Tom Swift and His Deep Sea Hydrodome by Victor Appleton II Page B

startled looks. The implication was clear—T-9-E!
    "We forced a tank open in a sealed test chamber, and our supposition proved correct. Do you understand? And gentlemen, there were nineteen of those chests!"
    Tom gasped. "Nineteen! And no clue as to who planted them?"
    "None," replied the Navy man. "We assume it was that big submersible, of course. The motive is unknown. Our government has received no warnings, no threats. It seems they’re being stockpiled."
    "The implied threat is pretty obvious!" Tom exclaimed in anger.
    "No argument there. The foreign intelligence and anti-terrorism people are going crazy. We’ve put Swift Enterprises in the loop on this, as it seems the matter is connected to your helium project," Admiral Hopkins concluded. "I’ll be keeping in close touch with your security man—Ames, isn’t it?"
    The Swifts thanked him for the promise. When the call was ended father and son sat and talked in grave tones, quietly. The threat to human life was horrific. "And we have no means of taking the battle to the enemy," declared the elder Swift. Tom could only agree.
    Tom spent the balance of the eventful weekend at home, keeping in close contact with Bashalli to make certain that she had suffered no lingering effects from the vapor. Though the compound was basically harmless, Doc Simpson, telephoning the Swift home Sunday evening, suggested that she might be allergic to it. The exposure had caused her windpipe to momentarily constrict, it appeared, bringing about her fainting spell.
    "How’s Niffman coming along?" Tom asked.
    "According to Dr. Cole at the hospital, he’s much calmer now—more rational and talkative. Tom, it was wise of you to deal with the problem medically instead of having him arrested."
    "It’s obvious he’d had some sort of breakdown," Tom said. "He’d been a loyal employee before—Enterprises owed him something for that."
    Doc Simpson agreed. "In fact, looking at the blood workup, he may have had even less responsibility for his behavior than we thought."
    "What did you find?"
    "Hold on to your hat, Tom. The lab detected traces of lysergic acid—LSD! I’m pretty sure Rube Niffman was drugged!"

CHAPTER 12
SOUP ON THE CEILING
    TOM WAS dismayed—and outraged! "Drugged! By someone else, you mean?"
    Doc Simpson hesitated, weighing Tom’s question carefully. "We don’t really know. I’m sure he’ll tell us eventually, but I don’t recommend putting too much pressure on the man right now, not in his present condition. Though drugs might have caused the problem to develop in the first place, it’s possible that they exacerbated an underlying psychosis. He could slip into a schizophrenic state if we try to confront him."
    "Yes, I see," replied the young inventor. "You’re the expert, Doc. But confidentially—I’m afraid I can’t give you the details—there’s a lot riding on Niffman’s story. If there’s a plotter working at Enterprises, we need to smoke him out. It’s vital that we uncover him!" Tom added silently: Or her!
    "Let’s give it another couple of days," Doc said. "Take that as my ‘doctor’s advice’."
    "Right. Thanks a lot."
    "I’ll send you my bill in the morning!" joked the young medico.
    At Enterprises the next morning, Tom plunged into the task of modifying the basic repelatron so that it would automatically adjust its field setting to changes in the predominant mix of trace substances in water. "Trying to make it a bit more open-minded," Tom explained to Bud with a grin.
    Bud asked if the redesigned system would be able to repel elements or chemical compounds other than water, such as iron or calcium. "Just think, Tom—if you could get your gimmick to repel dirt and rock, you could put one underneath a plane and she wouldn’t be able to crash if she wanted to! Or maybe you could use repelatron force rays to throw enemy missiles back on whatever country fired ’em off!"
    Tom sat up tall on his workstool, eyes bright with thought. "You’re