The Early Asimov. Volume 1 Read online

  “That’s right. I have come to see whether there is any truth in the story and to buy your process if there is.”

  “You can see for yourself, sir,” Sills led the magnate to where the argon-filled container of the few grams of pure ammonium were. “That is the metal. Over here to the right, I’ve got the oxide, an oxide which is more metallic than the metal itself, strangely enough. It is the oxide that is what the papers call ‘substitute gold.’ “

  Bankhead’s face showed not an atom of the sinking feeling within him as he viewed the oxide with dismay. “Take it out in the open,” he said, “and let’s see it.”

  Sills shook his head. “I can’t, Mr. Bankhead. Those are the first samples of ammonium and ammonium-oxide that ever existed. They’re museum pieces. I can easily make more for you, if you wish.”

  “You’ll have to, if you expect me to sink my money in it You satisfy me and I’ll be willing to buy your patent for as much as-oh, say a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand dollars!” exclaimed Sills and Taylor together.

  “A very fair price, gentlemen.”

  “A million would be more like it,” shouted Taylor in an outraged tone. “This discovery is a goldmine.”

  “A million, indeed! You are dreaming, gentlemen. The fact of the matter is that my company has been on the track of ammonium for years now, and we are just at the point of solving the problem. Unfortunately you beat us by a week or so, and so I wish to buy up your patent in order to save my company a great deal of annoyance. You realize, of course, that if you refuse my price, I could just go ahead and manufacture the metal, using my own process.”

  “We’ll sue if you do,” said Taylor.

  “Have you got the money for a long, protracted-and expensive-lawsuit?” Bankhead smiled nastily. “I have, you know. To prove, however, that I am not unreasonable, I will make the price two thousand.”

  “You’ve heard our price,” answered Taylor stonily, “and we have nothing further to say.”

  “All right, gentlemen,” Bankhead walked towards the door, “think it over. You’ll see it my way, I’m sure.”

  He opened the door and revealed the symmetrical form of Peter Q. Hornswoggle bent in rapt concentration at the keyhole. Bankhead sneered audibly and the ex-Congressman jumped to his feet in consternation, bowing rapidly two or three times, for want of anything better to do.

  The financier passed by disdainfully and Hornswoggle entered, slammed the door behind him, and faced the two bewildered friends.

  “That man, my dear sirs, is a malefactor of great wealth, an economic royalist. He is the type of predatory interest that is the ruination of this country. You did quite right in refusing his offer.” He placed his hand on his ample chest and smiled at them benignantly.

  “Who the devil are you?” rasped Taylor, suddenly recovering from his initial surprise.

  “I?” Hornswoggle was taken aback. “Why-er-I am Peter Quintus Hornswoggle. Surely you know me. I was in the House of Representatives last year.”

  “Never heard of you. What do you want?”

  “Why, bless me! I read in the papers of your wonderful discovery and have come to place my services at your feet.”

  “What services?”

  “Well, after all, you two are not men of the world. With your new invention, you are prey for every self-seeking unscrupulous person that comes along-like Bankhead, for instance. Now, a practical man of affairs, such as I, one with experience of the world, would be of inestimable use to you. I could handle your affairs, attend to details, see that-”

  “All for nothing, of course, eh?” Taylor asked, sardonically.

  Hornswoggle coughed convulsively. “Well, naturally, I thought that a small interest in your discovery might fittingly be assigned to me.”

  Sills, who had remained silent during all this, rose to his feet suddenly. “Get out of here! Did you hear me? Get out, before I call the police.”

  “Now, Professor Sills, pray don’t get excited,” Hornswoggle retreated towards the door which Taylor held open for him. He passed out, still protesting, and swore softly to himself when the door slammed in his face.

  Sills sank wearily into the nearest chair. “What are we to do, Gene? He offers only two thousand. A week ago that would have been beyond anything I could have hoped for, but now-”

  “Forget it. The fellow was only bluffing. Listen, I’m going right now to call on Staples. We’ll sell to him for what we can get (it ought to be plenty) and then if there’s any trouble with Bankhead-well, that’s Staples’ worry.” He patted the other on the shoulder. “Our troubles are practically over.”

  Unfortunately, however, Taylor was wrong; their troubles were only beginning.

  Across the street, a furtive figure, with beady eyes peering from upturned coat-collar, surveyed the house carefully. A curious policeman might have identified him as “Slappy” Egan if he had bothered to look, but no one did and “Slappy” remained unmolested.

  “Cripes,” he muttered to himself, “dis is gonna be a cinch. De whole woiks on ‘the bottom floor, back window can be jimmied wid a toot’pick, no alarms, no nuttin’.” He chuckled and walked away.

  Nor was “Slappy” alone with his ideas. Peter Q. Hornswoggle, as he walked away, found strange thoughts wandering through his massive cranium-thoughts which involved a certain amount of unorthodox action.

  And J. Throgmorton Bankhead was likewise active. Belonging to that virile class known as “go-getters” and being not at all scrupulous as to how he “go-got,” and certainly not intending to pay a million dollars for the secret of Ammonium, he found it necessary to call on a certain one of his acquaintances.

  This acquaintance, while a very useful one, was a bit unsavory, and Bankhead found it advisable to be very careful and cautious while visiting him. However, the conversation that ensued ended in a pleasing manner for both of them.

  Walter Sills snapped out of an uneasy sleep with startled suddenness. He listened anxiously for a while and then leaned over and nudged Taylor. He was rewarded by a few incoherent snuffles.

  “Gene, Gene, wake up! Come on, get up!”

  “Eh? What is it? What are you bothering-”

  “Shut up! Listen, do you hear it?”

  “I don’t hear anything. Leave me alone, will you?”

  Sills put his finger on his lips, and the other quieted. There was a distinct shuffling noise down below, in the laboratory.

  Taylor’s eyes widened and sleep left them entirely. “Burglars!” he whispered.

  The two crept out of bed, donned bathrobe and slippers, and tiptoed to the door. Taylor had a revolver and took the lead in descending the stairs.

  They had traversed perhaps half the flight, when there was a sudden, surprised shout from below, followed by a series of loud, threshing noises. This continued for a few moments and then there was a loud crash of glassware.

  “My ammonium!” cried Sills in a stricken voice and rushed head-long down the stairs evading Taylor’s clutching arms.

  The chemist burst into the laboratory, followed closely by his cursing associate, and clicked the lights on. Two struggling figures bunked owlishly in the sudden illumination, and separated.

  Taylor’s gun covered them. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he said.

  One of the two lurched to his feet from amid a tangle of broken beakers and flasks, and, nursing a cut on his wrist, bent his portly body in a still dignified bow. It was Peter Q. Hornswoggle.

  “No doubt,” he said, eyeing the unwavering firearm nervously, “the circumstances seem suspicious, but I can explain very easily. You see, in spite of the very rough treatment I received after having made my reasonable proposal, I still felt a great deal of kindly interest in you two.

  “Therefore, being a man of the world, and knowing the iniquities of mankind, I just decided to keep an eye on your house tonight, for I saw you had neglected to take precautions against house-breakers. Judge my surprise to see this dastardly creature,” he
pointed to the flat-nosed, plug-ugly, who still remained on the floor in a daze, “creeping in at the back window.

  “Immediately, I risked life and limb in following the criminal, attempting desperately to save your great discovery. I really feel I deserve great credit for what I have done. I’m sure you will feel that I am a valuable person to deal with and reconsider your answers to my earlier proposals.”

  Taylor listened to all this with a cynical smile. “You can certainly lie fluently, can’t you P.Q.?”

  He would have continued at greater length and with greater forcefulness had not the other burglar suddenly raised his voice in loud protest “Cripes, boss, dis fat slob here is only tryin’ to get me in bad. I’m just followin’ orders, boss. A fellow hired me to come in here and rifle the safe and I’m just oinin’ a bit o’ honest money. Just plain safe-crackin’, boss, I ain’t out to hurt no one.

  “Den, just as I was gettin’ down to de job-wannin’ up, so to say-in crawls dis little guy wid a chisel and blowtorch and makes for de safe. Well, naturally, I don’t like no competition, so I lays for him and then-”

  But Hornswoggle had drawn himself up in icy hauteur. “It remains to be seen whether the word of a gangster is to be taken before the word of one, who, I may truthfully say, was, in his time, one of the most eminent members of the great-”

  “Quiet, both of you,” shouted Taylor, waving the gun threateningly. “I’m calling the police and you can annoy them with your stories. Say, Walt, is everything all right?”

  “I think so!” Sills returned from his inspection of the laboratory. “They only knocked over empty glassware. Everything else is unharmed.”

  “That’s good,” Taylor began, and then choked in dismay.

  From the hallway, a cool individual, hat drawn well over his eyes, entered. A revolver; expertly handled, changed the situation considerably.

  “O. K.,” he grunted at Taylor, “drop the gat!” The other’s weapon slipped from reluctant fingers and hit the floor with a clank.

  The new menace surveyed the four others with a sardonic glance. “Well! So there were two others trying to beat me to it This seems to be a very popular place.”

  Sills and Taylor stared stupidly, while Hornswoggle’s teeth chattered energetically. The first mobster moved back uneasily, muttering as he did so, “For Pete’s sake, it’s Mike the Slug.”

  “Yeah,” Mike rasped, “Mike the Slug. There’s lots of guys who know me and who know I ain’t afraid to pull the trigger anytime I feel like. Come on, Baldy, hand over the works. You know-the stuff about your fake gold. Come on, before I count five.”

  Sills moved slowly toward the old safe in the corner. Mike stepped back carelessly to give him room, and in so doing, his coat sleeve brushed against a shelf. A small vial of sodium sulphate solution tottered and fell.

  With sudden inspiration. Sills yelled, “My God, watch out! It’s nitroglycerine!”

  The vial hit the floor with a smashing tinkle of broken glass, and involuntarily, Mike yelled and jumped in wild dismay. And as he did so, Taylor crashed into him with a beautiful flying tackle. At the same time. Sills lunged for Taylor’s fallen weapon to cover the other two. For this, however, there was no longer need. At the very beginning of the confusion, both had faded hurriedly into the night from whence they came.

  Taylor and Mike the Slug rolled round and round the laboratory floor, locked in desperate struggle while Sills hopped over and about them, praying for a moment of comparative quiet that he might bring the revolver into sharp and sudden contact with the gangster’s skull.

  But no such moment came. Suddenly Mike lunged, caught Taylor stunningly under the chin, and jerked free. Sills yelled in consternation and pulled the trigger at the fleeing figure. The shot was wild and Mike escaped unharmed. Sills made no attempt to follow.

  A sluicing stream of cold water brought Taylor back to his senses. He shook his head dazedly as he surveyed the surrounding shambles.

  “Whew!” he said, “what a night!”

  Sills groaned, “What are we going to do now. Gene? Our very lives are in danger. I never thought of the possibility of thieves, or I would never have told of the discovery to the newspapers.”

  “Oh, well, the harm’s done; no use weeping over it Now, listen, the first thing we have to do now is to get back to sleep. They won’t bother us again tonight Tomorrow you’ll go to the bank and put the papers outlining the details of the process in the vault (which you should have done long ago). Staples will be here at 3 p.m.; well close the deal, and then, at least, we’ll live happily ever after.”

  The chemist shook his head dolefully. “Ammonium has certainly proved to be very upsetting so far. I almost wish I had never heard of it I’d almost rather be back doing ore analysis.”

  As Walter Sills rattled cross-town towards his bank, he found no reason to change his wish. Even the comforting and homely jiggling of his ancient and battered automobile failed to cheer him. From a life characterized by peaceful monotony, he had entered a period of bedlam, and he was not at all satisfied with the change.

  “Riches, like poverty, has its own peculiar problems,” he remarked sententiously to himself as he braked the car before the two-story, marble edifice that was the bank. He stepped out carefully, stretched his cramped legs, and headed for the revolving door.

  He didn’t get there right away, though. Two husky specimens of the human race stepped up, one at each side, and Sills felt a very hard object pressing with painful intensity against his ribs. He opened his mouth involuntarily, and was rewarded by an icy voice in his ears, “Quiet, Baldy, or you’ll get what you deserve for the damn trick you pulled on me last night.”

  Sills shivered and subsided. He recognized Mike the Slug’s voice very easily.

  “Where’s the details?” asked Mike, “and make it quick.”

  “Inside jacket pocket,” croaked Sills tremulously.

  Mike’s companion passed his hand dexterously into the indicated pocket and flicked out three or four folded sheets of foolscap.

  “Dat it, Mike?”

  A hasty appraisal and a nod, “Yeh, we got it. All right, Baldy, on your way!” A sudden shove and the two gangsters jumped into their car and drove away rapidly, while the chemist sprawled on the sidewalk. Kindly hands raised him up.

  “It’s all right,” he managed to gasp. “I just tripped, that’s all. I’m not hurt.” He found himself alone again, passed into the bank, and dropped into the nearest bench, in near-collapse. There was no doubt about it; the new life was not for him.

  But he should have been prepared for it. Taylor had foreseen a possibility of this sort of thing happening. He, himself, had thought a car had been trailing him. Yet, in his surprise and fright, he had almost ruined everything.

  He shrugged his thin shoulders and, taking off his hat, abstracted a few folded sheets of paper from the sweatband. It was the work of five minutes to deposit them in a vault, and see the immensely strong steel door swing shut. He felt relieved.

  “I wonder what they’ll do,” he muttered to himself on the way home, “when they try to follow the instructions on the paper they did get.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “If they do, there’s going to be one heck of an explosion.”

  Sills arrived home to find three policemen pacing leisurely up and down the sidewalk in front of the house.

  “Police guard,” explained Taylor shortly, “so that we have no more trouble like last night.”

  The chemist related the events at the bank and Taylor nodded grimly. “Well, it’s checkmate for them now. Staples will be here in two hours, and until then the police will take care of things. Afterwards,” he shrugged, “it will be Staples’ affair.”

  “Listen, Gene,” the chemist put in suddenly, “I’m worried about the ammonium. I haven’t tested its plating abilities and those are the most important things, you know. What if Staples comes, and we find that all we have is pigeon milk.”

  “Hmm,” Taylor stroked his c
hin, “you’re right there. But I’ll tell you what we can do. Before Staples comes, let’s plate something-a spoon, suppose-for our own satisfaction.”

  “It’s really very annoying,” Sills complained fretfully. “If it weren’t for these troublesome hooligans, we wouldn’t have to proceed in this slipshod and unscientific manner.”

  “Well, let’s eat dinner first”

  After the mid-day meal, they began. The apparatus was set up in feverish haste. In a cubic vat, a foot each way, a saturated solution of Ammonaline was poured. An old, battered spoon was the cathode and a mass of ammonium amalgam (separated from the rest of the solution by a perforated glass partition) was the anode. Three batteries in series provided the current.

  Sills explained animatedly, “It works on the same principle as ordinary copper plating. The ammonium ion, once the electric current is run through, is attracted to the cathode, which-is in the spoon. Ordinarily it would break up, being unstable, but this is not the case when it is dissolved in Ammonaline. This Ammonaline is itself very slightly ionized and oxygen is given off at the anode.

  “This much I know from theory. Let us see what happens in practice.”

  He closed the key while Taylor watched with breathless interest. For a moment, no effect was visible. Taylor looked disappointed.

  Then Sills grasped his sleeve. “See!” he hissed. “Watch the anode!”

  Sure enough, bubbles of gas were slowly forming upon the spongy ammonium amalgam. They shifted their attention to the spoon.

  Gradually, they noticed a change. The metallic appearance became dulled, the silver color slowly losing its whiteness. A layer of distinct, if dull, yellow was being built up. For fifteen minutes, the current ran and then Sills broke the circuit with a contented sigh.

  “It plates perfectly,” he said.

  “Good! Take it out! Let’s see it!”

  “What?” Sills was aghast. ‘Take it out! Why, that’s pure ammonium. If I were to expose it to ordinary air, the water vapor would dissolve it to NH4OH in no time. We can’t do that.”

  He dragged a rather bulky piece of apparatus to the table. “This,” he said, “is a compressed-air container. I run it through calcium chloride dryers and then bubble the perfectly dry oxygen (safely diluted with four times its own volume of nitrogen) directly into the solvent.”