All this had been paid for by
himself and such as he.
"Sit down, sir," nodded Brent, suavely.
The man continued to stand, growing more and more excited. Had he been a
keener observer he would have seen that under Brent's suavity there was
a scarcely hidden nervousness.
Finally Brent leaned over and spoke in a whisper, looking about as
though the very walls might have ears.
"My dear fellow," he confided, "for some time I have been considering
your water-motor. I will return the model to you--release the patent to
the world."
He drew back to watch the effect on the aged inventor. Could it be that
Brent was lying? Or was it fear? Could it be that at last his seared
conscience was troubling him?
At that exact moment, up-stairs, in a private laboratory in the house,
sat a young man at a desk--a handsome, strong-faced, clean-cut chap. All
about him were the scientific instruments which he used to test
inventions offered to Brent.
A look of intent eagerness passed over his face. For Quentin Locke was
not testing any of Brent's patents just now. Over his head he had the
receivers of a dictagraph.
It was a strange act for one so recently employed as manager of Brent's
private laboratory.
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