Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space by Victor Appleton II Page B

back to Shopton right away."
    Tom patted Sandy’s hand reassuringly. "And let those creepies scare us out of our vacation? Not on your life, Sis." He gave some whispered instructions to the others and pulled out his wallet, which he had stuffed in his shoe in the hamper. From the wallet he withdrew a tiny extendable screwdriver, with which he forced open the back of the bugging device, exposing its microcircuitry. "Ready?"
    Tom had quickly divined the lay of the circuitry, almost in a glance. He used the screwdriver to force an unintended cross-connection inside the device. The others were looking in three different directions along the beach, trying to cover the small transmission radius of the mechanism. "Okay!" he hissed, pushing home the connection.
    "Nothing," said Bashalli.
    "Me too," Bud reported.
    Sandy shook her head in disappointment.
    Tom sighed, frustrated. "Well, it might have worked. My connection should have caused the receiver to give off quite a screech in somebody’s ear."
    "Not a wince in sight, pal," Bud said.
    "The listener must be hiding behind something," Bashalli commented. "Or perhaps the signal goes to a tape recorder, not an ear."
    "Still, there’s no reason for panic. One thing is certain—an enemy is within reach and may be still nearby on the beach."
    Bashalli looked incredulous. "That is your idea of not a reason to panic?"
    Tom shook his head. "If we could only lay our hands on him!"
    "Which may not be so easy," commented Bud, looking around. The area was dotted with people. Some were stretched out on the sand, sun-bathing with their eyes protected by dark glasses. Others were chatting or playing cards under beach umbrellas. Tom casually questioned several persons. None had noticed anyone suspicious.
    "It’s hopeless!" Sandy groaned. "How can you possibly identify the person who stuck that thing in the basket?"
    Frowning, Tom studied the maze of footprints in the sand all around their umbrella. "It doesn’t look as though these tracks will do us much good either. Except where the cola spilled, the sand is just too soft." Most of the footprints were little more than vague blurs. But that one print of a bare foot, the one that had first attracted their attention, was fairly sharp. Tom and the others crouched down to examine it. At first glance the print seemed perfectly ordinary. Then Sandy exclaimed, "Look! Isn’t this toe mark shorter than it should be?"
    She pointed to the print of the great toe on the footprint, which was of a man’s left foot.
    "Good for you, Sandy!" Tom said.
    "But I still don’t see how it’s going to help us," Bud muttered.
    Bashalli smiled and said, "Why not? All you have to do is go around like the prince’s messenger in the Cinderella story and ask every man you meet to take off his shoes!"
    The others burst out laughing, and for the time being the search was postponed. None of the young people forgot the incident, however.
    During the next two days, Tom’s mysterious enemies made no further moves and the searchers got no additional clues. Not even one bather with a short toe appeared on the beach. All that was accomplished by their efforts at surreptitious foot scrutiny was to give the Lawsons’ guests a peculiar reputation!
    On the third day the sky was slightly overcast—for Florida—and the Shopton four decided to take a tour of Everglades National Park. The elaborate tour, by air-conditioned swamp boat, lasted all morning and continued, after a break for lunch, for another hour into the afternoon.
    At the conclusion Bashalli mentioned how much she had enjoyed the tour. Sandy gave a wan smile and said, "I think I’ve seen about enough of alligators and weeping willows and floating moss for awhile."
    "Then I have an idea!" announced Bud with enthusiasm. "Let’s rent some swamp-kickers and take our own tour!"
    "Swamp-kickers?" repeated Tom.
    "Didn’t you see the sign? They’re like—" Bud searched for words. "Well, it’s a kind of platform that