A telephone rang. The instrument was on top of the radio cabinet. The dignified man was closest to that spot. With a gesture that stopped Fallow’s discourse, he arose to answer the call.
“Hello…” The dignified man spoke in a brisk tone. “Yes. This is Mr. Towson’s residence… Yes, I am Bryce Towson… I see… I see… Very well. Thank you for the message…”
Hanging up the receiver, Bryce Towson turned to his companions. His features wore a pleasant smile that signified good news.
“Herbert Whilton is on his way here,” stated Towson. “The call was from the Cobalt Club, where he stopped to meet a friend.”
“Some one is coming with him?” questioned Fallow, anxiously.
“Apparently,” answered Towson. “I can see no objection. Do you, Mr. Dyke?”
The question was put to the preoccupied man who sat at the side of the table. It brought a shake of the shaggy head. Dyke had no objection. Fallow appeared mollified.
As Bryce Towson was resuming his seat, the door of the room opened and a stoopshouldered figure entered. The newcomer was Shelburne, Frederick Thorne’s spy. The man advanced toward the table; then stopped to speak to the seated three.
“How soon will the conference begin, gentlemen?” he questioned. “Shall I have the papers ready?”
“Yes, Shelburne,” responded Towson. “Mr. Whilton will arrive shortly. The conference will begin as soon as he is here.”
Shelburne nodded. With catlike tread, he advanced to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer. He began to draw papers from the files.
“Let us resume our discussion, Fallow,” suggested Towson, with a nod toward the inventor. “You were talking about the improved concentrate when we were interrupted.”
“Yes,” declared Fallow. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “I was returning to the theory which first inspired my invention. Internal combustion is the secret of practical power. Therefore, I considered the extremes. First: a gasoline motor, in which much fuel is required; second, a motor utilizing nitroglycerine, in which a minimum of fuel would be needed.
“The motor, itself, was the problem. Modern motors are far beyond the strength required to withstand the combustion of gasoline. But could any motor ever hold against the racking force of nitroglycerine?
My answer was no. But I saw the potentialities of a fuel somewhere between the two. I produced such a fuel and built a motor to withstand it. The fuel was M 7.”
“Yet M 7 did not prove satisfactory,” observed Towson. “It was not until you developed a less powerful concentrate — F-M 5—that you were sure of success.”
“That is true,” nodded Fallow. “F-M 5 showed its worth. One pint of it could equal ten gallons of gasoline. Yet FM 5 presented a problem which I was wise enough to foresee.”
“Distance strain?”
“Exactly. My motor, though strong enough to withstand the explosions of F-M 5 over a distance of ten thousand miles, would begin to crack after that goal had been gained. F-M 5 is excellent for demonstration purposes. For practical results, we must use my newest fuel — Q-M 1.”
“What is its power relation to F-M 5?”
“Approximately one half. We may say, roughly, that one quart of Q-M 1 will outperform ten gallons of high grade gasoline.”
“Without damage to the motor?”
“Not within a range of one hundred thousand miles.”
“This is wonderful!” Towson’s exclamation came with enthusiasm. “Do you hear that, Dyke? Q-M 1 will show performance up to one hundred thousand miles! It’s advantage over gasoline is forty to one!”
“Fallow is a genius,” returned Dyke, in a rumbling tone. “I expected him to produce such a fuel.”
“I owe much to your aid, Towson,” broke in Fallow. “The use of your equipment — of your laboratory—”
Towson waved his hands to suppress the inventor’s thanks. As Fallow reluctantly subsided, the door opened. A servant appeared to announce the arrival of Herbert Whilton. A moment later, two men entered. The servant stepped aside while Towson sprang forward to greet the visitors.
THE first was an elderly man, whose thin lips formed a perpetual smile. He was leaning on a cane; his parchment face and pure white hair were evidences of his advanced years.
With him was a tall, firm-faced companion. The latter was attired in evening clothes. His features were masklike, yet impressive. Keen, burning eyes, peering from beside a hawklike nose, were steady in their observation of the room and its occupants.
The first man — the elderly one — was Herbert Whilton. He shook hands with Bryce Towson; then turned to introduce his friend.
“This gentleman,” explained Whilton, in a crackly, almost whining tone, “is Lamont Cranston. He is wealthy and his great interest is exploration. Mr. Cranston has long been a friend of mine. He is an aviation enthusiast; the very man — I believe — to put our new motor to its first tests in foreign climes.”
Advancing with Cranston, Whilton introduced his friend to the others. Lamont Cranston shook hands with Meldon Fallow, the inventor; also with Loring Dyke, the famous consulting chemist. Formalities ended, the two visitors took chairs opposite Loring Dyke.
It was then that Bryce Towson, at his end of the table, made a bow to Herbert Whilton. With a sweep of his hand, Towson indicated that he wished the old gentleman to occupy the head chair.
“No, no!” crackled Whilton. “Remain there, Mr. Towson. You are our host—”
“But you are the chief,” interposed Towson, with a smile. “To Herbert Whilton, the philanthropist, we owe the actual formation of this committee which has enabled Meldon Fallow to complete his inventive work.”
Rising, Whilton yielded to Towson’s insistence and took his place at the head of the table. Beaming upon the others, he spoke in reply to Towson’s eulogy.
“I am no more important,” declared Whilton, “than any other member of this group. To Meldon Fallow, we owe the invention of the supercombustion motor and its fuel. To Loring Dyke, the famous chemist, we owe the knowledge and advice that Fallow needed to perfect his formula.
“To Bryce Towson, consulting engineer, we owe the use of the laboratory and its equipment; also the right to convene in this conference room—”
Towson was interrupting with a protest. Meldon Fallow broke in to support what Herbert Whilton had said.
“All must take their credit!” asserted the inventor. “My first experiments were crude. I brought them to the attention of Mr. Whilton. Through him, I met you, Towson; and I met you, Dyke. I learned new facts in motor design and in chemical reactions. My work is now complete — and to you three, my friends, I have given full rights to aid me in benefiting mankind through my inventive efforts.”
Towson bowed in reluctant acknowledgment. Dyke rumbled a few words of appreciation. The matter settled, Whilton rapped upon the table. Quiet followed. Shelburne came from beside the filing cabinet and took a chair close to Loring Dyke.
“Here is the agreement, sir,” said Shelburne. He drew a paper from a small stack and handed it to Whilton. “It is a copy of the signed document.”
Whilton nodded. He adjusted a pince-nez to his nose and read the paper. Then, in a methodical tone, he spoke to his companions.
“WE are all familiar with this agreement,” said the old man. “We four constitute a committee which holds sole rights to the development of the Fallow Supercombustion Motor. We have agreed that it will not be exploited. Any future decision rests upon unanimous agreement.
“Should any of us, through death or resignation, no longer be a member of the committee, the control of the supermotor will rest with those who remain. Unanimous agreement will always be required in any step that may be taken.
“All this is plain. Our agreement has become a legal document. We are ready, at any time, to proceed with the production of the motor. Are there any remarks?”