—like a big cold ghost all around us, and we could see through it like a fog. It was so cold it froze Pete's whisky, and that's good strong stuff he gets."

Atkill laughed, a queer, little, strained laugh. "It was a lot colder than that, I suspect. Tell me, it turned white? But did it get wet, and—water—blue water drip from it?"

"Yeah," replied Shorty amazed, "how'd you know?"

"It wasn't water, it was air. I didn't know—I guessed."

"But—but air ain't like water. It ain't ever a liquid," objected the bewildered gangster.

"It is," replied Atkill patiently, "when it gets cold enough. You probably saw the coldest flask that ever existed. It probably didn't have any heat at all—absolute zero." He ruminated silently. Then stretched and stood up.

"Sorry, Shorty, but I guess you didn't get hurt. I didn't think he would hurt you. He should have wiped you out, of course. I'll bet he could have put you where they'd never find you within the next hundred million years," he smiled unpleasantly, and Grimm looked more unhealthy than ever. "He could probably have put you on the moon without trying, or hidden you in space.

"It's no use though now, Shorty. He's found the secret. You know that ball of white fire you saw on the iron block? That little ball of fire was giving off more power—could give more power than all the rest of the power plants on earth combined. That ball of fire could have stopped this planet, and made it turn around and go the other way. It could have lifted this whole city off the map, and put it down in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, just as easily as it lifted you and put you down in the middle of a field, or the middle of a tree for that matter. There's only one thing that could stop that little ball of fire," he went on, more to himself than to Grimm.

"Wat's that?" asked the awed listener.

"Another one like it, only bigger, Shorty—another one like it." He smiled to himself.

"You failed—but here's a grand for your trouble and—unpleasant experiences." He handed a bill to the man, and waved him out. Nestor would pay the expenses.

He turned out the light, and went back to bed.

"Hello, Nestor. Got news for you," said Atkill as he came into the sedately luxurious office.

Nestor looked up eagerly, his shrewd eyes snapping. "What?"

"I sent some men to steal the data from the Putney place, you know. They came back last night, or rather this morning, and told a wild tale about being surrounded by walls they couldn't see, that pistol-bullets bounced off of like rubber balls, that let light through, but wouldn't let them out. Then they told me about a ghostly, white cylinder that nearly froze them, and about a ball of fire the size of a basket-ball resting on a block of iron. And they said something soft picked them up and hustled them out of the laboratory, and flew across the field with them. It set one of them down in the middle of a tree—after knocking down the tree without jarring the man.

"And he brought me this." Atkill extended the note Warren had sent.

"He's done it?" asked Nestor sharply.

"Obviously," Atkill returned contemptuously.

The note was as follows:

"Messrs. Atkill and Nestor:

"We feel it advisable to announce our success in our experiments to you first of all men. It will not be worth while to make further attempts to steal the data you are attempting to get. You will find full particulars in the patent specification and claims filed three days ago.

"We don't like to make threats, but we wish to advise you that this laboratory is adequately protected.

"Compliments to Atkill on his clever electro-static counterbalance.

"Randolph T. Warren "Donald M. Putney."

Nestor snorted. Then he sat back sorrowfully. "It looks," he decided, "as though that ungrateful fool wins."

"He certainly isn't a fool," smiled Atkill. "And I don't think him particularly ungrateful. You had him fired so he'd be of more use to you.

"And I thank him for that compliment. It was a clever device. One of the cleverest dodges ever devised probably."

"Well, you may agree with him," Nestor retorted angrily, "but at any rate you're through. Get out."

"One hundred thousand dollars first, please." Atkill replied smoothly.

"Huh? Why? You didn't do anything but cost money. You go read your contract, and you'll see that if you lose you get $100,000 minus the cost of apparatus, which was—let me see—seventy-five thousand so far." Nestor sat back with an expression such as that worn by a cat after the untimely demise of the canary.

Atkill looked at him coldly, very coldly, and a flame of murder, of equally cold murder, lurked in his eyes.

"Oh, is that it? Very clever." He paused, and the look in his eyes changed to rapid calculation.

"All right, will you let me leave my apparatus there in your laboratory until I have that twenty-five thousand in my bank?"

"Certainly," smirked Nestor, "I'll give you a check."

Twenty minutes later Atkill left with a check for twenty-five thousand dollars, which he had certified as soon as he reached the bank. He put it in his safety deposit box, and went on in the even tenor of his ways. He had Nestor's written agreement to leave the apparatus as it was till he had his twenty-five thousand in the bank. He also had Nestor's check, which could not be stopped, and proved nothing till he cashed it.

Atkill had received no money. And he would receive none till Nestor paid him the rest of his fee, in order that the bulky apparatus might be moved from a costly laboratory, which was now thoroughly useless.

Nestor on the other hand, felt that that unhappy business was well completed, so far as it touched Atkill. On the other hand, he was not through. He began doing some deep and serious thinking. Presently he called up William J. Fordham, President of the Atlantic Power Companies. He also arranged to have Arthur Benholt, of Central States Power and Thomas Ringman of Pacific Coast Power Lines on the wire.

"Gentlemen, this is Thaddeus Nestor speaking, and I have something of great importance to tell you. It is too important to trust to the wire. Let us all meet in St. Louis to-morrow noon. Is that satisfactory?"

"What is the basis of this important item?" asked Fordham cautiously.

"An invention, an invention that will wreck every power company, every air line, every railroad and steamship line, every industry in the world! I have been assured by competent men that it would ruin every power company within a week of its announcement. It must be stopped."

"We'll be there," said Fordham slowly. The others agreed, and began crossing off appointments on memo slips.

Nestor's assurances had weight.