Maxwell Grant
Master of Death
CHAPTER I. THE MAN WHO SMILED
“STOP beyond the corner, driver.”
The taximan swerved toward the curb as he crossed Sixty-sixth Street and stopped free of the Broadway traffic. The passenger, leaning forward with his face beside the window, smiled as the cab halted at the designated spot beyond the corner.
Opening the door, the man alighted and paid the driver. He was still wearing his smile. The taxi driver noted it in the dim light, and gazed askance at the sallow face. There was something about the passenger’s smile which the driver did not like.
As the man pocketed his change, the driver pulled the cab from the curb and glanced back. His ex-passenger was still standing by the corner, waiting for the flow of traffic to cease.
Even from the distance, the taximan fancied that he could see the ugly leer upon the fellow’s face. The driver shrugged his shoulders, and let the cab roll on. After all, the man had been just another passenger; yet even this hard-boiled jehu felt a sense of relief to know that he was rid of this fare.
BACK on the corner of Sixty-sixth Street, the smiling man stepped from the curb. A red light had stopped traffic. The man strolled across the wide thoroughfare, turned toward the nearby avenue, and walked along until he reached the portals of an unpretentious hotel.
An illuminated sign proclaimed the identity of the establishment: Hotel Garonne. The strolling man entered the lobby and followed an inconspicuous course to an obscure grill room.
There, he approached a secluded booth, and sat down at the table. An owlish-faced man, seated opposite, looked up from a menu, then nodded nervously as he recognized the arrival.
The sallow-faced man no longer wore his leering smile. Without it, his visage showed no evil trace. There was a certain briskness in the arrival’s manner, and he addressed the waiting man with a quick, low-toned greeting.
“Hello, Clussig,” he said. “I’m glad to see that you arrived on time.”
“I try to keep my appointments, Veldon,” returned the owlish individual, as he peered seriously through large-glassed spectacles. “You said that it was urgent — that I must be here promptly at seven thirty. So I came a bit ahead of time.”
Veldon nodded. A waiter was approaching, so the sallow-faced man picked up a menu and gave his order. The waiter nodded to Clussig, and the bespectacled man pointed out items on the bill of fare.
As soon as the waiter had departed, Veldon again turned his attention to his companion. He drew a folded newspaper from his pocket, and slapped it on the table.
“What’s the idea of this?” he demanded sharply. “I told you to keep out of print, yet you go ahead and give this interview.”
Clussig grinned sheepishly as he looked at the headline. The heavy-typed words were terse and commanding of interest. Veldon snorted as he read them aloud:
Research Expert Predicts Era of Electrical Wizardry
“If that’s a wise thing to put in print, I can’t see it.”
“There’s nothing harmful in the article,” protested Clussig. “I merely told the reporter that many of the long-predicted electrical developments were already perfected, and would soon be introduced to the public. I said nothing of my own improvements; in fact, I did not even mention the matter of rays—”
“Not in this interview,” interposed Veldon. “But what about the next one? Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’ve put the name of Merle Clussig into the news. Some smart reporter will start to pump you, and you’ll give away the fact that you are associated with Eric Veldon.”
“No! No!” returned Clussig. “I’ll never do that, Veldon. I understand the need for secrecy.”
“Yes?” Veldon eyed his companion coldly. “Well, Clussig, I can read between the lines of this newspaper story, and I don’t like it. I know your purpose. Why try to deceive me?”
CLUSSIG became nervous. His whole manner showed that Veldon had made a pointed remark. Clussig gazed away while the waiter stepped up with the first course. Then he caught Veldon’s steady stare, and became ill at ease.
“Let’s be frank about this,” suggested Veldon. “I know your trouble, Clussig. You’re becoming impatient. You want results. Am I right?”
“Yes,” admitted Clussig. “Veldon, I’ve placed a lot of confidence in you. I gave you all my uncompleted electrical inventions — any improvements on X-ray apparatus — my development of the heat-ray tube — the screens which I devised to prevent the injurious effects of such rays—”
“And I attended to the proper mechanical construction,” interposed Veldon calmly. “Not only have I kept your devices secret; I have arranged for their promotion. You were broke; I have given you sufficient money to live comfortably. What more do you ask?”
“I want results!” blurted Clussig. “My devices are worth a large amount of money. Why should their promotion be delayed longer? You promised results.”
“So,” said Eric Veldon, in a sarcastic tone, “you decided to force the issue. You deliberately thrust yourself into print, knowing that a campaign of that sort would gradually bring you into the limelight.”
“Why not?” questioned Merle Clussig nervously. “You have kept me buried too long, Veldon. You have my inventions; you are negotiating with some wealthy person who is willing to back them. Why should I be kept in the background? Why?”
Eric Veldon waited patiently while the waiter changed the dishes. The sallow man was gazing sternly at Clussig; and the bespectacled inventor saw the faint traces of a saturnine smile that appeared upon Veldon’s lips.
Clussig sensed that he had invoked the promoter’s complete displeasure. He was apprehensive, for he feared an outburst. Veldon, however, showed no further trace of anger; on the contrary, his manner became disarming.
“You must not be anxious,” purred Veldon. “Remember, Clussig, that the mere perfection of an invention or mechanical device does not assure the reaping of a monetary harvest. Effective promotion is accomplished only by waiting for the psychological time.
“I have been paying you what constitutes a retainer’s fee. I have been exercising an option on your inventions. I have not told you the identity of the man with whom I am dealing, nor have I named you to him.
“I have promoted other inventions in the past. I intend to handle new ones in the future. I am the important link between the inventor — who thinks oddly in ideas — and the financier — whose trend is commercial. Direct contact between you and the man of wealth would be disastrous, at present.”
VELDON paused emphatically when he had completed his statement. Clussig found himself nodding unconsciously. The inventor was forced to agree with Veldon’s persuasive words. Nevertheless, he put forth one last feeble protest.
“I understand,” he said, “but I cannot forget that you have been telling me this same story for many, many weeks. I have been constantly looking forward to a satisfactory completion of negotiations, yet the final result still seems to be distant. Inactivity and obscurity have long been troubling me. That is why I took advantage of an opportunity to assert myself.”
“Very fortunately,” returned Veldon smoothly, “you have kept the cat in the bag. You have talked only of your past experience with no mention of your present activities. That is why I called you and arranged this important appointment. I see how your little newspaper story can be turned to great advantage.”
“How?” Clussig was agog.
“By suiting it to circumstances,” replied Veldon. “By a real coincidence, I have arrived at a point in my negotiations which will enable me to introduce you to the man who intends to finance your improved rays and screens.”