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Updated: May 9, 2025
Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible." "Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can do!" The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke. "Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever.
"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had looked. "Search me!" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "I can't git nothin' out o' her.
It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And that means, my mastery of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!" He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was Tiger, indeed.
A competent, professional nurse who has the added advantage on her side of being comely and it is powerfully hard for her to avoid being comely in her spotless blue and starchy white stands more chances of getting the right sort of man for a husband than any billionaire's daughter alive.
And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the Billionaire's office. Flint closed the door. "Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the excitement?" "See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug.
At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory seemed well in hand. "These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, for days.
A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, wary and dangerous Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest daughter.
He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, chose a fresh one. Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at the calm and placid one.
"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or prince's!
The girl's harp a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice stood at one side; on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, especially made for Catherine by Durand Frères, in Paris, and imported on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit."
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