The Man of Bronze
by A. L. Fierst
Illustrated by Miller
Vaux decided to take a long chance. He leaped lightly to the pedestal and held the glass to the parted lips.
The ways of men are very devious, and their uses of the gifts of nature are a true index of their character. One type of scientist spends his life in an obscure laboratory suffering untold tortures to add just one little bit of knowledge to the world's store. Others penetrate disease-infested lands to study and die studying those afflictions that wipe out their fellow-men. But how about the scientist who under the guise of patriotism and duty will destroy just as ruthlessly as his fellow scientists try to create? Are these two types of scientists different breeds, or are they both doing their duty as they see it? The present story poses this interesting problem in pages filled with excitement and wonder.
No one who knew young Frederick Vaux, scion of a wealthy family, speed boat enthusiast, polo player, glider expert, would ever imagine he was anything but a member of that class of society referred to as "gilded youth." There is a strange notion prevalent, even now, in 1945, that the inheritance of great wealth automatically makes a man mentally inferior to the young people who, like Saturday's children, have to work for a living. That may have been true in some cases a couple of decades ago, but at the present time there is no excuse for such unfounded notions. Grandfathers and fathers who amass millions by their own effort and ability usually have more than money to pass on to their grandsons and sons. Freddie Vaux, who, apparently, never did anything but enjoy himself, was an outstanding example of this new eugenics.
Indeed, his sporting companions would have been amazed at the suggestion that Freddie had ever done anything useful in his entire career. But they would have been astounded if they could have known that on a certain pleasant summer afternoon, not long ago, when he was supposed to be off grappling with the monsters of the deep around Catalina Island, he was in reality standing before the chief of his country's secret service operatives—in a sweltering office thousands of miles from the blue waters of the Pacific.
"Vaux," said the chief, "you're a society man. By all the laws of nature and social custom you should have sat for a portrait bust by Franz Helmer, who's making more money out of your friends in the upper crust than your grandfather ever did out of the exploited laboring man."
Vaux bowed his acknowledgement of this delicate compliment to his esteemed ancestor. "I am a personal friend of Helmer," he answered. "I haven't sat for him as yet, but I hang, around his studio a good deal when I haven't anything better to do. Very interesting genius, in his own way."
"Very," remarked the chief, with a grimace. "You may not know it, but we have been watching his actions ever since he came to this country. I'm not so sure that all this sculpturing of his isn't a mask for something else. He has entirely too many connections among suspected people."
"But Helmer is a great artist," objected Vaux, "Surely you don't think a man can turn out work like his just to fool people!"
"You're young yet," answered Henderson. "You'll learn. But I didn't call you here to argue about art. What I want to know is this: Can you gain access to his studio at any time without arousing any undue suspicion?"
"Oh, yes, easily. Who would suspect anybody with a reputation like mine? Champion playboy of the younger set, and all that?"
"That's fine. Now listen: I suppose you've heard of Manning—Montague Manning?"
"The inventor?"
"Right. Manning is particularly valuable to this country right now. I imagine you must have heard something of his new explosive. A pound of his Mannite compares with a pound of that old T. N. T. as a pound of T. N. T. compares with the paper cap in a toy pistol. Try and imagine what a half-ton bomb of Mannite could do to a city, an army, or a battleship."
"I'll try to," said Vaux, "but my imagination isn't very good. It doesn't run along those lines."
"Well, Manning realizing that his explosive wouldn't be of any use to private individuals—unless they wanted to blow up Pike's Peak, or something—has sold his patents to the government. At the present time the War Department owns all rights to its use, and Manning is engaged in working out plans to make it effective in instruments of offense or defense. Particularly in bombs and projectiles. Later he'll concentrate on depth charges. Of course, I don't mean that there's any likelihood of a war," he added, with what was supposed to be a virtuous expression on his stony countenance, "but—you know, just in case anything like that should happen. . . Well, we'll feel a lot more comfortable if we have the Mannite, and the other fellow worries about it. Do you get the idea?"
"I begin to see the light," said Vaux. "You think that Helmer and his friends are trying to get the formula away from Manning, even if he has sold all his rights. Their own country—Hisalpina—will then be equal to any of the great powers."
"You're a credit to the service," said Henderson. "Now of course, you know what you have to do. We have maintained the utmost secrecy concerning Mannite. No announcement of it ever appeared in the papers. In fact, we made it plain that any talk concerning a new explosive was unfounded, and that there wasn't any such thing. But there's no such thing as a secret. Someone must have made a slip somewhere. Knowing the propensities of a lot of clever people on our list, we have put two and two together and made four—at least, we hope we have made four."
"But I don't see where Helmer fits into all this," said Vaux. "It's natural for him to associate with people from his own country."
"Oh—didn't I tell you?" asked Henderson. "Helmer has been receiving regular visits from Manning!"
Vaux whistled.
"When anyone is especially valuable to the welfare of the country, we have him watched and guarded. The president has a flock of our boys following him around wherever he goes. Ever since we decided that Manning was so useful to us, we've had a couple of good men trail him around. He doesn't know it—we didn't want to make him nervous. We don't mistrust him. We have absolute faith in his patriotism and his loyalty. But we have to take care of
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