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

"Name the price."

"One hundred thousand dollars," gulped Greerson. Then, as Mox gave no sign, he added: "It should be
worth a million, easily."

Mox nodded solemnly.

"I shall pay your price," he cackled. "Let me see the plans and the models." As he spoke, he opened a
drawer in the desk and drew forth piles of bank notes. Greerson gulped again. He unrolled his sheets of
plans and placed them upon the desk. He lifted the bags and opened them.

"This device," he began, as he brought out a completed model, "will increase dynamo efficiency -"

Mox waved his hand by way of interruption. He was studying the plans. "I understand," he said, in his
high voice. "I rely much upon Harlew's report. He told me that you had perfected your invention, but that
you did not have the means to continue with it."

"Exactly," admitted Greerson. "The patenting would take a long time. I needed money; I need it now. It
would be a mistake to lay these plans before representatives of a large corporation. When I met Harlew,
he showed an interest -"

Again, Mox interrupted; this time with a chuckle.

"You are right, my friend," he said, "this invention is worth much money to the man who develops it. I
shall be that man. It is worth more, however, than you ask."

Reaching to the desk, Mox bundled up fifteen piles of notes; he placed the others back in the desk
drawer. He set the stack that he had kept directly in front of Greerson's eager eyes.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars," chortled Mox. "Ten thousand in each packet. That is what I
shall pay you, my friend. Come; we shall take the money to my living room. Your plans and your models
are mine; they can remain here."

Greerson turned toward the panel. He was in a fanciful daze. In a few short minutes, the transaction had
been completed. He had sold his invention for a half more than he had asked. One hundred and fifty
thousand dollars! It was the fortune for which Greerson had been striving!

At the panel, Greerson turned inquiringly. Mox was still seated at the desk. The old man pressed a
button; the panel came up. He waved his hand for Greerson to step into the entry. Greerson obeyed,
noting that Mox was about to press a second button, evidently for the outer panel beyond the entry.

Mox cackled gleefully. From the entry, Greerson stared. He saw the old man, clutching the pile of money
with his long left arm, his right hand upon the button. He saw a clock directly above Mox's head. The
clock was whirring. Its chimes began to strike the hour of midnight.

Mox pressed the button. A wild cry came from Greerson's lips. The floor had dropped beneath him,
splitting in the center. The inner panel was falling. As Greerson plunged downward, screaming, he made a
hopeless clutch. It gained him nothing. His fingers slipped as they struck the smoothness of the dropped
panel.