The Man Who Sold the Earth E-Book

John Russell Fearn

• Herausgeber: Wildside Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 47

Beschreibung

The Man Who Sold the Earth

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

THE MAN WHO SOLD THE EARTH, by John Russell Fearn

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

THE MAN WHO SOLD THE EARTH,by John Russell Fearn

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 1940 by John Russell Fearn.

Originally published in Science Fiction, October 1940,

under the pseudonym Thornton Ayre.

Reprinted with the permission of the Cosmos Literary Agency.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

CHAPTER 1

THE POWER OF MONEY

Jacob Mastervil had the world in his grip. Ten short years had seen incredible changes in the rugged, ox-like financier who in 1970 had apparently been quite content with feats of monetary wizardry. Suddenly he had altered his methods. A brief vacation alone at his holiday shack in the Alleghenies, then he had returned full of ruthless notions for world power.

He had no schemes for war or conflict, no ideas of bloodshed. He proposed to use a far mightier weapon—money! And he had succeeded. From 1970 to 1980 he had waged bloodless war, had cornered markets, juggled stocks and shares and international securities, altered and deflated values with bewildering skill—until at last, in mid 1980, it dawned on the world that he was the master of the planet by virtue of financial eminence. Destroy him, and one would destroy the basic rock of civilization! He had reared himself up as the greatest financial wizard of the age, dictator of the earth.

The majority of nations were content to accept his ruling. He had brought prosperity, advanced science considerably, improving conditions of living in many directions. Some said that the improvement was merely natural progress and had nothing to do with Mastervil. Plenty averred that he was in truth a black-hearted scoundrel. Those closest to him said that he was midway between cruelty and generosity—a man coldly disdainful of humanity itself, yet interested in its progress. Certainly he had only one god—power!

There was only one man who ever dared to question his methods—his private secretary, Bruce Calthorp. Thirty-five years old, keen in manner, red-haired and blue-eyed, he had been a member of the Mastervil organization ever since the big fellow had been content to play around with normal finance.

Calthorp did not like Mastervil. Ten years ago he had done so, but since his relentless climb to power, he had grown to hate him. There was a supercilious arrogance about the financier that got on Bruce’s nerves. There was black inhumanity in the stare of Mastervil’s cold gray eyes; there was invincibility in the broad, powerful back he so often showed as he stood at the window staring out over New York, usually dictating a letter at machine-gun speed.

He was dictating in this fashion one morning, staring down over the metropolis, when he suddenly swung around and regarded Calthorp with a baleful stare.

“Calthorp, you don’t like me, do you?” he asked, and his voice was very soft, with the vaguest hint of a sneer.

Bruce slowly looked up from his notebook. His lean face never had been easy of expression. It was invariably taut and inflexible.

“Aren’t you descending to personalities, sir?” he asked briefly. “If you had asked me that question outside business hours, I’d have answered it truthfully. As it is, I’ve no answer to give.”

Mastervil sat down slowly, clenched his powerful hands on the desk.

“So you’ve nothing to say? I wonder if you’ll stay dumb when you hear that Miss Dodd has consented to marry me?”

“I don’t believe it,” Bruce said flatly. “She was almost engaged to me, and now—” He stopped, his jaw squaring. “You’re saying this, Mastervil, to try and get me annoyed.”

Mastervil grinned, a huge unpleasant grin that bared his rows of powerful teeth.

“I’ve asked Miss Dodd to come over and verify it,” he remarked, then snapped on the deskphone and barked, “Send in Miss Dodd.”

“Right away, Mr. Mastervil.”

* * * *

Bruce turned slightly to face the mahogany and chromium door as Muriel Dodd quietly entered. She was tall and dignified, blonde in coloring, with a pair of very large and serious hazel eyes. Slowly she walked across the office, a statuesque figure in her trim costume of black and white.

“So here you are, my dear!” Mastervil got to his feet and cupped her shoulders in his great hands. “Tell Calthorp here that we’re going to be married—soon. He doesn’t want to believe it. . .”

The girl looked away for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Yes, Bruce, it’s true.…” She turned to him, trying to smile; but it was only with her lips. Her big eyes were filled with a haunted light, a silent plea which Bruce could not fail to notice.

For several seconds he sat in perfect silence, then glanced up as Mastervil started to laugh. It was a thick, chesty laugh, full of lusty complacency for the thing he had done. He slapped his hand on the desk.

“Darn me if I ever saw a man so surprised!” he exploded at last. “Dammit, Calthorp, you look as though I’d handed you an atomic bomb, or something.”

“What a pity you didn’t; I might have found a use for it.…” Bruce’s face was as hard as granite as he rose to his feet; he carefully folded his notebook and dropped it on the desk. “From now on, Mastervil,” he said, “I’m no longer in your employ. That gives me certain rights to say exactly what I want. In the first place, Miss Dodd did not consent to marry you of her own free will. You forced her into it, mainly as a lever to make things between us impossible. You want to be rid of me—and you picked the right way to do it!”