Revenge of the Robot by Otis Adelbert Kline Read Free Book Online Page A

For the man they had only an envious, malignant glare. Hugh Grimes, millionaire inventor of the Grimes Radio-Controlled Robots, which were employed by millions both in the United States and abroad, adjusted his pince-nez, stroked his neatly trimmed Van Dyke, and replied abstractedly to a statement made by the beefy, pendant-jowled Dr. Ludwig Meyer of Berlin, who sat at his right. Then, excusing himself, he rose and marched in the wake of the young couple who had just left their table.

There was a deadly glitter in his weak, watery eyes as he contemplated the back of the young man before him. As if to reassure himself, he dipped thumb and forefinger into his vest pocket and caressed a small, globular object that nestled there.

ALBERT BRADSHAW returned to his home weak and exhausted; yet he insisted on going into his laboratory to resume his work on the two figures, one in the semblance of a man, and the other a woman, which had occupied his working hours during the past ten years.

He bent over the male figure before him, and removed the wig and skull-case, revealing an intricate maze of delicate wheels, springs, bulbs and tubes. Then he went to the spotless white sink, and, reaching above it, took down from the shelf a bottle marked “Solution X-4, 337.” Unstopping the bottle, he poured a small quantity of the solution into a test tube. From an airtight container he extracted a thin strip of blue litmus paper.

Suddenly there was a crash and a tinkle of glass from the- window across the room directly behind him, followed by the plop of a small globe which shattered against the enameled back of the sink.

Before he had time to hold his breath, Bradshaw inhaled a whiff of the iridescent greenish gas which mushroomed out from the shattered globe. A searing pain shot through his nasal passages, throat and lungs. He instantly expelled his breath, then held it, and whirled in time to catch sight of a bearded face twisted in a malignant grin. A pair of nearsighted eyes glittered at him through a pince-nez. Then the face disappeared.

Suddenly Bradshaw noted that the litmus in his hand had turned pink. Dropping it, he reached up, seized a bottle marked “Ammonia” and smashed it in the sink. Then, with his seared, disease-weakened lungs nearly bursting with the agony of holding his breath, he dashed out of the laboratory.

In the hallway he collided with Yvonne. He collapsed in her aims a moment later as she sought to steady him.

“Acid gas of some sort,” he groaned. “Tried to neutralize it with ammonia.”

Quickly she brought a cushion from the davenport propped it under his head.

“The doctor should be here any minute on his regular visit,” she said, “but I’ll call him, anyway.”

She hurried to the radiovisiphone, and pressed a button. When the disc was illuminated she twirled a dial in a combination of four letters and six numbers.

The rugged, homely features of a young man appeared in the disc.

“What's the matter, Yvonne?” he asked? "Patient worse?”

“He’s just inhaled poison gas,” she gasped. “Do hurry, Doctor."

“Be right over,” he replied, and the disc once more went dark.

Through the window behind the disc she saw two men loading something into the back of a helicopter limousine. A third, whom she recognized as Hugh Grimes, climbed in behind the controls, and the craft roared upward.

A moment later the whir of the physician’s helicopter coupe was audible outside the window. Then young Dr. Frank Gunning came dashing up the steps and through the door.

Bradshaw was breathing convulsively, his face twisted in agony. There was a bluish tinge around his mouth.

“Cyanosis,” said the young doctor, after a brief examination. “We’ll have to administer oxygen and a stimulant.”

He picked up the patient and carried him to his bedroom. For more than two hours he and the nurse worked over Bradshaw with the portable oxygen set. Then the blue area around the mouth began to