"For all we know," he argued, "they may have devised a way to attract comets or control their courses. If we intruded on one they had captured, it would give them a perfect excuse to interfere with our satellites and space probes."

  There were murmurs of agreement. Another official said, "The Brungarians are clever, the way they've handled this situation. We don't even know if it is an artificial comet they're working on. By not confirming or denying the rumor, they've tied our hands."

  "Why should we let them?" Tom objected. "I'm convinced they have less space know - how than we do. Their silence could mean the whole rumor is phony - a trick to block our American comet research."

  It could also be a trick to maneuver us into trouble, "the State Department representative warned." If we blunder into any Brungarian real estate in outer space, we can be branded as aggressors."

  The Swifts argued keenly against yielding to a possible Brungarian bluff. Some men at the meeting were swayed by the two famous inventors. After further discussion, a final decision was put off and Tom was told to continue work on the project for the time being.

  Then Mungo Drake spoke up. "Now we come to the problem of those mysterious unidentified flying objects-which some of you may still think are nonsense. What do you Swifts think about them?"

  "I'll let my son answer that," Mr. Swift said.

  Tom grinned. "I have good reason for believing in them - I saw a UFO display Monday night."

  "Good." Drake nodded. "Then it will come as no surprise to you that the Defense Department is becoming concerned about these queer craft."

  He turned the meeting over to Air Force General Hagan. The general reported that American air bases had verified a number of UFO sightings. Tactical aircraft had been sent in pursuit of the colored disks, only to see them whiz out of range at tremendous speeds and then disappear.

  "But the most peculiar fact about the UFO's," General Hagan said, "is that they cannot be detected on radar-even when in clear view."

  Mr. Swift was startled. "Perhaps that's why I couldn't pick them up on the megascope!"

  A Defense Department scientist suggested that the craft might have some means of blinding radar. "The only other answer," he added, "is that the UFO's aren't real-just a mass hallucination."

  Tom expressed the opinion that this was unlikely. Before the meeting ended, he promised to ask his space friends about the strange colored disks.

  Months before, a black missile from outer space had landed at Swift Enterprises. It was etched with curious mathematical symbols. Tom and his father had decoded the symbols and later had made radio contact with the senders - creatures living elsewhere in our solar system. The radio signals were modulated to show up on an oscilloscope screen in the visual pattern of the code symbols.

  After lunch the Swifts flew back to Enterprises. They went at once to the space communications laboratory. Here Tom beamed out a message over a powerful transmitter. Minutes passed as they waited for a reply from the friendly space creatures.

  At last a bell rang, indicating that radio signals were being picked up and decoded by the electronic brain which Tom had devised to process the messages automatically. Curious patterns of light appeared and faded on the machine's oscilloscope screen. The translated output was reeled off on tape: we are most interested to learn of strange objects appearing in earth's skies. We do not know if they are spacecraft but will keep watch for them.

  "They're as puzzled as we are," Mr. Swift said.

  "If the UFO's are spacecraft, it's odd they haven't spotted them already," Tom commented.

  Still pondering the mystery, the young inventor went to his laboratory to begin repairing his airborne telesampler. Bud soon joined him. In mid-afternoon, the door of the lab swung open and Chow Winkler wheeled in his cart.

  "Jest a HI afternoon snack, amigos. Somethin' fer your stummicks while you rest your brains."

  Tom smiled. "Chow, you're the greatest."

  As the boys helped themselves from a pot of cocoa on the cart, the stout cook began telling about the wonderful snake-oil hair restorer he had been using. "Friend in Texas makes it," Chow said, proudly displaying his fuzz again.

  Bud took a long gulp of the cocoa, then exploded into loud, sputtering gasps! Tom, too, was making violent strangling noises.

  "R-r-roarin" rockets! "Bud yelled." What did you put into this stuff?"

  Chow stared in surprise. "It's jest cocoa."

  "Tell us another!" Bud stormed, his eyes watering. "This could fry your tonsils!"

  "It's laced with tabasco sauce!" Tom gasped.

  Bud went for water from the workbench faucet. "What a sneaky trick! Just to get back for that icing gag!" He ignored Chow's loud, repeated protests of innocence.

  "Honest Injun, I didn't put nothin' in it!"

  Chow persisted, bending his head to sniff the cocoa. Suddenly Tom noticed the chef's shiny pate. It was as bald as ever!

  "Hey!" Tom exclaimed. "What happened to your new baby hair?"

  Chow felt his ivory-smooth dome and let out a wail. "It's gone! The fuzz is gone!"

  Bud ran to the door. "Look in the telesampler tank!" He yelled back with a wicked grin.

  Chow gaped at the experimental rig which the boys had used to filch his cake frosting. His face went red with rage. "You low-down sidewinder!" The cook roared. "Rustle my fuzz, will you? I'll massa-cree you fer this!" He bounded out the doorway in pursuit of Bud.

  Tom-still half-choking, but now with laughter - was about to go after them when the telephone rang.

  The guard was calling from the main gate. "There's a nice little old lady here to see you, Tom. Says her name is Mrs. Abernathy."

  "What does she want?" The young inventor asked.

  "Won't tell me-just that she has some vitally important information to give you."

  Tom hesitated, fearing the woman might be a crank. But he hated to be impolite. "Okay, Mike, send her up."

  A few minutes later a jeep drew up outside with a small, bespectacled, gray-haired woman seated beside the guard who was driving.

  Tom greeted her as she entered the laboratory. "Please sit down, Mrs. Abernathy. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

  The woman took a chair, then bent forward eagerly. "I know the secret of those UFO's!"

  CHAPTER V

  A WHITE-FACED CAPTIVE

  MRS. Abernathy's startling announcement about the UFO's caught Tom by surprise. Before he could say anything, a buzzer sounded in the lab.

  Tom's eyes swung hastily to a wall panel. A red light was flashing - the private warning from Security that an intruder had been detected in the plant!

  "Excuse me," Tom murmured to his visitor. He got up and switched on the patrol scope.

  A sweeping finger of light painted a small blip on the screen. The young inventor gasped as he noted its position. The intruder was right in Tom's own laboratory building!

  Then a thought struck him. "Mrs. Abernathy, were you given a radar amulet at the gate?"

  "Why-why, yes, of course," she said with a somewhat bewildered look. "Is anything wrong?"

  Tom gave the elderly woman a reassuring smile. "There seems to be a bit of trouble, but nothing for you to worry about," he replied.

  Tom telephoned the security department. "What's the word on that radar alarm?" He asked the operator on duty.

  "The blip just triggered our main scope a couple of minutes ago," the operator reported. "We can't figure how the intruder got in without being detected sooner. Mr. Ames is rushing over to your lab right now with a security squad."

  "Right! Here they are!" Tom said, glancing out the window. Two jeeps had just screeched to a halt.

  Harlan Ames leaped from one car and barked orders to his men. Several of the guards fanned out to cover all exits. Then Ames strode into the building with the others. Tom met him at the doorway of the laboratory.

  The security chief asked, "All clear in your lab, Tom?"

  The young inventor nodded. "I have a visitor but she's wearing an amulet."

  "Good enough." Ames turned to his men. "We'll work upward, floor by floor. Search all rooms-check every possible hiding place! Mac, you watch the corridor. Peters, you cover the fire stairs!"

  Tom himself was eager to join in the search. Mrs. Abernathy had overheard what was said and seemed upset by the sudden turn of events. Tom explained the situation to her and added apologetically, "Would you mind going to my office and waiting for me there?"

  "No, of course not," she said.

  Tom rang for a laboratory attendant and asked him to drive his visitor to the Main Building. As the pair left, Tom thought, "Maybe I'd better check the lab - and the living quarters next door! If the intruder has a way of ducking radar, he may have sneaked in hours ago-before I even got back from Washington!"

  Tom strode toward a storage closet in the laboratory, intending to look inside. As he passed the patrol scope, he stopped short.

  The blip had disappeared from the screen!

  With a gasp, the young inventor dashed back to the corridor and called to Ames. The security chief came on the run. When Tom told him what had happened, he too was baffled.

  "The fellow couldn't have escaped!" Ames declared. "Not with all the exits guarded!"

  Suddenly Tom's eyes widened. He snapped his fingers. "Harlan, I wonder if that blip was caused by my visitor!"

  "You said she had an amulet," Ames objected.

  "Sure, but maybe it's not working. As long as she's sitting in a jeep right next to the driver, his amulet shields both of them from the radar impulses. That's why she wasn't detected until she came into the lab."

  Tom pointed to the patrol scope. "If I'm right, she'll show up again as soon as the driver lets her off at the Main Building."

  The two watched the screen. Soon the point of light reappeared - this time at the position of the Main Building!

  "Your hunch panned out!" Ames declared. "We'd better go and check on her amulet." The security chief called a halt to the search, but left the guards posted at the exits as a precaution. Then he and Tom jeeped to the Main Building.

  Mrs. Abernathy, seated in a comfortable chair outside the Swifts' office, was chatting with their secretary, Miss Trent.

  "Please excuse all this nuisance," Tom apologized to his elderly visitor. "May we see that radar amulet you were given?"

  "Of course." Mrs. Abernathy reached inside her coat sleeve and unsnapped the amulet bracelet.

  The device consisted of a pink plastic pod attached to a beaded chain. Tom's eyes narrowed. "This isn't even genuine, Harlan!" He blurted.

  "You mean she was given a fake?" Ames gasped.

  "Sure - it's just a copy." Tom held the pod up against the light. "See? It doesn't even have any electronic components inside!"

  Ames stared in amazement. "Then someone must have slipped this fake into the supply of amulets at the gatehouse!"

  "Right. And unless it was done in the last day or two, a real amulet must be missing!"

  "How do you know that?" Ames questioned.

  "Because you and Rad had all the amulets counted after what happened Monday night," Tom reminded him. "If a real one weren't missing, the count would have revealed one too many."

  Ames pounded his fist into his palm. "So that explains what's been going on around here! There is an intruder in the plant - and the reason he hasn't been detected on radar is that he's armed with the missing amulet!"

  Tom nodded as he paced the floor. "I'll bet the switch of amulets was made during one of our escorted public tours-like on the Fourth of July. Whoever did it got a genuine amulet at the gate, then turned in a fake when he left."

  "That still wouldn't explain how he slipped back in, later," Ames countered.

  Tom stopped abruptly. A strange look came over his face. "Harlan, I'll bet I know who's behind all this!" He exclaimed, picking up the telephone on Miss Trent's desk. "This call will tell us whether I'm right or wrong."

  Meanwhile, Chow and Bud, as well as many employees in the laboratory building, were unaware of the radar alarm. Puffing hard, Chow chased Bud vainly up and down several floors and finally gave up in disgust.

  Still disgruntled over the loss of his newly grown hair, the roly-poly cook waddled back to his galley. A faint noise from the pantry off the kitchen caught his attention.

  Chow peered inside. He stiffened as his keen eyes saw the toe of a loafer-shod foot protruding from behind a stack of food cartons. Someone was kneeling behind the stack!

  The plump Texan chuckled to himself. "So that's where you're hidin', Buddy boy! Up to more tricks, eh? Wai, we'll see about that!"

  Chow gave a gusty yawn. "Reckon I'll knock off fer the day!" He said aloud. Shucking his apron, he donned his cowboy hat, switched off the lights, and clumped loudly toward the doorway in his high-heeled boots. He slammed the door, but instead of going out, waited in the dark silently as an Indian. Seconds passed.

  Then Chow heard more noises. Flattened to the wall, he could sense a shadowy figure groping its way out of the pantry into the kitchen.

  Chow sprang into action like a panther! He snatched an open canister of flour from the counter and hurled it over the figure's head, aiming by sound and instinct. A stifled, choking yell told him he had scored a bull's-eye!

  With a howl of glee, Chow reached out and flicked the light switch. His victim, coughing and spluttering, was just wrenching the canister off his head.

  A second later Chow's expression froze. The victim's face was too plastered with flour to be recognizable - but he certainly was not Bud!

  "Brand my biscuits, who are you?" The cook demanded.

  Instead of answering, the white-faced figure made a dash for the door! But Chow, for all his bulk, could move like lightning. He thrust out one boot and the intruder tripped and went sprawling on the floor!

  In a twinkling Chow snatched a length of cord from a drawer and hog-tied his captive like a helpless calf waiting to be branded. Then he called Tom on the intercom.

  In a few minutes the young inventor came hurrying into the galley with Ames and Bud. Chow gestured to his prisoner, who was now propped on a stool. "Don't know who he is, boss, but I reckon I've jest roped the owl-hoot what's been causin' all the foofaraw around here!"

  Tom grinned at sight of the captive's white mask-like face. "Okay, Chow. Good work, but you can untie him now. He's an acquaintance of mine."

  CHAPTER VI

  THE HAWK CLUE

  "AN acquaintance o 'yours?" Chow echoed, staring first at Tom and then at the prisoner. "How kin you tell with all that gunk on his face?"

  "Just a hunch," Tom said. "When we wipe it off, I think we'll find a joker named Ranee Gorman under all that flour."

  While Chow untied the cords, Bud got a towel and swabbed off the flour. The husky copilot hooted with laughter as a freckled face, now fiery red with chagrin, became visible.

  As Tom had suspected, the captive was Ranee Gorman, the high school prankster who had needled him at the Shop ton Yacht Club!

  "What's the idea of powdering your face all up?" Bud teased. "Don't you know it's not becoming? Next thing, you'll be using lipstick!"

  Tom explained that he had guessed Ranee was the mysterious intruder after recalling that a high school group had toured the plant on the Fourth of July. This had given Ranee an opportunity to filch a radar amulet, after coming prepared with a fake to turn in at the gate.

  The loudspeaker call at the yacht club, Tom had deduced, was also arranged by Ranee. The youth had then taken the keys from the ignition of Bud's convertible, and had used them to open the car's trunk so that he could hide inside with the lid not completely closed. When Tom's group drove to Swift Enterprises in response to the P. A. Summons, Ranee was neatly transported into the plant without being seen.

  "I tried calling the Germans and then phoned one of their neighbors," Tom concluded. "The neighbor told me that Mr. And Mrs. Gorman had left town on vacation - and that Ranee hadn't been seen at the house since Monday."

  Ranee sheepishly admitted that Tom's deductions were correct. The freckled youth tried to put up a bold front, but he gulped and quailed as Harlan Ames stepped forward and grabbed him by the shirt. The enraged look on the security chief's face showed he was in no mood for trifling.

  "Look, you smart aleck!" Ames snapped in blistering tones. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused around here? We could turn you over to the FBI for violating plant security!"

  "It was j-j-just a joke," Ranee quavered.

  "Oh sure. Great sense of humor," Bud put in sarcastically. "Like conking Tom unconscious Monday night - that was really a swell gag!"

  "What?" Ranee looked genuinely horrified. "I never did anything like that-honest!"

  "No? And I suppose you never left that 'Doom' sign on his desk blotter, either!" Ames pursued.

  Ranee shook his head fearfully. "I don't even know what you're talking about, sir!"

  "But you did hoist the goat up on the dome?" Tom queried.

  Ranee gulped and nodded. "I did it Monday night with one of your flying carpets."

  "And the next morning you telephoned a news tip to the Bulletin and razzed me over the phone about your missing Martian crewmate?"

  Again Ranee nodded. "I made the calls from a pay booth in the employees' lounge."

  Tom went on, grinning, "And you also spiked our cocoa with tabasco sauce today?"

  As the freckled teenager confessed to the prank, Bud flashed Chow a look of apology.

  "Let's get down to the really important stuff," Ames growled. "What about that call after Tom shorted out the power line yesterday? I mean the call threatening to ruin the Swifts - and you laughing like a maniac just before you hung up."

  "Not me, sir!" Ranee declared fervently. "I phoned about the goat - that's all!"

  Under Ames's gimlet-eyed glare, the youth began to tremble. Beads of perspiration oozed from his forehead.

  "Maybe you're telling the truth and maybe you aren't," the security chief rasped. "You're still the most likely suspect for what happened Monday night. I think we'd better turn you over to the police for questioning."

 

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