Account Settled. John Russell Fearn

“This is probably the chap now.…”

      He raised his hand in a signal, and Brant nodded and came over, touching his peaked cap.

      “Morning, sir. Mr. Quinton?”

      “That’s right. You’re Brant, Mr. Drew’s chauffeur?”

      “Yes, sir. The car’s waiting outside. Mr. Drew asked me to remind you to bring everything.”

      Quinton nodded and smiled. “That’s all right. Everything is here. Well, Jal, I’ll be back soon.… Bye for now.”

      She nodded a farewell, and Brant followed the inventor’s short, well-dressed figure across the lounge and out through the revolving doors. In ten minutes they had reached the Drew Building, and for the time being Brant’s task was over. Quinton stepped into the elevator and was whisked to the seventh floor.

      He found Emerson Drew awaiting him, smiling, advancing across the office with extended hand.

      “Glad you could make it, Mr. Quinton. Have a seat and a cig— Or did you say you don’t smoke?”

      “That’s right,” Quinton acknowledged, smiling. “I don’t.”

      He put his case and box on the desk and settled his hat in his lap as he sat down.

      “Well, sir, we’ve made progress.…” Drew returned to his chair on the opposite side of the desk and nodded his plush-covered head. “And there’s no doubt that we’ll take up the option on your invention and on the terms you suggested.”

      “You mean—the million advance?” Quinton asked slowly, his blue eyes fixed on the square face.

      “I do. But of course that can’t come immediately. There are the final tests to make, with actual explosives and so forth. I asked you to come so as to be certain that we have all the necessary formulae and, as it were, the spare parts in connection with the invention. We cannot go any further without being certain that the rights are exclusively ours. In a matter as vital as this, competition could be very dangerous. Understand?”

      “Of course,” Quinton agreed, unzipping the briefcase and drawing out a blueprint and several papers. “Here is the duplicate blueprint I retained for my own use. It is identical with the one you have, and there are no other copies. And here is the mathematical formula and notes, together with my own private observations. Nothing else remains that has any connection with the bomb.”

      “Splendid!” Drew exclaimed, studying the notes and blue­print in turn. “All right, Mr. Quinton, this is all we need. I’ll take your old receipt and give you a fresh one.”

      Quinton nodded and handed it across. Drew’s hand reached out to the bell-push and presently Janet Kayne entered, as severely dressed and imperturbable as usual.

      “Yes. Mr. Drew?”

      “Miss Kayne, draw up an undertaking for Mr. Quinton and in it state cancellation of this receipt I have here, and instead give our undertaking to take full possession of all details, prints, and formulae on the Quinton bomb, in consideration of the advance royalty sum of one million pounds sterling, to be paid immediately upon completion of tests. That’s the gist of it. You know how to put it. Do it right away and I’ll sign it.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Janet Kayne went out, leaving the two men talking of irrelevancies. She returned with the completed document in ten minutes and laid it on the blotter.

      “Good,” Drew acknowledged. “I’ll need you shortly to take some letters.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Drew signed the document and with a smile gave it into Quinton’s outstretched hand. The inventor smiled faintly, folded the sheet up, and put it in his wallet.

      “This has done me more good than you realize, Mr. Drew,” he said seriously. “Though I never doubted but what you’d see the worth of the invention once you’d tried it.”

      “We definitely do,” Drew assented, getting to his feet. “You just leave everything to me and I’ll give you a ring the moment matters are complete. Say, in about three days? How’s that?”

      “I’ll be waiting for it.” Quinton rose and took up his hat and briefcase. “And thanks again.”

      “As to that—” Drew opened the door for him. “I should be thanking you for your genius. Men as brilliant as you, Mr. Quinton are all too rare— Oh, the car will be waiting outside. Brant will take you wherever you wish to go.”

      Quinton nodded, shook hands, and went off down the cor­ridor. Drew stood looking after him, a grim smile on his heavy mouth; then he turned back into his office, perched himself on the edge of the desk facing the window, and dialed on the private wire.

      Silently Janet Kayne entered through the interconnecting door­way, regarded her employer’s broad back, and hesitated.

      “Hello, J.K.?” Drew’s voice was full of easy cordiality. “It’s all fixed up. Thought I’d better tell you. Come over to my place tonight and we’ll arrange the final details. Yes, right! Goodbye.”

      Janet Kayne waited, contemplating her notebook. Drew put the telephone down for a second or two, dialed another number, then picked the instrument up again.

      “De Brock? Everything’s okay. Come over to my place night and we’ll have a pow-wow. I’ve asked J.K. to come long. What? Sure! Couldn’t have been easier. We’ve got the whole works. Nothing to worry about. Yes, see you tonight.”

      The telephone rattled in its cradle and Drew slid off the desk, smiling. He gave a start as he saw Janet Kayne.

      “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, glaring.

      “You mentioned some letters for me to take down, sir—”

      “Is that any reason why you have to creep in when my back’s turned? Why didn’t you knock?”

      “I did, sir—lightly. Perhaps you didn’t hear.”

      Drew hesitated, compressed his lips, then sat down. He motioned girl to a chair. She began taking the letters as he snapped them out. Half an hour later she departed into her own office again. By ten to twelve she had finished the letters and took them in for Drew’s signature.

      “I’ll sign them later,” he said briefly. “Go to your lunch and come back ten minutes earlier, Suit me better that way. I’ve no appointments for this afternoon, have I?”

      “No, sir. A clean sheet.”

      “Right. That’s all.”

      Janet Kayne nodded and left the office, returned to her own quarters to don hat and coat. As poker-faced as ever, she went to the elevator and so down to the ground floor. She was crossing the wide pseudo-marble entrance ball when a slender, blonde-headed girl came in at the swing doors with anxious movements. She took three strides across the shining floor and then paused, putting a hand to her forehead and swaying noticeably.

      “Here, what’s the matter?” Janet Kayne put an arm about the girl’s shoulder and supported her tightly. From the distance the commissionaire began to appear.

      “I’m—I’m sorry,” the girl apologized, trying to smile. “I just feel a—a little faint.…”

      “This way,” Janet Kayne said, completely in control of the situation, and waving the commissionaire away, she helped the girl across to one of the long oak forms and settled her down.

      Very gradually, as she sat relaxed with head thrown back, color began to return to the girl’s cheeks. She made a little gesture.

      “You’re very kind to bother over me like this—”

      “I hope I’m human,” Janet Kayne responded. “You feeling better now?”

      “Yes. Yes, indeed. Much better. It’s my heart that’s the trouble,