That evening Rick began work on the radio circuits, as he had promised Barby. The transmitters would be the easiest part, since he could use the same circuits that had gone into the design of the Tractosaur controls, modified only slightly for use on the highest amateur band.

Fortunately, Rick had both an operator's and station licenses as a radio "ham," so Barby's scheme wouldn't mean illegal operation.

The girls wandered into the shop where he and Scotty were at work, but there was nothing exciting about the painstaking work of laying out diagrams, so they soon left.

Scotty paused in his work of a.s.sembling the parts they would need.

"Rick, how about making transceivers instead of simple transmitters?"

"So we can send and receive on the same unit? We can do it, all right.

But why?"

"I was just thinking. Quite a few times we'd have been a lot better off if we could talk back and forth at a distance. There's no reason why these have to be designed just for you and Barby to use in the mind-reading act."

Scotty was right, of course. He usually was. "We'll make a pair of transceivers, and a receiver for Barby. Unless you think we ought to build a transceiver into her outfit, too."

"Would it be much work?"

"Not much. We might as well, I suppose."

They buckled down to the job. Rick found he couldn't work long, however. "I've still got that guitar-string feeling," he admitted.

"I'm all tight inside." He didn't like it, and there was no apparent reason for it. But that didn't help him to get rid of it.

Scotty knew Rick from long experience. "Wish I could help," he said, "but I'm stymied. There's nothing we can get our teeth into. Those two scientists bother me. I can't imagine what would put two perfectly sensible and healthy people into a state like Steve describes."

"Same here." Rick had thought about it a number of times in the past day, but had reached no conclusion. "But if it's from natural causes, how did Marks and Miller--I mean Morrison--escape?"

Scotty grinned wryly. "You're not asking me because you expect an answer."

"No," Rick agreed. He said abruptly, "I've had it. Let's. .h.i.t the hay."

He might have felt better, or worse, had he been able to tune in on a conversation between Tom Dodd and Steve Ames that was going on at that very moment.

"We've had seven men on it ever since this morning," Tom was saying.

"We checked him from here to breakfast, and the record is absolutely negative. Same for the elevator operator. The barber is a wanderer, never stays in one shop for long. He's hunting another job right now.

The machine is his, and it's the only one of its kind. We sent Mike Malone in for a treatment. He says the machine is good. Apparently it's nothing but a hood with three ma.s.sage machines installed on spring mounts, so they fit the head. The barber applies oil, then turns on the machine. It has dials, but they're fakes. It's a ma.s.sage machine, pure and simple, and it pa.s.sed the health inspection board, so we know it's not harmful."

Steve Ames said thoughtfully, "Negative record. Hmm. Well, at least no one has ever caught up with him if he happens to be a wrong one. It doesn't prove he's clean."

"Too true. Any ideas?"

"Just keep an eye on him. He's innocent until we get some evidence that he may be guilty. Same for the elevator operator. But, for now, we'll consider you've drawn a blank and let it go at that."

CHAPTER VI

A Calm Precedes a Storm

A crisis had arisen and Rick and Scotty could only stand by helplessly. After all, what could mere males do in such a situation?

Barby decided that Rick and Scotty were to fly over to Whiteside and get diving equipment for Jan, so she could have her own. It was easy to agree on the type of face mask, snorkel, and fins. But everything bogged down when it came to color.

Rick's own mask, snorkel, and fins were sea green. Scotty had a green mask, blue snorkel, and black fins. Barby had a white mask, red snorkel, and white fins.

"Look," Rick said impatiently. "What earthly difference does it make?

The princ.i.p.al thing is comfort. If the fins feel good and the mask fits comfortably, that's it. Color? What difference does color make to a fish?"

Barby sniffed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Jan looked at him coldly and stated that she wouldn't know what difference color made to a fish, because she was not a fish.

"You swim like one," Scotty said diplomatically, but didn't even get a smile in return.

There was only one thing for the boys to do, and that was to make as graceful a retreat as possible. They did so, and sat waiting under a tree in the orchard while raging debate went on between the girls on the porch.

Rick looked over at the laboratory building. His father and the other scientists were hard at work on the project, he supposed. He felt rather left out, because they were too busy to talk with him, and when he went in to look around he could see only stacks of paper covered with equations that he couldn't begin to understand.

"Wonder when Marks will arrive?" he asked.

Scotty shrugged. "We'll probably find out when he gets here."

Dr. Marks had agreed to join the team at Spindrift as soon as he finished running some of the team calculations through the automatic computer at the Bureau of Standards in Washington. Tom Dodd would arrive with him, Steve had reported. Meanwhile, protection for the Spindrift team was under the direction of another of Steve's men, Joe Blake. Joe and another agent took turns in the laboratory, sleeping and eating there and emerging one at a time for a little exercise.

Nor were Joe and his partner the only protection. In the woods on the mainland, just out of sight of the tidal flat, a group of four Boy Scout leaders were encamped, working on special camping and pioneering qualifications that would enable them to become qualified instructors for their Scout Troops. The Whiteside newspaper had even carried a brief story about the Scout activities. But Jerry Webster, Rick's friend and newspaper reporter, hadn't known when he wrote the story that the Scout leaders carried an astonishing amount of armament for such a peaceful expedition. The JANIG agents, however, had been chosen for the a.s.signment because they really were Scout leaders in their home communities. The story would stand investigation.

Barby and Jan left the porch and walked to where the boys waited.

"We've decided," Barby announced.

The boys applauded politely.

"You see," she went on, "I'm blond, and Jan is brunette."

Rick squinted up at the girls. "By golly," he exclaimed, "that's right!" He put a hand on his heart. "One with hair filled with captured sunlight, the other with hair like the raven's wing, filled with the gleams of moonlight."

Barby threatened him with her foot. "Be serious!"

Rick composed his face in stern lines. "I am."

"Well," Barby continued, "we decided that Jan should wear a white suit and white equipment. It will make her dark hair and her tan look very dramatic. But of course I can't wear white if she does."

This was beyond Rick. Why they couldn't wear the same color was outside of his comprehension. "Of course not," he murmured politely.

"So I'm going with you. We both have to have new bathing suits, a white one for Jan and a dark-blue one for me. And I'm going to give Jan my mask and fins, because they're white. So I'll have to get blue equipment for me. And my snorkel is red, and that just won't do, because..."

Scotty held up his hand. "Say no more. I will swap snorkels with you, because mine is blue."