"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 042 - Mox" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

white coat evenly studded with distinct spots of dark brown, the dog was unquestionably a
thoroughbred. As Greerson eyed it, the dog growled and raised its long, pointed head. It made no further
sign of enmity, however.

An open book upon a table, an ash tray from which smoke was rising; both were signs that the room had
been but recently occupied. Greerson supposed that Mox, the man whom he had come to see, would
soon return. Instead, the servant arrived.

"Mox is ready," he said. "You have articles to show himтАФin these bags?" Greerson nodded. The servant
picked up the bags. He led the inventor back along the corridor and stopped. He placed his hand against
a panel. It moved upward and showed a lighted entry; beyond it, another panel.

The servant motioned Greerson into the opening. The two stood in the square space; the servant lowered
the panel behind them. Then he pressed the panel ahead. It rose, and Greerson saw a small, oddly
furnished room.

There, a man was seated behind a low desk. The chair that he occupied had a very short backтАФa
peculiarity which marked the other chairs which the room possessed. There was a low bookcase by the
wall. Beyond the seated man, in contrast to the small size of the room, was a huge open fireplace, all out
of proportion to the apartment.

It was the man, however, who interested Greerson. It was impossible to tell his height while he was
seated; his age, though, must be advanced, judging from his appearance. The man wore a heavy gray
beard, and a shock of bushy gray hair adorned his head.

"Have a chair, Mr. Greerson," cackled the old fellow. "Sit here at the desk. We must talk."

The servant had retired. Greerson brought his bags over to the desk and took a chair. He looked closely
at the old man across the desk. He had a distinct impression, at this close range, that the beard and hair
were false.

"To begin with, Mr. Moxton," said Greerson, "I was somewhat doubtful about coming here."

"Do not say that," returned the old man, in his shrill tone. "Do not call me Mr. Moxton. I am known as
Mox. Call me that. I am Mox, the great adapter."

Mox stared with sharp eyes as he spoke. He saw the look of apprehension which appeared upon
Greerson's thin face. The inventor was a frail sort of a man, who showed the effects of an indoor life.

"REMAIN tranquil, my friend," asserted Mox, with an odd chortle. "I, like yourself, am one who prefers
retirement and seclusion. Our mutual friend, Schuyler Harlew, told me that he informed you of the fact."

"Harlew did," announced Greerson pointedly. "He told me that you paid large sums for inventions."

"I do," returned Mox. "I have great wealth, my friend. I am always willing to deal fairly with those who
can supply me with practical inventions. I am an adapterтАФnot an inventor. Through Harlew, as my
discoverer of obscure inventors, I have been of great aid to men such as you."

"I have my plans," said Greerson guardedly, "and also my models. I have brought them with me, on the
understanding that you will pay the price I ask."