Chapter 23 Tom Swift and His Talking Pictures by Victor Appleton
TOM ACCEPTS
“Gentlemen,” and Tom Swift put a peculiar emphasis on the word, “I repeat—what is your answer now?”
“Oh, the rascal! He’s got us beat!” lamented the fat man. “Let’s make terms with him.”
“Make terms, nothing!” sneered Mr. X. “Those are nothing but lightning bugs! It’s all a clever bluff!”
“Oh, is it?” asked Tom.
Again he stood in front of a window and, as he had done before, though unseen by the plotters, Tom raised and flashed the pocket electric torch he had brought with him. Once more, in answer to his signal, came more flashes from without. Tom’s friends were on the alert.
“I guess that settles it,” Mr. X was forced to admit. “Turn on the light here, Tom Swift, and we’ll talk this matter over again.”
“No!” exclaimed the young inventor in ringing tones. “I’ll do the talking now—you’ll do the listening. I’m in a position to dictate my terms, and I’ll do it. I owe you something for the manner in which you had me and my manager kidnapped and brought to this place, also for what your tool Greenbaum did.”
“Now listen here!” broke in Mr. B, his whole, fat body quivering with fear as Tom switched on the main light again. “That Greenbaum fellow, he went farther than we told him to. We never told him to try to blow you up, and we immediately discharged him when we learned of it.”
“That is correct,” assented Mr. X. “We do not countenance deeds of violence. Greenbaum, whom we have since discharged, went beyond his instructions—far beyond. But he was half crazy.”
“Half crazy?” inquired Tom. “He always impressed me as being very level-headed—too much so.”
“Still he was not right in his head,” said Mr. B. “He lost a small fortune in a moving picture investment, and when he learned your invention might spell the ruin of that industry, so he could never recoup his losses, he went to desperate lengths.”
“I should say he did,” agreed Tom, with a grim smile, as he remembered his ruined laboratory and the pains he had suffered. “But I will exact payment for what he did.”
“You would be within your rights there,” said Mr. X.
“And for the indignities Mr. Newton and I suffered at the hands of Snogg, Janner and Torpy,” went on the young inventor. “I suppose you will not deny that they acted for you?” he suggested.
“No, they were our agents,” admitted Mr. B. “But we told them to treat you with respect, merely to hold you until we could get in touch with you. It was a mistake that Mr. Newton was kidnapped. We wanted you held. What terms do you offer?”
“I offer no terms at all. I demand unconditional surrender!” exclaimed Tom. “If you don’t agree to that, I propose, to use a war term, to move immediately upon you. In other words, I’ll give the signal for your arrest.”
“Don’t! Don’t!” begged Mr. B shakingly.
“We are here to make terms, Mr. Swift,” said a third masked man.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Mr. X, and there was no more threat or defiance in his voice. “You can name your own terms.”
“In the first place,” stipulated Tom, “I want you all to unmask. I don’t care to do business with men I can’t see. You might as well,” he added, as he saw them hesitate. “If you’re arrested you will be known.”
“Gentlemen, he is right!” said Mr. B. “Unmask!”
He set the example by doffing the black silk that covered the upper part of his face. One after another the five followed and Tom gasped in surprise when he saw who the men were. They were all important figures in the theatrical and moving picture business.
“So that’s the combination I’ve been up against!” exclaimed the young inventor, as he looked from one face to another. “I suppose I should consider it quite an honor to have you against me.”
“In a way, yes,” admitted the one still to be designated as Mr. X. “You are a mighty lucky and clever young man. Now we have met your first stipulation, what is the next?”
“The next,” stated Tom, “is that you must sign a paper which I shall draw up, admitting your share in all that has been done against me and agreeing that all persecutions shall cease.”
“Yes, that is no more than fair under the circumstances,” agreed Mr. X.
“But you won’t make that paper public—with our names on it, will you?” asked Mr. B.
“Not if you let me entirely alone,” promised Tom. “But I want it to protect myself. Hands off and that paper remains in my safe.”
“Draw it up and we’ll sign it,” agreed Mr. X, after a hasty conference in one corner with his colleagues. “But what about the men you have posted out in the woods? Will they come in here and arrest us?”
“Not unless I give the signal,” Tom answered. “It will not be given when you have signed that paper and I am allowed to walk out of here unmolested.”
“Oh, let him go! Let him go!” begged Mr. B. “He’ll have our watches and pocketbooks next! Let him go!”
Tom smiled grimly as he drew up the paper. He had the plotters entirely at his mercy. One after another they affixed their names to the document, and as he folded it and put it in his pocket, Mr. B said:
“Perhaps we can still talk business?”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“Well, we made you an offer of a million dollars for the complete rights to your talking-picture invention that we might destroy it to save our business from ruin. You saw fit to decline that and you got the better of us in what followed. Now, since it seems that the invention is going on the market, the next best thing for us to do is to buy into the exploiting company and have a share in the profits. I suppose there will be profits?” he asked, with a somewhat quizzical smile. He was a big business man, as Tom knew.
“I hope there will be,” Tom answered.
“Well, now that we’ve backed down—because you made us and for no other reason,” went on Mr. B, “will you listen to another offer?”
“What is it?”
“We’ll give you a million for a half share in the invention.”
“Nothing doing!” exclaimed Tom, getting ready to leave.
“A million and a half!” offered Mr. B.
“Your figure is too low,” replied Tom, who began to see daylight ahead for Ned Newton’s financial embarrassment. “Why, you movie men put a million dollars in a single feature picture.”
“Oh, quit being pikers!” put in another magnate. “Say two millions and be done with it! Come, what about two, young man?”
Tom made some rapid calculations. Two million dollars was a tempting offer for half an interest in the invention. He knew it would be on the market a long time before he would take in that much. Also he must have capital to manufacture the machines. But he still had a card to play.
“I can’t accept that offer,” he said, still moving toward the door.
“Oh, let’s get this over with!” exclaimed Mr. X who, evidently, was used to having his own way. “We’ll give you three millions for a half interest, Tom Swift, let you remain in virtual control, and we’ll start manufacturing as soon as you demonstrate that it’s a success. What do you say to that—three millions?”
“And that’s our limit,” put in another of the men, a tall, lean New Englander.
For a moment Tom Swift did not reply. To a casual observer it might have looked as though he was about to refuse that offer. He had made up his mind, but he did not want to seem too hasty. It was well that these men should know he was their master when it came to plotting and dickering.
“Well, how about it?” asked Mr. B anxiously. “Come, Mr. Tom Swift. Three millions aren’t to be sneezed at.”
“And I don’t intend to sneeze!” said Tom suddenly, with a little chuckle. “Gentlemen, I accept your offer. Put it in writing and we’ll call the conference over!”