“It’s a chance we have to take,” Professor Bettenridge said. “The deal would have gone through tonight if it hadn’t been for a couple of young newspaper fools who came nosing around here. They may make us trouble Thursday night too.”
“I ain’t aimin’ to get mixed with the police,” Webb said uneasily. “If this deal don’t go through Thursday night, I’m quitting. We’re in a mighty risky business.”
“But we stand to make at least $200,000,” the professor reminded him. “You’ll get a third cut. If Johnson holds off Thursday night, I’ll drop to $100,000. The thing we’ve got to do is to pull off that test okay and clear out.”
Penny and Salt had heard enough to be certain that the men with whom they were dealing were crooks of the first rank. Slipping noiselessly away, they trudged to the car.
“Now what do we do?” Penny questioned. “Notify the police?”
“We could,” Salt debated, “but so far, it’s only our word against Professor Bettenridge’s. He’d probably convince the police he was only a crack-pot inventor who thought he had a wonderful machine. They might let him go.”
“Any other ideas?”
“A slick trick would be to fix that mine so it won’t explode. That automatically would cause complications and probably delay the deal with Mr. Johnson.”
“Just how do you propose to fix Mr. Johnson’s mine?” Penny inquired. “It would take some doing.”
“The mines are all kept in that shack on the beach?”