“It works!” answered Tom. “All I need do now is to put it on the market and——”
“That is just what we do not intend to let you do!” broke in Mr. X. “You will not be allowed to do that.”
“Not allowed?” came from Tom quietly. “Those are big words.”
“And we are big men in more senses than one,” said Mr. X, still softly. “There is no use beating about the bush. We know who you are, it is only fair you should know who we are, Mr. Swift.”
“Then you will unmask, after all?” inquired Tom.
“No, but we will tell you what interests we represent—if you have not already guessed it.”
“I think I can guess,” stated Tom. “You are a big syndicate of moving picture operators.”
“The guess does credit to your intelligence, Tom Swift,” said Mr. X. “We represent many large moving picture and theatrical interests of the United States, and we are frank to say that we see ruin ahead of us if your invention goes on the market uncontrolled, at least in part, by our interests. I admit that your invention may revolutionize our industry. If a man can sit in his own home and listen to a radio program, and, at the same time, see the performers, he certainly won’t put on a starched shirt and a stiff collar and pay from two to seven dollars for a seat in the theater.”
“And he won’t even come to a fifty cent movie!” lamented Mr. B.
“True enough,” agreed Mr. X.