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Updated: May 28, 2025
Willie Partridge was the son of the great inventor, Dwight Partridge, and it was generally understood that the explosive, Partridgite, was to be the result of a continuation of experiments which his father had been working upon at the time of his death.
You know as well as I do that there's a dozen markets which'll bid against each other for stuff like that Partridgite. If you're worrying about Burke giving you a square deal, forget it. I'll fix Burke. He'll treat you nice, all right." Jimmy ground the butt of his cigarette against his plate. "I'm no orator, as Brutus is; but, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man.
Jimmy cast a glance at the safe, behind the steel doors of which he presumed the test-tube of Partridgite which Willie had carried from the luncheon-table lay hid: then transferred his attention to the shelves. A cursory inspection of these revealed nothing which gave promise of whiling away entertainingly the moments which must elapse before the return of Ann.
He regarded the experiments on Partridgite, as it was to be called, with the profoundest scepticism, and considered that the only thing Willie had ever invented or was likely to invent was a series of ingenious schemes for living in fatted idleness on other people's money. "Exactly," said Mrs. Pett, delighted at the suggestion. "The very thing." "Will you write and suggest it?" said Mr.
At this moment, apparently from some upper region, there burst forth an uproar so sudden and overwhelming that it might well have been taken for a premature testing of a large sample of Partridgite; until a moment later it began to resemble more nearly the shrieks of some partially destroyed victim of that death-dealing invention.
Pett and Willie, its inventor, about Partridgite. Willie, on hearing himself addressed, had turned slowly with an air of absent self-importance, the air of a great thinker disturbed in mid-thought. He always looked like that when spoken to, and there were those Mr.
"How are you getting on with the jolly old stuff?" he asked. If Willie had objected to Partridgite being called "the stuff," he was still less in favour of its being termed "the jolly old stuff." He replied coldly. "I have ceased to get along with the jolly old stuff." "Struck a snag?" enquired Lord Wisbeach sympathetically. "On the contrary, my experiments have been entirely successful.
I have enough Partridgite in my laboratory to blow New York to bits!" "Willie!" exclaimed Mrs. Pett. "Why didn't you tell me before? You know I am so interested." "I only completed my work last night." He moved off with an important nod. He was tired of Lord Wisbeach's society. There was something about the young man which he did not like.
Crocker had dropped a chafing-dish. "If I were to drop this little tube like that," said Willie, using the occurrence as a topical illustration, "we shouldn't be here." "Don't drop it," advised Jimmy. "What is it?" "Partridgite!" Mrs. Pett had risen from the table, with blanched face. "Willie, how can you bring that stuff here? What are you thinking of?" Willie smiles a patronising smile.
But a sudden illness, ending fatally, had finished the budding career of Partridgite abruptly, and the world had thought no more of it until an interview in the Sunday Chronicle, that store-house of information about interesting people, announced that Willie was carrying on his father's experiments at the point where he had left off.
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