the initials M. T.
The shotgun muzzles gave a nudge, indicating that Steve was to get out of
his car and enter the mansion, instructions which the watchman amplified with
his gruff tone. So Steve got out and went up the wooden steps between the
pillars, where his footfalls must have announced his approach for the big front
door opened as soon as he arrived. Confronted by a brawny servant who was
wearing what appeared to be a butler's uniform, Steve showed his lucky coin and
was immediately conducted toward the corner where he had seen the lighted
windows.
Everything in this huge house seemed geared to clockwork precision, for as
the butler opened a large door to usher Steve into a reception room, another
door opened on the far side and a tall, gray-haired man stepped into sight.
Obviously this was Milton Treft, coming from a smaller room in the corner of the
house. As Treft saw the coin that Steve displayed, he gave a wave that dismissed
the butler; then, with a gesture to the coin, Treft said in a blunt tone:
"Spin it."
Steve gave the coin a spin.
The result was very curious.
Impelled by the flip of Steve's thumb, the disk whirled upward as any coin
would have, but it began to lose its impetus very rapidly. For a moment the coin
seemed to hang in air; then it came turning lazily downward until it actually
fluttered like a bit of paper. When Steve held out his hand he had to wait for
the metal token to drift into it.
Treft smiled at the result. His eyes, keen and narrow, studied Steve's
square-jawed, youthful face. Treft had expected Steve to be an older man, but
the spinning of the coin had satisfied him. It would be easy enough to stamp a
duplicate coin with the emblem of a feather and the initials M. T., but only one
coin in all the world would behave in that tantalizing fashion. That coin
happened to be the one that Steve was carrying to introduce himself to Treft.
"Well, Kilroy," said Treft, affably, "I take it that your company is
satisfied."
"They're satisfied on one thing," acknowledged Steve. "This alloy you term
alumite is so much lighter than any known metal that it's a shame to even
compare them."
"Does that mean they are interested in buying the formula?"
"It means they would be if you delivered enough alumite for them to give it
the required tests."
Treft nodded as though he had received the very answer that he expected.
Gesturing Steve to an easy chair, Treft stepped to the corner of the room and
pointed out a life-sized bust that stood on a marble pedestal.
"An excellent bronze," remarked Treft. "It represents Absalom Pettigrew,
the man who invented alumite, or I might say discovered it."
Steve raised his eyebrows.
"Is there a difference?"
"In this case, yes," replied Treft. "Pettigrew was a sculptor and he came
across a process of inflating metal, which works only with a certain alloy. That
is the real secret of alumite; it is an expanded substance, honeycombed with
microscopic air pores which in no way reduce its tensile strength, because of
their irregular arrangement."
As he finished, Treft lifted the bust from its pedestal and with a sudden
