shrug. "That big barn of ours isn’t used for hazardous testing. As Tom knows, these are just routine procedures we do on a regular schedule to detect wear-and-tear problems before they get serious. I may have given you the impression that the engine was fired-up and blazing, but actually it didn’t even have fuel in it, just a dummy fluid that paints a nice picture on our detectors. It’s not unusual for employees on break to wander in out of the sun to watch."
"Interesting," declared Radnor with a note of skepticism. "And is it usual for these looky-loos to be hanging out nearer to the engine than the guys actually running the test?"
"Look, Radnor, I hope you’re not implying that I haven’t been doing my job!" Vendiablo bristled. "I asked all the questions. Those guys happened to be standing there posing for a joke photo, that’s all."
Tom looked down at the table, but everyone could hear a sharp tone in his voice. "By any chance, was it this man Nelson who suggested taking the photo?"
The Fearing staffers exchanged glances. "By any chance— yes . He held the camera, in fact," said Vendiablo. He added hotly: "So what’s your point? The man’s had a background check. The Feds require it. You know that."
Sensing a retort on the way, Tom responded before Radnor could. "We’re not implying anything, Mace. There may be nothing at all behind all this."
Bud snorted. "Right. That’d be a first!"
With a fixed smile on his face, Phil Radnor half-rose. "I think Mace and I will spend the rest of this sunny morning doing some digging."
As they left the mess hall Bud asked Tom what he planned to do next. "I think I’ll visit some of the guys who came down with our mystery ailment—and that includes Herb Nelson."
The two walked out into the balmy morning air and began to cross the airfield, itself crossed by the long shadows of waiting rockets. Before they had taken ten steps, a voice called out to them. "Excuse me—Mr. Swift?"
Tom and Bud turned. A young base employee was approaching them. "Um—sorry to bother you like this, but I thought I recognized you," he said to Tom, hesitantly.
The young inventor stuck out his hand. "Tom Swift!"
"My name’s Neil Forman," said the man as he shook hands. "I—well, they said you were visiting because of what happened—how those guys all got sick after the accident during the engine test. And I― "
The two from Shopton exchanged glances. Tom asked, "Do you know something about that, Neil?"
The worker glanced about furtively, as if afraid to be seen—or heard. "I suppose I should have told Mr. Vendiablo about it."
"Why didn’t you?"
"They say he can be a little... testy. I like my job here, Mr. Swift. I don’t want to risk it by having one of the big shots get on my case for spreading rumors or something. But they say you’re a pretty nice guy."
" That rumor happens to be true," Bud declared firmly. "And he really loves putting puzzle pieces together. So spit ’er on out, pal!"
Forman nodded. "I usually work the night shift, and I take a break around one AM. I go outside and smoke. Guess I’m not proud of not bein’ able to quit, ’cause I kind of stick to the shadows.
"Starting a couple weeks back or so, I started noticing a guy walking from the living quarters along the edge of the airfield, next to the wooded area. I figured he was just some other late worker out for a stroll. But he did it every night, same time, same thing. I never saw him coming back, either."
"Where did he go, exactly?" inquired Tom.
"He always left the field at the same point and headed off between the trees. I assumed there was a path there."
Forman pointed, and Bud muttered: "Then he was heading toward the shore, looks like."
"Yeah, he was. You see, I—er― "
Tom smiled. "Followed him?"
"I was curious."
"Go on, Neil."
"One night I took my break closer to where he walked, but kept myself out of sight. When he walked past I waited a few moments, then started following
"Interesting," declared Radnor with a note of skepticism. "And is it usual for these looky-loos to be hanging out nearer to the engine than the guys actually running the test?"
"Look, Radnor, I hope you’re not implying that I haven’t been doing my job!" Vendiablo bristled. "I asked all the questions. Those guys happened to be standing there posing for a joke photo, that’s all."
Tom looked down at the table, but everyone could hear a sharp tone in his voice. "By any chance, was it this man Nelson who suggested taking the photo?"
The Fearing staffers exchanged glances. "By any chance— yes . He held the camera, in fact," said Vendiablo. He added hotly: "So what’s your point? The man’s had a background check. The Feds require it. You know that."
Sensing a retort on the way, Tom responded before Radnor could. "We’re not implying anything, Mace. There may be nothing at all behind all this."
Bud snorted. "Right. That’d be a first!"
With a fixed smile on his face, Phil Radnor half-rose. "I think Mace and I will spend the rest of this sunny morning doing some digging."
As they left the mess hall Bud asked Tom what he planned to do next. "I think I’ll visit some of the guys who came down with our mystery ailment—and that includes Herb Nelson."
The two walked out into the balmy morning air and began to cross the airfield, itself crossed by the long shadows of waiting rockets. Before they had taken ten steps, a voice called out to them. "Excuse me—Mr. Swift?"
Tom and Bud turned. A young base employee was approaching them. "Um—sorry to bother you like this, but I thought I recognized you," he said to Tom, hesitantly.
The young inventor stuck out his hand. "Tom Swift!"
"My name’s Neil Forman," said the man as he shook hands. "I—well, they said you were visiting because of what happened—how those guys all got sick after the accident during the engine test. And I― "
The two from Shopton exchanged glances. Tom asked, "Do you know something about that, Neil?"
The worker glanced about furtively, as if afraid to be seen—or heard. "I suppose I should have told Mr. Vendiablo about it."
"Why didn’t you?"
"They say he can be a little... testy. I like my job here, Mr. Swift. I don’t want to risk it by having one of the big shots get on my case for spreading rumors or something. But they say you’re a pretty nice guy."
" That rumor happens to be true," Bud declared firmly. "And he really loves putting puzzle pieces together. So spit ’er on out, pal!"
Forman nodded. "I usually work the night shift, and I take a break around one AM. I go outside and smoke. Guess I’m not proud of not bein’ able to quit, ’cause I kind of stick to the shadows.
"Starting a couple weeks back or so, I started noticing a guy walking from the living quarters along the edge of the airfield, next to the wooded area. I figured he was just some other late worker out for a stroll. But he did it every night, same time, same thing. I never saw him coming back, either."
"Where did he go, exactly?" inquired Tom.
"He always left the field at the same point and headed off between the trees. I assumed there was a path there."
Forman pointed, and Bud muttered: "Then he was heading toward the shore, looks like."
"Yeah, he was. You see, I—er― "
Tom smiled. "Followed him?"
"I was curious."
"Go on, Neil."
"One night I took my break closer to where he walked, but kept myself out of sight. When he walked past I waited a few moments, then started following
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