“Now you can put me in prison,” he said brokenly. “I deserve it. I would give my life to undo what I have done to you—to you who saved my wife’s life!”
Mrs. Bultoza’s imploring and tear-wet face was too much for Joe. He thought quickly.
“I am not going to put you in prison,” he said. “But you must do one thing for me. I want you to send a telephone message to Harrish and Tompkinson telling them that you must see them at four o’clock this afternoon. Tell them that it’s important and they must come. They won’t dare not to.”
The agreement was made and Joe and Reggie hurried down to the cab and were borne to the Westmere Arms, where Joe put in a busy half hour with the telephone.
A few minute before four o’clock Harrish’s limousine stopped at the house where Bultoza lived. The owner, accompanied by Tompkinson, hurried up to the top floor.
They knocked at Bultoza’s door and he admitted them. The old scientist’s wife had been sent away for the time being.
“What’s up?” asked Harrish, as he and his companion entered the room.
“I need some more money,” said Bultoza. “My wife is coming to live with me and my expenses will be greater.”
“You’ve had all you’re going to get,” snarled Tompkinson. “I’m tired of being panhandled. You’ve fallen down on your job anyway.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Harrish. “You haven’t kept your contract by a long shot. We paid you to ruin Matson’s pitching arm with that infernal ray of yours. Did you do it? Here he is going along better than ever. What have we got for our money?”