Scott strolled into the room, finding DuQuesne leaning over a delicate electrical instrument, his forbidding but handsome face strangely illuminated by the ghastly glare of his mercury-vapor arcs.
“Hello, Blackie,” Scott began. “I thought it was Seaton in here at first. A fellow has to see your faces to tell you two apart. Speaking of Seaton, d’you think that he’s quite right?”
“I should say, off-hand, that he was a little out of control last night and this morning,” replied DuQuesne, manipulating connections with his long, muscular fingers. “I don’t think that he’s insane, and I don’t believe that he dopes—probably overwork and nervous strain. He’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“I think he’s a plain nut, myself. That sure was a wild yarn he sprung on us, wasn’t it? His imagination was hitting on all twelve, that’s sure. He seems to believe it himself, though, in spite of making a flat failure of his demonstration to us this morning. He saved that waste solution he was working on—what was left of that carboy of platinum residues after he had recovered all the values, you know—and got them to put it up at auction this noon. He resigned from the Bureau, and he and M. Reynolds Crane, that millionaire friend of his, bid it in for ten cents.”
“M. Reynolds Crane?” DuQuesne concealed a start of surprise. “Where does he come in on this?”
“Oh, they’re always together in everything. They’ve been thicker than Damon and Pythias for a long time. They play tennis together—they’re doubles champions of the District, you know—and all kinds of things. Wherever you find one of them you’ll usually find the other. Anyway, after they got the solution Crane took Seaton in his car, and somebody said they went out to Crane’s house. Probably trying to humor him. Well, ta-ta; I’ve got a week’s work to do yet today.”
As Scott left DuQuesne dropped his work and went to his desk, with a new expression, half of chagrin, half of admiration, on his face. Picking up his telephone, he called a number.
“Brookings?” he asked, cautiously. “This is DuQuesne. I must see you immediately. There’s something big started that may as well belong to us.… No, can’t say anything over the telephone.… Yes, I’ll be right out.”
He left the laboratory and soon was in the private office of the head of the Washington or “diplomatic” branch, as it was known in certain circles, of the great World Steel Corporation. Offices and laboratories were maintained in the city, ostensibly for research work, but in reality to be near the center of political activity.
“How do you do, Doctor DuQuesne?” Brookings said as he seated his visitor. “You seem excited.”
“Not excited, but in a hurry,” DuQuesne replied. “The biggest thing in history has just broken, and we’ve got to work fast if we get in on it. Have you any doubts that I always know what I am talking about?”
“No,” answered the other in surprise. “Not the slightest. You are widely known as an able man. In fact, you have helped this company several times in various deal—er, in various ways.”
“Say it. Brookings. ‘Deals’ is the right word. This one is going to be the biggest ever. The beauty of it is that it should be easy—one simple burglary and an equally simple killing—and won’t mean wholesale murder, as did that.…”
“Oh, no, Doctor, not murder. Unavoidable accidents.”
“Why not call things by their right names and save breath, as long as we’re alone? I’m not squeamish. But to get down to business. You know Seaton, of our division, of course. He has been recovering the various rare metals from all the residues that have accumulated in the Bureau for years. After separating out all the known metals he had something left, and thought it was a new element, a metal. In one of his attempts to get it into the metallic state, a little of its solution fizzed out and over a copper steam bath or tank, which instantly flew out of the window like a bullet. It went clear out of sight, out of range of his binoculars, just that quick.” He snapped his fingers under Brookings’ nose. “Now that discovery means such power as the world never dreamed of. In fact, if Seaton hadn’t had all the luck in the world right with him yesterday, he would have blown half of North America off the map. Chemists have known for years that all matter contains enormous stores of intra-atomic energy, but have always considered it ‘bound’—that is, incapable of liberation. Seaton has liberated it.”
“And that means?”
“That with the process worked out, the Corporation could furnish power to the entire world, at very little expense.”
* * * *
A look of scornful unbelief passed over Brookings’ face.
“Sneer if you like,” DuQuesne continued evenly. “Your ignorance doesn’t change the fact in any particular. Do you know what intra-atomic energy is?”
“I’m afraid that I don’t, exactly.”
“Well, it’s the force that exists between the ultimate component parts of matter, if you can understand that. A child ought to. Call in your chief chemist and ask him what would happen if somebody would liberate the intra-atomic energy of one hundred pounds of copper.”
“Pardon me, Doctor. I didn’t presume to doubt you. I will call him in.”
He telephoned a request and soon a man in white appeared. In response to the question he thought for a moment, then smiled slowly.
“If it were done instantaneously it would probably blow the entire world into a vapor, and might force it clear out of its orbit. If it could be controlled it would furnish millions of horsepower for a long time. But it can’t be done. The energy is bound. Its liberation is an impossibility, in the same class with perpetual motion. Is that all, Mr. Brookings?”
As the chemist left, Brookings turned again to his visitor, with an apologetic air.
“I don’t know anything about these things myself, but Chambers, also an able man, says that it is impossible.”
“As far as he knows, he is right. I should have said the same thing this morning. But I do know about these things—they’re my business—and I tell you that Seaton has done it.”
“This is getting interesting. Did you see it done?”
“No. It was rumored around the Bureau last night that Seaton was going insane, that he had wrecked a lot of his apparatus and couldn’t explain what had happened. This morning he called a lot of us into his laboratory, told us what I have just told you, and poured some of his solution on a copper wire. Nothing happened, and he acted as though he didn’t know what to make of it. The foolish way he acted and the apparent impossibility of the whole thing, made everybody think him crazy. I thought so until I learned this afternoon that Mr. Reynolds Crane is backing him. Then I knew that he had told us just enough of the truth to let him get away clean with the solution.”
“But suppose the man is crazy?” asked Brookings. “He probably is a monomaniac, really insane on that one thing, from studying it so much.”
“Seaton? Yes, he’s crazy—like a fox. You never heard of any insanity in Crane’s family, though, did you? You know that he never invests a cent in anything more risky than Government bonds. You can bet your last dollar that Seaton showed him the real goods.” Then, as a look of conviction appeared upon the other’s face, he continued:
“Don’t you understand that the solution was Government property, and he had to do something to make everybody think it worthless, so that he could get title to it? That faked demonstration that failed was certainly a bold stroke—so bold that it was foolhardy. But it worked. It fooled even me, and I am not usually asleep. The only reason he got away with it, is, that he has always been such an open-faced talker, always telling everything he knew.
“He certainly played the fox,” he continued, with undisguised admiration.