Barby came to Rick's defense. "He was tired. After all, it's hard work to get wonderful ideas like the one he had last night."

Apparently Barby had told Jan all about it, because the girl asked, "Can I be a member of the Megabuck Mob?" There seemed to be just a touch of wistfulness about the way she added, "You always seem to be having adventures of one sort or another at Spindrift."

Rick answered, "Please don't believe everything Barby tells you. She exaggerates, sort of."

"I do not," Barby answered emphatically. "We do have adventures.

Besides, Jan already knew about some of them, because she read about Spindrift in the papers. And she's already a member of the Mob, because I invited her!"

Rick interpreted Barby's glare correctly. It said that if he wasn't gracious and nice to their new guest, he would have his sister to reckon with, and, as he knew full well, she was no mean adversary.

"Fine," he said. "Welcome to the Mob, Miss Morrison. We'll a.s.sign you the subject of economic history."

"Jan, please," she answered, then smiled shyly. "But couldn't I have another subject? I'm just not the type to know much about economics, I guess."

"That's just the point," Scotty explained.

Barby had a serious look on her pert face. "Of course Rick's idea about stealing a million from quiz shows was just a joke. But, Rick, you gave me an idea--if you'll co-operate."

"It depends on the idea," Rick answered warily.

"Oh, don't be so cautious. I'm not trying to trap you into taking me on any trips." Barby referred to the promise she had once w.a.n.gled out of her brother that she could go on the next expedition, a promise that had gotten the Spindrift young people entangled in a hazardous adventure in the far-off South Seas.

Rick perched on the arm of a sofa. "Okay. Let's have it."

"Well, I was thinking about the Harvest Moon Show at school." She explained, in an aside to Jan, "Every October the high school puts on a big variety show in the city auditorium to raise money for the school athletic fund. Rick said he could make me a radio receiver that I could wear in my hair."

"He can," Scotty interjected. "Remember the control radios we made for the Tractosaur? He could make one for you the same way."

The Tractosaur was a "thinking bulldozer" the Spindrift scientists had designed.

Barby continued, "I know you can make a small transmitter that will fit in your pocket, because that's all the Tractosaur control was, really. Well, if I wore a receiver that no one could see, and if you carried a transmitter that no one could see, we could put on the most wonderful mind-reading act in history!"

Rick's quick imagination elaborated on Barby's words. It was a great idea! He could work among the audience, while Barby sat blindfolded on the stage. He would choose a person in the audience and ask for something from wallet or purse, and whisper: "Please let me have your driver's license. Thank you. Mr. Charles Rogers, is it?... Where is 3218 Newark Drive?... Oh, over by the airfield. Well, Mr. Rogers, let me see if I can transmit all this information telepathically to my sister." Then he would hold up the driver's license and say loudly, "What have I here?" And Barby, who had heard every whispered word, would answer. He would coax the information out of her, and the audience would be baffled.

"Sensational," he complimented her. "We'll do it."

"Brant and Brant," Scotty intoned, "the marvels of the universe! See the living proof of the science of parapsychology! Mystifying, terrifying, a scientific phenomenon without parallel that has baffled the leading minds of the world!" Scotty's quick mind also had caught the implications of Barby's idea.

Jan Morrison was a scientist's daughter, too, and printed electronic circuits were no mystery to her. She said enthusiastically, "You could even do mind reading at a distance."

"How?" Barby asked.

"Well, if there were two transmitters, Scotty could have one, too. He could go to someone outside the auditorium, like the mayor, or some other official, and have him write a sentence on a sheet of paper, which Scotty could read over his shoulder. Then Barby, on the auditorium stage, would ask everyone to look at their watches, and say that the mayor had just written so and so on a sheet of paper, then burned it. Scotty would bring the mayor to the auditorium, and Barby would tell him what she had said, and at what time, and ask him if it was right. Of course it would be."

Rick looked at the girl with new respect. It was a very good gimmick indeed. He said as much.

Barby put her arm around Jan's waist. "We'll be sure to invite you to the show. Won't it be fun?"

"If it's safe for us to let people know where we are by then," Jan said somberly.

They fell silent at the reminder that Jan's presence was far more serious than a casual visit. Finally Rick said, "We'll get to work on the sets this afternoon."

"Make it tomorrow," Barby said quickly. "I sort of promised Jan something...."

Rick and Scotty exchanged glances.

"I said you and Scotty would teach her how to use the aqualungs."

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. That would be no hardship. He and Scotty needed practice, anyway. They had hardly used the lungs since returning from the Virgin Islands.

Mrs. Brant summoned them to breakfast and they walked in to find Steve and the scientists gathered at the big table.

"Got everything settled?" Rick asked.

"Just about," Steve replied. "We have a job for you, though."

Rick's pulse quickened. "What is it?"

"Your father and Weiss will need to pay a quick trip to Washington. I want you to take them in the Sky Wagon."

"When?" Scotty inquired.

"Tomorrow morning. You'll come back tomorrow afternoon."

Over breakfast, Rick tried to get more information from the agent.

"Exactly what are we working on, Steve?"

Ames sipped steaming coffee thoughtfully. "Ever hear of a weapon system?"

Rick had. "It's a weapon so complicated, with so many parts, that it's actually a system instead of just a simple weapon. I think the term is used mostly for missiles."

"You think right. Well, Winston, Weiss, and your father will help Dr.

Morrison do the basic design work on a system to go into a weapon system."

Scotty had been listening, too. "How complicated can you get?" he asked.

Dr. Morrison answered. "When it comes to missile work, you can get fantastically complicated. In fact, some missile systems are so complicated it's a wonder they ever work at all."

The telephone rang. Barby, who served when necessary as the island's switchboard operator, ran to answer. In a moment she returned. "It's for you, Steve. From Washington. I plugged it in on the library extension."

Steve excused himself. A few moments later he returned. "Hartson, I just took the liberty of ordering a scrambler placed on your phone switchboard, in case we need to hold any cla.s.sified conversations between here and my offices. The phone man will install it today, if you have no objection."

"Of course not," Hartson Brant said. "I think it's a sensible precaution, especially with one member of the team remaining in Washington."

"What's a scrambler?" Barby asked.

"A special device that turns phone conversations into jumbled gibberish so no one can understand them. You talk normally, and sound normal to the person listening. But anyone tapping in on the line gets only sounds that mean nothing."

The agent's face turned grim. "Speaking of gibberish reminds me of the reason for the call. The _Washington Post_ carried a story in one of its columns this morning hinting that two scientists working on a supersecret project had been driven insane. It also hinted that the insanity was an effect of the gadget they were working on!"