“About as well as I expected. We bought up all the platinum wastes we could get, and reworked all the metallic platinum and allied metals we could buy in the open market, and got less than a gram of X out of the whole lot. It’s scarcer than radium. Seaton’s finding so much of it at once was an accident, pure and simple—it couldn’t happen once in a million years.”
“Well, have you any suggestions as to how we can get that solution?”
“No. I haven’t thought of anything but that very thing ever since I found that they had hidden it, and I can’t yet see any good way of getting it. My forte is direct action and that fails in this case, since no amount of force or torture could make Crane reveal the hiding-place of the solution. It’s probably in the safest safe-deposit vault in the country. He wouldn’t carry the key on him, probably wouldn’t have it in the house. Killing Seaton or Crane, or both of them, is easy enough, but it probably wouldn’t get us the solution, as I have no doubt that Crane has provided for everything.”
“Probably he has. But if he should disappear the stuff would have to come to light, or the Seaton-Crane Company might start their power-plant. In that case, we probably could get it?”
“Possibly, you mean. That method is too slow to suit me, though. It would take months, perhaps years, and would be devilishly uncertain, to boot. They’ll know something is in the wind, and the stuff will be surrounded by every safeguard they can think of. There must be some better way than that, but I haven’t been able to think of it.”
“Neither have I, but your phrase ‘direct action’ gives me an idea. You say that that method has failed. What do you think of trying indirect action in the shape of Perkins, who is indirection personified?”
“Bring him in. He may be able to figure out something.”
* * * *
Perkins was called in, and the main phases of the situation laid before him. The three men sat in silence for many minutes while the crafty strategist studied the problem. Finally he spoke.
“There’s only one way, gentlemen. We must get a handle on either Seaton or Crane strong enough to make them give up their bottle of dope, their plans, and everything.…”
“Handle!” interrupted DuQuesne. “You talk like a fool! You can’t get anything on either of them.”
“You misunderstand me, Doctor. You can get a handle of some kind on any living man. Not necessarily in his past, you understand—I know that anything like that is out of the question in this case—but in his future. With some men it is money, with others power, with others fame, with others women or some woman, and so on down the list. What can we use here? Money is out of the question, so are power and fame, as they already have both in plain sight. It seems to me that women would be our best chance.”
“Hah!” snorted the chemist. “Crane has been chased by all the women of three continents so long that he’s womanproof. Seaton is worse—he’s engaged, and wouldn’t realize that a woman was on his trail, even if you could find a better looking one to work on him than the girl he’s engaged to—which would be a hard job. Cleopatra herself couldn’t swing that order.”
“Engaged? That makes it simple as A B C.”
“Simple? In the devil’s name, how?”
“Easy as falling off a log. You have enough of the dope to build a space-car from those plans, haven’t you?”
“Yes. What has that to do with the case?”
“It has everything to do with it. I would suggest that we build such a car and use it to carry off the girl. After we have her safe we could tell Seaton that she is marooned on some distant planet, and that she will be returned to earth only after all the solution, all notes, plans, and everything pertaining to the new metal are surrendered. That will bring him, and Crane will consent. Then, afterward, Dr. Seaton may go away indefinitely, and if desirable, Mr. Crane may accompany him.”
“But suppose they try to fight?” asked Brookings.
Perkins slid down into his chair in deep thought, his pale eyes under half-closed lids darting here and there, his stubby fingers worrying his watch-chain restlessly.
“Who is the girl?” he asked at last.
“Dorothy Vaneman, the daughter of the lawyer. She’s that auburn-haired beauty that the papers were so full of when she came out last year.”
“Vaneman is a director in the Seaton-Crane Company. That makes it still better. If they show fight and follow us, that beautiful car we are making for them will collapse and they will be out of the way. Vaneman, as Seaton’s prospective father-in-law and a member of his company, probably knows something about the secret. Maybe all of it. With his daughter in a space-car, supposedly out in space, and Seaton and Crane out of the way, Vaneman would listen to reason and let go of the solution, particularly as nobody knows much about it except Seaton and Crane.”
“That strikes me as a perfectly feasible plan,” said Brookings. “But you wouldn’t really take her to another planet, would you? Why not use an automobile or an airplane, and tell Seaton that it was a space-car?”
“I wouldn’t advise that. He might not believe it, and they might make a lot of trouble. It must be a real space-car even if we don’t take her out of the city. To make it more impressive, you should take her in plain sight of Seaton—no, that would be too dangerous, as I have found out from the police that Seaton has a permit to carry arms, and I know that he is one of the fastest men with a pistol in the whole country. Do it in plain sight of her folks, say, or a crowd of people; being masked, of course, or dressed in an aviator’s suit, with the hood and goggles on. Take her straight up out of sight, then hide her somewhere until Seaton listens to reason. I know that he will listen, but if he doesn’t, you might let him see you start out to visit her. He’ll be sure to follow you in their rotten car. As soon as he does that, he’s our meat. But that raises the question of who is going to drive the car?”
“I am,” replied DuQuesne. “I will need some help, though, as at least one man must stay with the girl while I bring the car back.”
“We don’t want to let anybody else in on this if we can help it,” cautioned Brookings. “You could go along, couldn’t you, Perkins?”
“Is it safe?”
“Absolutely,” answered DuQuesne. “They have everything worked out to the queen’s taste.”
“That’s all right, then. I’ll take the trip. Also,” turning to Brookings, “it will help in another little thing we are doing—the Spencer affair.”
“Haven’t you got that stuff away from her yet, after having had her locked up in that hell-hole for two months?” asked Brookings.
“No. She’s stubborn as a mule. We’ve given her the third degree time after time, but it’s no use.”
* * * *
“What’s this?” asked DuQuesne. “Deviltry in the main office?”
“Yes. This Margaret Spencer claims that we swindled her father out of an invention and indirectly caused his death. She secured a position with us in search of evidence. She is an expert stenographer, and showed such ability that she was promoted until she became my secretary. Our detectives must have been asleep, as she made away with some photographs and drawings before they caught her. She has no real evidence, of course, but she might cause trouble with a jury, especially as she is one of the best-looking women in Washington. Perkins is holding her until she returns the stolen articles.”
“Why can’t you kill her off?”
“She cannot be disposed of until after we know where the stuff is, because she says, and Perkins believes, that