But Stonington Hunt had, as he had remarked, still a trump card to play. And when the next day it came to his ears that the Boy Scouts had been present at the destruction of the Vesper he was more determined than ever to use it. Going to a small safe in his room, he drew from it certain papers, armed with which, he started for Paul Perkins’s place. He found Mrs. Perkins sweeping the front steps and greeted her with a low bow and a flourish of his hat. Mrs. Perkins feared and disliked Stonington Hunt, and would have avoided him if she could, but before she could say anything the man had pushed through the gate and was beside her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Perkins,” he said, with great effusiveness; “I have called to give Paul one last chance to sell me the rights in that machine of his.”
“He won’t do it, I’m sure, sir. There is no use your bothering,” said Mrs. Perkins. “He—oh, here he comes now,” as Paul came round the corner of the house; “Paul, here’s Mr. Hunt.”
“Oh,” said Paul, with no very noticeable cordiality in his tones.
“Yes, I’ve come to see if you are prepared to sell the machine to me now,” said Hunt, with an odd ring in his voice.
“I cannot, as I told you before,” said Paul, firmly. “I have my reasons, and——”
“I have mine,” snapped Hunt, a savage light appearing in his eyes. He whipped a hand into his breast pocket and produced a handful of papers.
“Mrs. Perkins,” he demanded, “are you prepared to pay me the interest on this mortgage? It amounts to $1,500.”
“Why—why,” stammered Mrs. Perkins, “you have no mortgage on this house. It’s Landis, the real estate man. He——”
“I bought the mortgage from him, madam,” was the rejoinder, “and I am now here to claim my property unless the interest is paid up at once. Of course, I am willing to take the sole rights to that machine in lieu of the interest. I think I’m giving you a good chance; are you willing to take it?”
“I suppose I must,” hesitated Mrs. Perkins; “oh, dear, this is dreadful. Paul, my boy, will you——”
But Paul had vanished mysteriously some minutes before.
“I don’t know what to do, sir,” she stammered, almost weeping, “I cannot pay the mortgage now. Will you not wait?”
“You don’t need to,” came a quiet voice from behind them. It was Paul. With him were the three Boy Scouts.