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

disappear.

A SEDATIVE was given, and the tortured patient slept while the doctor made a complete examination with his portable Super X-Ray fluoroscope.

Yvonne tiptoed out behind the doctor when he left, and stopped him in the hallway.

“Is there any chance for him?” she asked steadily.

“It’s tough, Yvonne.” His voice was brusque. “Al has about six months to live. That gas burned most of the healthy lung tissue that remains to him.”

Yvonne caught her breath, and turned away to hide the tears that flooded her great dark eyes. The doctor pretended not to notice.

"By the way,” he said, “how did he happen to breathe that poison gas? Was it a laboratory accident?”

“Worse,” she replied. “It—it was premeditated murder. Hugh Grimes’ work. He came here often, discussing his theories with Albert. Albert foolishly showed him his new robots. I think he was afraid Albert’s creations might replace his own—also, that they might win the prize.”

“Professional jealousy, eh?”

The voice of Albert Bradshaw broke into their conversation with unexpected suddenness. They whirled, and saw him standing in the doorway behind them, supporting himself against the jamb.

“Albert! You must get back to bed at once,” admonished Yvonne.

“Not until I’ve had a look in the laboratory," replied Bradshaw.

“Take it easy, old man. I’ll carry you.” The doctor mov.ed quickly to his side.

“No, damn it! I’m not done in yet. I’ll walk.”

Bradshaw gritted his teeth, and, supported by the nurse on one side and the doctor on the other, made his unsteady way down the hall to the laboratory. Cautiously Gunning opened the door and sniffed. There was a faint odor of ammonia—nothing more.

“I guess it’s diluted enough so we can go in,” he said. “Must be a window open.”

There was. Two French windows, one with a shattered pane, were wide open. It had been easy for the marauder to reach in from the terrace and unfasten the catch.

Bradshaw pointed a shaking hand toward the center of the room. “Just as I suspected,” he cried. “The robots are gone! And look there at my molds!”

The two elaborately constructed molds which he had used over and over in casting experimental male and female figures were smashed beyond repair.

Bradshaw sagged weakly. “Help me back to bed,” he groaned." His eyes burned feverishly. “That devil has set me back temporarily, but he hasn’t beaten me yet.”

Once they had him back in bed, the doctor said: “This is a case for the police. We’ll prefer charges of attempted murder and robbery against Grimes.”

"We’ll do nothing of the sort,” Bradshaw .told him. “I don’t want either of you to say a word about this —not until I tell you to. I’ll beat Grimes in my own way. All I need is to rest and gather a little strength. Now, Doc, give me a sedative and get the hell out of here.”

AFTER two weeks of careful nursing by Yvonne, supplemented by daily calls from Dr. Gunning, Albert Bradshaw went back to his laboratory.

“Molds!” he told Yvonne. “I must have new ones, immediately. It will mean days lost—weeks—no, wait. I have a better plan.”

“What is that?”

“You and I will do very well for models. All we need is some plaster of Paris and vaseline. The old cases can easily be repaired. I’ll make a mold from your body, and you make one from mine.”

"Splendid!” she answered. “That will be a great time-saver.”

They made the molds that day, and on the following day Bradshaw went feverishly to work. In the weeks that followed, he was often interrupted by prolonged coughing spells, most of which ended in hemorrhages, but he carried resolutely on.

Five months elapsed before he had the bodies ready. He then started work on the heads; and, in the midst of this work, collapsed.

Yvonne immediately called Dr. Gunning, and the physician came in a hurry. He found his patient unconscious, and after making an examination shook his head