Tom Swift and the Electronic Hydrolung Part 19

"We just nailed these two Brungarian frogmen," Bud explained. "A sub put them ash.o.r.e--probably as spies or saboteurs. They won't talk to us, but maybe you can pump them at headquarters."

The startled sergeant turned a cold eye on the two prisoners. "Got anything to say for yourselves?" When neither answered, he unholstered his revolver and covered them. "Better take off those wires and put bracelets on them, Mike," he told his fellow officer.

The frogmen were handcuffed with cool efficiency and bundled into the jeep. Meanwhile, the sergeant turned back to Bud and Mel.

"You fellows come along too," he ordered.

"But we haven't got time," Bud protested. "Our own sub's waiting right offsh.o.r.e and we want to tail the sub that brought those guys here!

We're from the Swift rocket base."

"Any identification?" the sergeant asked.

"How _could_ we have in this getup?" Mel retorted.

"That's what I thought. So get moving," the sergeant barked.

Reluctantly, Bud and Mel hopped onto the running board and clung to the bouncing jeep as it sped to the nearby town of Sandbank. At headquarters they were questioned by the local police chief.

"If you'll call Swift Enterprises at Shopton, sir, Mr. Swift--or Harlan Ames of the plant security department--will vouch for us," Bud said.

The chief picked up the telephone and soon had Mr. Swift on the line.

After speaking to him briefly, he pa.s.sed the phone to Bud so the scientist could identify his voice.

"That's Bud Barclay, all right. He's one of our most trusted employees,"

Mr. Swift told the chief after hearing Bud's story.

The officer promised to release Mel and Bud at once. Before doing so, however, he took them into the adjoining office where the two frogmen were being questioned.

"Any luck?" the chief asked the sergeant.

Sergeant Gryce shook his head in disgust. "Not much. They did admit they came in a sub, but they claim it didn't wait to pick them up."

The police chief shot a few questions of his own at the men, but they answered either in curt monosyllables or not at all.

"Look, sir," Bud put in, "if they're telling the truth about their sub not waiting, our jetmarine may have chased it. That means Mel and I are stranded here. Could you have your men wait for us on the beach till we find out?"

"Gladly," the chief replied. "You two have done a fine day's work."

After the prisoners had been locked up to be handed over to the FBI, the two Beach Patrol officers drove Bud and Mel back to the area where they had landed. Just as the jeep turned down the dirt road leading to the sh.o.r.e, Bud's keen eyes spotted a lurking figure in the distance.

"Stop, please!" Bud said, tapping the driver on the shoulder.

As the jeep halted, Bud pointed toward the beach. A man was crouching behind a sand dune, with a large fish basket beside him. The sergeant, puzzled, took out a pair of binoculars to study the situation.

Fortunately, the jeep was still screened by trees, and the crouching man evidently did not realize he had been seen.

"What's in the basket?" Bud asked. "Could it be clothes?"

"Sure looks like it," the sergeant said, pa.s.sing over the binoculars.

After a brief look, Bud explained the hunch that had occurred to him.

"I'll bet that guy's waiting with clothes for the frogmen. He probably got here late and doesn't realize they've been nabbed!"

"Well, he'll soon find out," the police driver said grimly. He was about to start up the jeep when Bud stopped him again.

"Wait! You have no proof that's what he's here for," Bud pointed out.

The pilot suggested that the police keep out of sight while he and Mel approached the man in their swimming gear. "If that stranger takes the bait, we'll really have the goods on him!" Bud concluded.

"Smart idea, son," the sergeant said with a dry chuckle. "Go to it!"

Bud and Mel circled widely through the trees, took a quick dip in the water, then approached along the beach as if they had just landed and were searching for someone.

To their delight, the man rose from behind the sand dune and hailed them. Bud and Mel hurried over to him.

"You have clothes for us?" Bud asked. "We just came ash.o.r.e from the sub!"

"Yeah, right here," the man said in English with no trace of an accent.

"Thought I'd missed you."

"Thanks, pal--that's all we want to know!"

The man gaped in comic dismay as Bud pounced on him and pinned him to the ground. Moments later, the two police officers rushed up and handcuffed him.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Hey! What's the big idea?" the man stammered. "I ain't done nothing.

Just got a phone call this morning, offering me fifty bucks to bring two sets of clothes down to the beach at five o'clock for a couple of divers."

"Tell that to the FBI!" snapped the sergeant.

When the officers had departed with their new prisoner, Bud and Mel, both grinning, dived into the surf and headed out to sea.

In a few minutes they were sure they were at the right spot to meet the jetmarine. But it was gone!

CHAPTER XIV

A PROPAGANDA BLITZ

As the _Sea Hound_ returned to Fearing Island from its search for Bud's jetmarine, Tom was beside himself with worry. Had his experiment cost the lives of his best friend and the other crewmen aboard?

"I'll never forgive myself if anything's happened to them!" Tom muttered bleakly.

Hank Sterling squeezed the young inventor's arm. "You know Bud's high spirits, skipper," he said. "He may have taken off on some crazy lark."