The magnificent possession
He tossed the newspaper to Mike and left. Mike leaned back and flipped
the pages in a bored manner.
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.”
A NIGHT OF TROUBLE
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 annoyance. You realize, of course, that
if you refuse my price, I could just go ahead and manufacture the
metal, using my own process.”
“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
uneasily 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
beginning.
* * * * *
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 gonna be a cinch. De whole
woiks on the bottom floor, back window can be jimmied wid a toot’pick,
no alarms, no nuttin.” He chuckled and walked away.
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
manner for both of them.
* * * * *
Walter Sills snapped out of an uneasy sleep with startled suddenness.
He listened anxiously for a while and then leaned over and nudged
Taylor. He was rewarded by a few incoherent snuffles.
“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, donned bathrobe and slippers, and tiptoed to
the door. Taylor had a revolver and took the lead in descending the
stairs.
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 headlong 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 blinked
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.”
Taylor listened to all this with a cynical smile. “You can certainly
lie fluently, can’t you, P. Q.?”
He would have continued at greater length and with greater forcefulness
had not the other burglar suddenly raised his voice in loud protest.
“Cripes, boss, dis fat slob here is only tryin’ to get me in bad. I’m
just followin’ orders, boss. A fellow hired me to come in here and
rifle the safe and I’m just oinin’ a bit o’ honest money. Just plain
safe-crackin’, boss, I ain’t out to hurt no one.
“Den, just as I was gettin’ down to de job--warmin’ up, so to say--in
crawls dis little guy wid a chisel and blowtorch and makes for de safe.
Well, natur’lly, I don’t like no competition, so I lays for him and
then--”
But Hornswoggle had drawn himself up in icy hauteur. “It remains to be
seen whether the word of a gangster is to be taken before the word of
one, who, I may truthfully say, was, in his time, one of the most
eminent members of the great--”
“Quiet, both of you,” shouted Taylor, waving the gun threateningly.
“I’m calling the police and you can annoy _them_ with your stories.
Say, Walt, is everything all right?”
“I think so!” Sills returned from his inspection of the laboratory.
“They only knocked over empty glassware. Everything else is unharmed.”
“That’s good,” Taylor began, and then choked in dismay.
From the hallway, a cool individual, hat drawn well over his eyes,
entered. A revolver, expertly handled, changed the situation
considerably.
“O. K.,” he grunted at Taylor, “drop the gat!” The other’s weapon
slipped from reluctant fingers and hit the floor with a clank.
The new menace surveyed the four others with a sardonic glance. “Well!