Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works.

A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights of milky wire-glass—­this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy of many processes here going forward.  The partners had no intention that any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already flung over a tired world.

“This way, gentlemen,” ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at the left of the main room.  He unlocked this, which was guarded by a combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was fast.

A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners’ nostrils as they glanced about the inner laboratory.  At one side an electric furnace was glowing with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat.  On the other a dynamo was humming.  Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and gleaming metal.  The whole was lighted by a strong white light from above, through the milk-hued glass—­one of Herzog’s own inventions, by the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary.

“Is that it?” demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his morphia-contracted pupils.  He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood at one end of the broad work-bench.

“That is it, sir,” answered Herzog, apologetically, while “Tiger” Waldron’s hard face hardened even more.  “Only an experimental model, you understand, sir, but—­”

“It gets results?” queried Flint sharply.  “It produces oxygen and nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?”

“Yes, sir.  I believe so, sir.  No doubt about it; none whatever.”

“Good!” exclaimed the Billionaire.  “Now show us!”

“With pleasure, sir.  But first, let me explain, a little.”

“Well, what?” demanded Flint.  His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration.  Plain to see, beneath this man’s foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt powerful purposes and keen intelligence.

“Explain what?” repeated the Billionaire.  “As far as details go, I’m not interested.  All I want is results.  Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine and let me see what it can do.”