Tom Swift Jr - And His Giant Robot Part 9

They raced over the route Tom had taken, until they reached a shallow stream.

There the dogs stopped and howled.

"Oh, oh!" cried Sandy. "They've lost the scent at the water."

"We'll lead them over to the other side," said Bud. "I think Tom leaped from stone to stone. Too bad they're wet. The scent's gone."

As the dogs splashed through the water, Sandy and Bud jumped across on the stones. Reaching the far side, Bud's bloodhound gave a yank that almost pulled him over.

"They've found the scent again!" exclaimed Sandy.

The animals dashed through the woods, across a field, and down the road.

Suddenly they began zigzagging off and on the road.

STEEL SINEWS 91.

"The dogs are going crazy!" Bud cried.

At that moment Sandy's bloodhound pulled the leash from her hand and raced ahead. A few seconds later he stopped at a ditch in a field and began to bay.

Bud and Sandy ran up. "It's Tom!" cried Bud. "He's in the ditch!"

"Oh!" Sandy took one look at her brother's still form, sprawled face down, and gulped. Was he-?

Bud felt his friend's pulse. "He's still alive, Sandy!" He checked for broken bones. Finding none, he lifted Tom gently and carried him to a gra.s.sy rise.

"Oh, look at those cuts and that swelling on his head!" said Sandy, horrified.

She dipped her handkerchief in a nearby stream and held it against Tom's forehead. In a few minutes the young inventor stirred and blinked.

"Oh-h-h! The crow! It's-it's after me. Can't-"

"Wake up, Tom! It's Bud. I'm no crow."

Tom shook his head to clear his vision. Then he opened his eyes wide.

"What- Sandy, Bud, where did you come from?" he mumbled. "And where am I?"

"The bloodhounds found you here," Sandy explained. "When you didn't show up at the plant, we became worried and started a search. What happened, Tom?"

Her brother related the attack by the crow.

"What!" his listeners cried unbelievingly, and 92 .

Sandy added, "You're very lucky, Tom. If that crow hadn't leveled off after its dive, you might not be alive now and talking to us."

"I guess you're right." Tom grinned weakly.

"I'd like to bet," said Bud, "that whoever sent it probably thought the bird had killed you."

"No doubt," Tom groaned, clutching his head.

"We must get you home at once, Tom," said Sandy. "We can talk later."

While Tom was at home recuperating that day, George Billing and Bud, incensed at this attempt on their friend's life, set out to scour the countryside.

They combed every farmhouse and barn, looking in wells, tanks, and silos for a possible base of operations and the person behind the attack.

No clues were found. They returned, angered by their failure, but resolved to track down the scoundrel sooner or later.

Tom, after hearing the results of the search, commented, "The crow's movements must have been controlled from a plane or a truck, although I didn't notice any."

"You're probably right, Tom," Bud agreed.

The next morning Tom insisted he felt well enough to return to work. When Mrs. Swift protested, he said: "I can't afford to hold up work on the giant robot just because of a few bird scratches. Dad is depending on me."

"One thing you must promise me," she said.

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"What's that, Mother?"

"Not to make the trip out West until you're completely well."

"All right, I promise."

Eager to make every minute count, Tom arranged for an immediate test inspection of the second headless giant robot. The final a.s.sembly of its metal body was taking place and Tom watched as the huge jointed skeleton was set up. Motors were being fastened in place to rigid tubular braces.

To offset the heat generated by the mechanisms inside the robot body, Tom had devised a circulatory cooling system which was now being installed.

Arvid Hanson, standing near Tom, asked, "How does the cooler work?"

Tom explained that it was a highly paramagnetic fluid which was alternately magnetized and demagnetized at a rate controlled by a thermostat.

"It keeps the robot's inside temperature at 96.4 degrees," Tom added.

"I see," Hanson said. "But what about protection from outside heat-the kind your robot will have to withstand in the atomic energy plant?"

"Oh, I'm using asbestalon," Tom replied. This was a material composed of asbestos fibers in a plastic matrix.

Hanson was shaking his head. "When I make a model of this robot for your office," he said, wincing, "it'll be some job to get that chain mail you're using over the moving joints down to scale."

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Late that afternoon Tom ran tests on both giant robots and was highly pleased with the results. All the motors were working perfectly. Now only the television-camera eyes in the heads remained to be completed.

"We'll be ready in plenty of time for the first test," he thought, gratified, and walked to his office.

The evening shift was arriving and he greeted Marco who, he knew, would wait patiently to clean the office until he had gone.

Scooping up some unopened letters, Tom slipped them into his pocket and prepared to leave. A final visual check showed everything in place. Files holding secret data were locked. Pa.s.sing his desk, the young inventor patted the model of his Sky Queen and left the office.

"Good night," he said to the watchman, who was standing in the hall.

"Have a pleasant evening," Marco replied.

Tom headed for the building exit. He was the last one out. Reaching the outer plant gate, the young inventor suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to bring a sketch of the robot's face which he planned to work on that evening at home. Turning back, Tom let himself into the locked office building and started down the hall.

Suddenly he saw something that made him freeze in his tracks. Marco was tiptoeing out of the Swifts' private office, his left arm wrapped tightly around the silver model of Tom's Sky Queen!

CHAPTER 12.

THE SECRET RECORDER.

"MARCO!" Tom shouted. "Stop!"

It was a strict rule that nothing was to be removed from the Swifts' private office and Tom was at a loss to know why it had been disobeyed.

"Where are you taking that model?" Tom demanded.

The watchman gave a start, nearly dropping the replica of the Flying Lab.

"Why-er-you're back," he stammered.

"What are you doing with the model, I asked," Tom persisted.

"Why-uh-I've always admired it, Tom." The man hesitated. "That's why I have it now."

Tom was blunt. "What do you mean?"

"I was going to give it a thorough cleaning."

"A cleaning!" Tom was genuinely puzzled. Was Marco sincere? As far as the young inventor knew,

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the watchman was trustworthy. "You always dust it in the office, don't you?"

"Why, yes. But this time I wanted to get it extra clean. I-I wanted to make the surface clear before varnishing the wings."

"I see," Tom replied. "Don't bother to do it now, Marco. Please put the model back on my desk."

"All right," Marco agreed, and turned and walked slowly back to the office, cradling the silver wings in his arms.

"I do believe I frightened the poor man," Tom thought, as he looked for the drawing which he had come back to get. "Still, it's strange that he would deliberately break a rule." Tom stared at the model. "And it doesn't need varnishing. Now why-"

Tom sat in the office for a long while, thinking. He drummed his fingers on the desk, turning over the events of the day in his mind. He kept coming back to the scene with Marco. The watchman's explanation was far from rea.s.suring, but Tom hated to think that Marco had meant any harm.

On a hunch Tom dropped in at the security office. If there was anything sinister behind Marco's strange behavior, perhaps it might show up in his records.

The files had been reduced to microcards. Tom dialed Marco's individual history key number. The scanner machine quickly located the correct card.

Marco's card held sixty pages of facts on a three-by-five-inch surface. Tom slipped the card into the projector and skimmed through the man's record.

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"Not a thing against him," Tom told himself.

Marco had not held many jobs and all of them had been positions of trust.

Previous to becoming a night watchman for the Swift offices at the Enterprises plant six months ago, he had been a special guard at a private mental hospital in the Midwest named Blackstone. Several references from former employers praised him highly.

Tom snapped off the projector. "I've been too jumpy lately," he muttered, and decided to go home.

After working a short while on the sketch of the robot's head, Tom retired, but hours later he was still awake. Try as he might, he could not rid himself of a deep mistrust that was consuming him. Enterprises harbored a treacherous enemy.

Who was it?

The young inventor knew he could not rest until he had found the answer.

Something about Marco's att.i.tude disturbed him. Unable to sleep, Tom decided to go back to work at the plant. He arose, dressed quietly so as not to waken his family, and drove to Swift Enterprises.

Quietly he let himself into the office building. The hallway was deserted.

Walking quickly he came to his private office and found the door open. He slipped in.

The light was on, but no one was inside. Tom's eyes roved to the desk. The model of the Flying Lab was gone!

Tom was furious. Whom did Marco think he was fooling? What sort of mysterious game was he play- 98 .

ing with the model of the Flying Lab as a p.a.w.n? Before his anger had time to subside, he heard footsteps in the hall. Instinctively Tom hid behind a large overstuffed chair.

Marco entered the office, carrying the model. He carefully set it on the desk in exactly the same position Tom had left it. Then he turned and hurried out of the room.