it. An inside servant, or guard, with two automatics in a belt around his waist, admitted him.
This man, too, stared with bulging eyes at a man supposed to have been murdered yesterday.
And then Cranlowe was advancing down the wide hall.
Jesse Cranlowe, almost as well-known a name in the circles of invention as Thomas Edison, was a very tall, very thin, very stooped man nearing sixty. He had intense, black eyes deep in his head under heavy black brows. His head was enormous, and while he wasn’t actually bald, he gave the impression of being so. There just didn’t seem to be quite enough lank black hair to cover his huge skull.
He stared at Benson, looking like Edgar Allen Poe, and then came forward with both hands out.
“John, old friend!”
Benson took the extended hands. He disliked playing on emotions of friendship like this, but he had to know things from Cranlowe, for the inventor’s own good, and this was the only way of learning them.
“Your murder!” exclaimed Cranlowe, black eyes burning far back in his head. “All the papers said you were shot yesterday outside Jenner’s office. Everyone I know, personally, said the same thing. And here you are, alive.”
“I was shot at,” Benson said. “The shot missed. But headquarters was afraid another might be tried; so they are letting it be thought that the shot was successful, and, meanwhile, I keep out of sight.”
“Your nephew, Henry?”
“Not so fortunate,” said Benson, tone grim.
Cranlowe peered into the expressionless image of Blandell’s face—necessarily expressionless because of the paralyzed muscles beneath—and shook his big head.
“It’s a miracle! But I’m glad it happened, John. Come into the library.”
Benson, walking with portly dignity as Blandell had walked, followed the man who looked like Poe into the book-lined room. He had woven together the few meager facts he knew about Blandell’s last hours into a likely statement to explain his visit.
“I won’t stay long,” he said. “I only came to tell you something I suppose you’ve already guessed plainly enough.”
“And that is?” said Cranlowe.
“There won’t be any more money advanced to you for a while. Neither mine, nor the bank’s. My personal funds are all tied up in the bank, and of course the bank is honoring none of my loans now that I’m supposed to be insane.”
Cranlowe nodded his huge head. “I was afraid of that. And I’ll confess that I need money desperately. I always have seemed to need it. Now, for some reason, my royalty payments on torpedo controls haven’t been coming from Jenner, and I’m in very bad shape. I must have money!”
“You can hang on for a while, can’t you?”
Cranlowe shrugged. “This place—the guards—everything requires a lot of cash. I can’t let the guards go or give up my fortress home—with my knowledge. But I can’t keep them, either, without cash.”
“You wouldn’t—sell the formula?” Benson queried.
Cranlowe’s stooped shoulders straightened. “Not if I starve!” he said. “Only one thing can ever draw that formula from me. That is, if a small, weak nation is attacked by a big, ruthless one. Then the small nation gets it for nothing.”
“But if you’re forced to leave this guarded place, and strangers can get near you, someone might steal the formula—”
“I thought I’d told you,” Cranlowe said. “I have never set that formula down on paper. It exists only in my memory. And that’s a place safer than any vault.”
“I wonder,” murmured Benson.
“What do you mean?”
“A secret can be tortured out of a man.”
“That can never happen while I’m here,” laughed Cranlowe. “Later, if I can’t get money to pay guards— But we can cross that bridge when we come to it. While I’m here I am safe.”
“You seem very sure.”
“Come with me,” said Cranlowe, rising. “I’ll show you something you haven’t seen before. Just another of my many precautions. I
This man, too, stared with bulging eyes at a man supposed to have been murdered yesterday.
And then Cranlowe was advancing down the wide hall.
Jesse Cranlowe, almost as well-known a name in the circles of invention as Thomas Edison, was a very tall, very thin, very stooped man nearing sixty. He had intense, black eyes deep in his head under heavy black brows. His head was enormous, and while he wasn’t actually bald, he gave the impression of being so. There just didn’t seem to be quite enough lank black hair to cover his huge skull.
He stared at Benson, looking like Edgar Allen Poe, and then came forward with both hands out.
“John, old friend!”
Benson took the extended hands. He disliked playing on emotions of friendship like this, but he had to know things from Cranlowe, for the inventor’s own good, and this was the only way of learning them.
“Your murder!” exclaimed Cranlowe, black eyes burning far back in his head. “All the papers said you were shot yesterday outside Jenner’s office. Everyone I know, personally, said the same thing. And here you are, alive.”
“I was shot at,” Benson said. “The shot missed. But headquarters was afraid another might be tried; so they are letting it be thought that the shot was successful, and, meanwhile, I keep out of sight.”
“Your nephew, Henry?”
“Not so fortunate,” said Benson, tone grim.
Cranlowe peered into the expressionless image of Blandell’s face—necessarily expressionless because of the paralyzed muscles beneath—and shook his big head.
“It’s a miracle! But I’m glad it happened, John. Come into the library.”
Benson, walking with portly dignity as Blandell had walked, followed the man who looked like Poe into the book-lined room. He had woven together the few meager facts he knew about Blandell’s last hours into a likely statement to explain his visit.
“I won’t stay long,” he said. “I only came to tell you something I suppose you’ve already guessed plainly enough.”
“And that is?” said Cranlowe.
“There won’t be any more money advanced to you for a while. Neither mine, nor the bank’s. My personal funds are all tied up in the bank, and of course the bank is honoring none of my loans now that I’m supposed to be insane.”
Cranlowe nodded his huge head. “I was afraid of that. And I’ll confess that I need money desperately. I always have seemed to need it. Now, for some reason, my royalty payments on torpedo controls haven’t been coming from Jenner, and I’m in very bad shape. I must have money!”
“You can hang on for a while, can’t you?”
Cranlowe shrugged. “This place—the guards—everything requires a lot of cash. I can’t let the guards go or give up my fortress home—with my knowledge. But I can’t keep them, either, without cash.”
“You wouldn’t—sell the formula?” Benson queried.
Cranlowe’s stooped shoulders straightened. “Not if I starve!” he said. “Only one thing can ever draw that formula from me. That is, if a small, weak nation is attacked by a big, ruthless one. Then the small nation gets it for nothing.”
“But if you’re forced to leave this guarded place, and strangers can get near you, someone might steal the formula—”
“I thought I’d told you,” Cranlowe said. “I have never set that formula down on paper. It exists only in my memory. And that’s a place safer than any vault.”
“I wonder,” murmured Benson.
“What do you mean?”
“A secret can be tortured out of a man.”
“That can never happen while I’m here,” laughed Cranlowe. “Later, if I can’t get money to pay guards— But we can cross that bridge when we come to it. While I’m here I am safe.”
“You seem very sure.”
“Come with me,” said Cranlowe, rising. “I’ll show you something you haven’t seen before. Just another of my many precautions. I
Similar Books
