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Updated: June 13, 2025
If Sorensen had something new and Thorn was almost totally convinced that he did then he was playing it smart by not trying to patent it. "Now then," Sorensen went on, "let's suppose that my battery is made up of lead and lead dioxide plates in a sulfuric acid solution, except that I've added a couple of trifling things and made a few small changes in the physical structure of the plates.
The technicians checked their recording voltmeters and ammeters and reported that, sure enough, some ten kilowatts of power at a little less than one hundred fifteen volts D.C. was coming from the Black Suitcase. Sorensen and Thorn sat in the tent which had been erected to ward off the sun's rays. They watched the lights shine.
If this was a con game, it was going to have to be a good one to get by Richard Thorn, Ph.D. He walked across the few feet of hard, salt-white ground that separated him from Sorensen standing beside the second jeep with the Black Suitcase in his hand. It was obvious to anyone who watched the way Sorensen handled the thing that it was heavy seventy-five pounds or better. "Need any help?"
"North American Carbide & Metals," said Thorn quietly, "is not a member of any patent pool, Mr. Sorensen." "I know," Sorensen said agreeably. "Battery patents are trickier than automotive machinery patents. That's why I'm doing this my way. I'm not selling the gadget as such. I'm selling results.
With them was the Italian hound, Bombini, and beside them were such strangely assorted men as Anton Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, Frank Fitzgibbon, and Richard Giller also Arthur Deacon the white slaver, John Hackey the San Francisco hoodlum, the Maltese Cockney, and Tony the suicidal Greek.
No fancy gimmick for deriving power from perpetual motion or anything like that. Nope. Just a battery, that's all." Captain Dean Lacey was grinning hugely. Thorn said: "Tell me, colonel what was this fellow's name?" "Oh, I don't recall. Big, blond chap. Had a Swedish name or maybe Norwegian. Sanderson? No. Something like that, though." "Sorensen?" Thorn asked. "That's it! Sorensen!
As Sorensen said, the contract did not call for the delivery of a specific device, it called for a device that would produce specific results. If Sorensen's device didn't produce those results, or if they couldn't be duplicated by Thorn after having had the device explained to him, then the contract wasn't fulfilled, and the ambitious Mr. Sorensen wouldn't get any million dollars.
They signed a contract on the spot, which, among other things, provided for an advance payment of 25 per cent. of the total sum. Mr. Sorensen cabled us what he had done and took the next boat home. The 25 five per cent. payment was, by the way, not touched by us until after the entire contract was completed: we deposited it in a kind of trust fund.
"You know the difference between you and me, Mr. Thorn?" Sorensen asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "You think this test is probably a waste of time. Me, on the other hand, I know it is." "Let's get on with it," Thorn repeated. It took two hours to set up the equipment, in spite of the fact that a lot of the circuits had been prefabricated before the caravan had come out from Salt Lake City.
"It's Sorensen an' Peabody," some one cried, "a-throwin' the whip into the dawgs an' headin' down river!" "Now, what the hell !" Shunk Wilson paused, with dropped jaw, and glared at Lucy. "I reckon you can explain, Mrs. Peabody." She tossed her head and compressed her lips, and Shunk Wilson's wrathful and suspicious gaze passed on and rested on Breck.
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