Account Settled. John Russell Fearn
I had better make it clear to you that I am a Swiss.” Quinton laid the briefcase on the desk and Drew noted the remarkably slender hand. “Until recently I carried on business as a watchmaker in my native country, and during this occupation I had the opportunity—the exact details of which I shall not divulge—to come into possession of certain plans. They were crude, undeveloped, at that time. I—er—made a point of developing them thoroughly.”
“So?” Drew was nodding sideways in his big chair, the cigar smoldering between his fingers.
“Despite my perfecting of the plans, I found that in my own country there was little use for them. I had reason to come to England, chiefly for the sake of my daughter, who needs milder air than our home country. I’ve been in London now for about a month, and I came to hear of you as a financier, and interested in matters capable of—of, shall I say, producing a good monetary return?”
Drew puffed at his cigar for a while.
“Certainly this is the Drew Financial Trust,” he assented finally, “and we are definitely interested in worthwhile inventions, finance, international barters, and so on. But it all depends on what you have to offer.”
“I have the Quinton self-sinking atomic bomb,” the Swiss said, without so much as a blink of his mild blue eyes.
“The…what?” Drew tried, with difficulty, to sound politely interested.
“In these days of science, Mr. Drew, any invention ahead of the general run—like electronics, rocket propulsion, atomic power, and so on—should be welcome.” Quinton unzipped his briefcase as he talked. “I don’t have to tell you that, though the world is at peace, there are deadly factions waiting for a convenient moment to start trouble again.”
“No,” Drew admitted heavily. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Therefore we must be one jump ahead of everybody else, as our American friends would phrase it. I have asked the War Office here to interest themselves, but there were such delays, so much difficulty in getting to the fountain head, I decided to see if I could get some action out of you. Here, sir, is the plan—or rather the blueprint.”
Drew took it and flattened its curling ends with the palms of his hands. Wheezing, he spread it out on the desk and gazed at it. Quinton got to his feet and came over to him, began tracing out important details with a long, immaculate finger.
“You may or may not be scientist enough to grasp the idea, sir,” he said presently. “Stated briefly, it is this: an atom, as all scientists agree and as many laymen know, is analogous—at least in the matter of scale—to a kind of miniature solar system, a nucleus like a sun, with a greater or lesser number of electrons moving round it like planets. You understand?”
“Go on, anyway,” Drew suggested.
“In ordinary iron, for instance, the molecules have north and south poles like all other molecules, but they point in every possible direction, indiscriminately. The molecules have magnetism in them, but it isn’t organized. Pointing haphazardly though each is a small magnet; they tend in the mass to cancel each other out. It is when the whole mass is magnetized that all the poles point in one particular direction.…”
Drew shifted uncomfortably and considered the end of his cigar.
“This explanation, sir, is essential,” Quinton said, noting the ill-concealed irritability. “Not only atoms possess poles, but molecules as well—and they are just as indiscriminate. But, if all the poles point in one direction only, it means that they become parallel, blocking so small a portion of the space they normally occupy that they can pass right through ordinary matter. Matter becomes penetrable and, to the bomb, has about the same resistance as very thick oil. If the bomb is placed on the floor, say, with its magnetic apparatus working, it will sink into that floor, drawn by the force of gravity. Wherever it may settle—and it vanishes from sight immediately it sinks below surface—it remains as a deadly hidden danger until the time-fuse fires it. You must see the advantages! The bombs can go anywhere, through anything, and remain hidden!”
Drew sat back in his chair again and considered.
“Have you a working model, Mr. Quinton?”
“Er—yes, but—well, naturally, I don’t want to put all my cards on the table at once.”
“Quite! Wise man!” Drew nodded vigorously. “I’ll tell you frankly, you seem to have an idea here which is years ahead of present scientific progress, as far as military armament is concerned anyway.”
“You can be sure of one thing, Mr. Drew, and that is that I have spoken the truth. I have been a master-watchmaker since the age of twenty, and the making of this intricate bomb with its small magnet controls and scientific devices is one of the finest things I ever did. Of course it took me a long time to work out the model. Now it has been done, the duplicating will be easy. I’m quite certain it will do all that I claim for it.”
“I’m not doubting it—but I don’t pretend to be a scientist. I am the financial head of this organization, not the man with the brains.…” Drew grinned widely and showed his strong white teeth for a moment. “I’m interested—definitely interested—but you’ll have to leave this plan with me for study by my experts before I can go any further. If they are satisfied, that’s good enough for me. We’ll soon come to terms.”
Quinton returned to his chair thoughtfully, and seemed to reflect for a moment or two.
“Your experts can, of course, arrive at only one conclusion,” he said finally. “And that being so, you might as well know my terms now. I shall want a million pounds in advance royalties, and the balance of terms to be arranged.”
Some of the cordiality left Drew’s face, and it became much more like that of a bulldog.
“A million pounds! After all, Mr. Quinton, that’s a colossal sum!”
“It’s a colossal invention, and it’s not a big sum compared to the international value—and danger—of the thing! It might even be worth a million to keep me quiet!” Quinton shrugged. “However, I merely tell you my figure beforehand so that you will know how to plan accordingly. I certainly will not take less. As for the blueprint.…”
He stopped, frowning hard.
“You shall have an undertaking and receipt for it,” Drew said. “I can understand your reluctance, but if you won’t leave it, we can’t do business—and there it is. After all, the Drew Financial Trust is not a firm that is here today and gone tomorrow, you know.”
“True, but— You couldn’t have your scientists examine it here and now, while I wait?”
Drew shook his head. His gray hair was cropped so closely it resembled plush.
“Afraid not. It’s the work of many hours to be sure of every detail. We may even have to make a working model before we can be certain.”
Quinton still meditated, then at last he nodded.
“Very well, then. Let me have your receipt.”
Drew pressed a button on his desk, and Janet Kayne entered silently. Drew looked across at her.
“Oh, Miss Kayne, make out an undertaking for Mr. Quinton—in consideration of him allowing us to have—er—Blueprint Number 7670/K, we undertake—and so on. You know. Right away please.”
“Very good, Mr. Drew.”
The door closed again and Quinton aimed questioning blue eyes.
“How long do you think it will be before you know something definite?”
Drew reflected briefly. “It’s important enough to get on with right away. We ought to know something by this time tomorrow at the latest.”
Rajek Quinton nodded quietly, and for a moment or two Drew studied him.
“Business apart, Mr. Quinton,” he said at length, “how