Читать книгу The Valdmere Mystery or The Atomic Ray - Milo Milton Oblinger - Страница 4

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In the crowded lobby of the Grand Majestic Hotel, a few minutes later, Ted discerned a group of men he presumed to be representatives of the press. He was studying them casually when someone touched him on the shoulder. Ted swung about and looked into the smiling face of the hotel clerk.

“Mr. Winters and Mr. Birch, aren’t you, who registered here this evening taking room sixteen? I wonder if you would confer a favor upon the management?”

“Why, yes,” smiled Ted. “What is it?”

“There’s a very serious problem here in providing rooming accommodation for all the people who have come to Brownsville. We had no idea there would be so many. The town is overrun. Would you gentlemen object to our putting two or three cots in your room. Though it may be somewhat unpleasant, it will cut your hotel expenses considerably.”

For a time Ted did not answer. This silence on the young man’s part was translated into meaning a refusal.

“Of course, if you object——” began the clerk.

“No, it isn’t that,” Ted hastened to reassure him. “I have really no objection if it’s all right with my friend here.”

“It’s all right with me,” grumbled Philo. “I suppose there’s no help for it. I hate to think of people walking around all night without a place to sleep.”

The clerk thanked them and hurried away. Ted and Philo pushed their way over toward the corner occupied by the representatives of the press. A tall imposing-looking fellow, possessing keen eyes and a self confident manner, was speaking in an earnest voice to the others and, apparently, was being listened to with a good deal of interest.

“I came down here shortly after Valdmere did,” the man was saying. “My paper is pretty keen on this scientific stuff. We’ve been watching the old wizard closely. And all the time I’ve been here I’ve killed a story a day. Stuff I couldn’t publish. In some ways my paper is too conservative. It would have been duck soup for some of you fellows on the Yellow Press.”

A big fellow, who wore spectacles and smoked a cigarette that had burned down to his fingers, protested mildly.

“That’s nonsense. If the story had been here you wouldn’t have hesitated about taking it. How come that Brandt of the Associated Press didn’t stumble upon some of this sensational copy? He’s been here almost as long as you have.”

“He has not,” flatly contradicted the first speaker. “Been here—yes. A few flying trips up from St. Louis. Never stayed more than an hour or two. Naturally he couldn’t get a line on some of the things that came under my observation.”

“Haugh!” sniffed the big man suddenly burning his fingers and dropping his cigarette to the floor. “Perhaps you’d be accommodating enough to pass some of this dope along. My worthless sheet hasn’t any scruples about publishing anything.”

The first speaker laughingly shook his head.

“Not on your life, brother.”

A thin little man with a short mustache and a determined mouth, unexpectedly broke into the discussion. He turned sharply upon the representative of the conservative journal.

“Now that you’ve let the cat out of the bag, Bigelow, I’m afraid you’ll have to ’fess up. You won’t get any peace until you do.”

“No,” said Bigelow flatly.

“In that case,” the little man’s voice was tinctured with deep sarcasm, “why all this chattering? Why make an ass of yourself before this distinguished body of the Fourth Estate?”

Bigelow interrupted his tormentor. “Oh dry up. You fellows have been wondering what I have been leading up to. Well, it’s this. You can expect trouble before this thing is over. Mark my words, all you fellows who are so cock-sure I’ve been talking for effect. Just make a mental note of that and when it’s all over, I’ll give you the merry ha-ha.”

“Trouble!” shouted a chorus of voices. “What sort of trouble?”

“I’m not telling you.”

The newspaper group lapsed into a thoughtful silence that continued for several minutes. Then a deep voice proclaimed:

“I think I know what’s on Bigelow’s mind. He’s hinting at a conspiracy. The big interests who are going to receive their death blow with the perfection of the Atomic Ray are coming up here to throw a monkey wrench into the professor’s machinery. Isn’t that true, Bigelow?”

“That’s a wild guess,” retorted Bigelow, fixing the other with an unfriendly stare. “No use trying to pump me. You fellows ought to be thankful that I’ve given you a lead without worrying me to death. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll be turning in.”

“Good-night, old man. Thanks for the tip,” mockingly called out one of the party as Bigelow strode heavily away. Then to the others: “Fat, self-important Dodo, isn’t he?”

“I’m not so sure that he really isn’t sincere in this,” responded the little man with the bristling mustache. “My own personal opinion is that there will be trouble. But if there is, I’ll blame Valdmere himself.”

“Why?” demanded several voices.

“Valdmere’s one great weakness is his over-weening vanity. He likes to hear the plaudits of the crowd. This little drama he’s staging up here is wholly unnecessary. More like a public stunt than anything else I can think of. If the conceited old fool puts his head in a noose, it’s his own funeral.”

Both Ted and Philo gasped. It was the first time they had heard anyone speak disparagingly of America’s greatest scientist. A hot wave of color swept up into the former’s cheeks.

“I don’t think I’d ever like that newspaper man,” he whispered in Philo’s ear.

“Nor me either,” sputtered Philo. “Come on, Ted, let’s turn in. These reporters are talking a lot of nonsense anyway.”

Ted nodded his agreement and they turned, pushed their way over to the desk, secured the key for their room and made their way up the stairs. To their surprise, even the halls on the second floor was filled with people. When they entered their room and switched on the light, they saw that cots had already been placed side by side at one end of the room. While they were undressing, Philo suddenly paused and addressed his chum.

“Ted,” he inquired thoughtfully, “do you really suppose there’s going to be trouble tomorrow? What do you think Mr. Bigelow was hinting at?”

“Don’t know,” answered Ted sleepily, “but I guess it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Did you hear what one of them said about the big interests sending representatives here to spoil everything? And why did he say that the Atomic Ray would be a death blow to certain of those big interests?”

Ted removed his tie and sat there, apparently studying his own likeness in the mirror.

“That’s all plain enough,” he confided to his chum. “If the Atomic Ray proves practicable, it will call for an industrial readjustment. I mean by that, Philo, that certain things that are commodities now will cease to be commodities. You can see for yourself that if the Atomic Ray can furnish cheap power to drive airplanes and automobiles, there won’t be any further use for gasoline. If this Atomic Ray can furnish cheap heating for buildings, there won’t be any further use for coal. The guns and munitions of the armies and navies will become worthless, too, because the Atomic Ray will be a more terribly destructive force than anything heretofore dreamed of.”

Philo pursed his lips and regarded the black tips of his shoes.

“I’ll admit that things look bad for those industries,” he mused.

“Yes,” replied Ted, “but it can probably be worked out in a way that will be fair to everyone.”

“I hope so,” sighed Philo.

“So do I,” said Ted.

Then both boys started as the door opened. Two men walked into the room. At sight of them, Ted’s heart gave a quick flop of apprehension. There was something about the appearance of the two newcomers that tended to cause him uneasiness and alarm.

Their faces were sinister and unfriendly. They glowered at the boys as they closed the door behind them, then one of them spoke in a language which neither Ted nor Philo could understand.