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قراءة كتاب The Master Mystery
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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Master Mystery, by Arthur B. Reeve and John W. Grey
Title: The Master Mystery
Author: Arthur B. Reeve and John W. Grey
Release Date: July 1, 2005 [eBook #16168]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MASTER MYSTERY***
E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo, Eva Sweeney,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
THE
MASTER MYSTERY
novelized by
ARTHUR B. REEVE
and
JOHN W. GREY
From Scenarios by Arthur B. Reeve
in Collaboration with John W. Grey and C.A. Logue
profusely illustrated with photographic reproductions taken from the houdini super-serial of the same name. a b.a. rolfe production
new york
GROSSET & DUNLAP
publishers
Published May, 1919
PHOTOGRAPHIC REPRODUCTIONS FROM THE
HOUDINI SUPER-SERIAL
the automaton, the iron terror
locke comes upon startling evidence
in the path of the deadly acid
the fight in the cafe after the escape from the acid
the hag aids balcom in his nefarious plans
eva is imprisoned in the chinese den upon de luxe dora's orders
locke in the coil of the garotte
in the clutches of the iron terror
locke is bound in the "death noose"
locke perfects his explosive-gas bullet firing-arm to use against the automaton
The last two photos in the above list appear to be from a scene that does not occur in this text.
THE MASTER MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
Peter Brent sat nervously smoking in the library of his great house, Brent Rock.
He was a man of about forty-five or -six—a typical, shrewd business man. Something, however, was evidently on his mind, for, though he tried to conceal it, he lacked the self-assurance that was habitually his before the world.
A scowl clouded his face as the door of the library was flung open and he heard voices in the hall. A tall, spare, long-haired man forced his way in, crushing his soft black hat in his hands.
"I will see Mr. Brent," insisted the new-comer, as he pushed past the butler. "Mr. Brent!" he cried, advancing with a wild light in his eyes. "I'm tired of excuses. I want justice regarding that water-motor of mine." He paused, then added, shaking his finger threateningly, "Put it on the market—or I will call in the Department of Justice!"
Brent scowled again. For years he had been amassing a fortune by a process that was scarcely within the law.
For, when inventions threaten to render useless already existing patents, necessitating the scrapping of millions of dollars' worth of machinery, vested interests must be protected.
Thus, Brent and his partner, Herbert Balcom, had evolved a simple method of protecting corporations against troublesome inventors and inventions. They had formed their own corporation, International Patents, Incorporated.
Their method was effective—though desperate. It was to suppress the inventor and his labor. They bought the sole rights from the inventor, promising him glittering royalties. The joker was that the invention was suppressed. None were ever manufactured. Hence there were no royalties and the corporations went on undisturbed while Brent and Balcom collected huge retainers for the protection they afforded them.
Thus Brent Rock had come to be hated by scores of inventors defrauded in this unequal conflict with big business.
The inventor looked about at the library, richly paneled in oak and luxuriously furnished. Through a pair of folding-doors he could see the dining-room and a conservatory beyond. 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


