"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 116 - Intimidation,Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

STEPPING from the elevator, they saw the glass window of the broadcasting
room, but Bursard was not in sight. Wrightley urged The Shadow along the
corridor, with the statement that they would find Bursard in his private
office. They entered an office marked "Director"; there, a bespectacled young
man halted them before they could reach an inner door marked "Private."
"You must wait here, gentlemen," stated the young man. "I am Mr.
Bursard's
secretary. I cannot allow him to be disturbed."
"I am the mayor of Dorchester," returned Wrightley. "Tell Mr. Bursard
that
I must see him."
"But he is preparing his broadcast," insisted the secretary. "He will be
going on the air in a few minutes -"
"Tell him that we are here!"
Wrightley's pompous order overruled the secretary's objections. After a
moment's hesitation, the young man pounded on the private door. In a second,
the door swung open. Bursard stood indignant on the threshold, clutching a
sheaf of papers. His angry expression faded when he recognized the visitors.
He
invited them in, then latched the door.
Bursard's private office was a magnificent room, furnished entirely in
oak; its walls were paneled with the same rich wood. Bursard motioned his
visitors to comfortable chairs, then sat down behind his desk.
"What is the trouble?" he inquired, noting the purplish tinge of
Wrightley's face. "You seem to have rushed here to reach me before my
broadcast."
"It's about Clewiss," blurted Wrightley. "He received another threat
today; it came during the hearing. He was told to drop Kroot's case."
Bursard's jaw dropped. His composure was gone. It was with difficulty
that
he managed to recover himself. In a hoarse tone, he remarked:
 "So that's why Clewiss fluked it! This is terrible! What can it mean?"
"It means one thing," insisted Wrightley. "You've got to go easy in your
broadcast, until we learn more."
Bursard smiled in relief.
"I have done that already," he declared, passing his papers across the
table. "Read these, Mr. Mayor; and you, Mr. Cranston. You will see that I have
handled matters tactfully, blaming no one. My whole talk is based on the
peculiarities of patent law, covering the difficulties of deciding the true
status of inventions."
Wrightley read the first page; handed it to The Shadow, who did the same
and laid the paper on Bursard's desk. The remaining pages went the rounds. As
The Shadow finished the last page, a gong sounded from the corner. It came
from
an odd-shaped, clocklike instrument that rested on a large recording
phonograph.
"My alarm clock," remarked Bursard. "Set for half past eight. It tells me
when I must be ready."
"We must start for the broadcasting room," said Wrightley, rising from