Part 25 (2/2)

”I declare!” Chow chuckled. ”One o' these days I'll have to force-feed you if you won't pay no mind to your own nourishment!”

”Sorry, old-timer.” Tom smiled. ”Sometimes I do get a bit wrapped up, I guess.”

Hour after hour, Tom stayed glued to his workbench, sometimes busy with delicate electronic gear, sometimes lost in thought as he pondered a tricky problem in circuit design. It was long after dark when he drove home from the experimental station, yet he was back on the job in his laboratory early the next morning.

By lunchtime Tom had all the apparatus a.s.sembled. He was just trying on the plastic suit, with all its accompanying paraphernalia, when Chow made his usual appearance.

”Great sufferin' snakes!” the cook gasped. ”You ain't goin' divin' in _that_ getup, I hope! You look like a Christmas tree, boss!”

Tom nodded glumly. ”Know something, Chow? That's just what I was thinking myself.”

The young inventor's suit was loaded down with the various electronic units and festooned with wires. Even taking a few steps around the lab convinced Tom that the design was too unwieldy.

”I'd probably either get tangled in seaweed or sink from sheer weight,”

he muttered.

Changing back to his slacks and T s.h.i.+rt, Tom began eating abstractedly as Chow hovered around.

”If fishes could talk, I reckon you'd scare 'em half to death in that rig!” Chow said, trying to cheer Tom.

”Fish do talk,” the young inventor said. ”At least they make noises.

Don't you remember that emergency fish-talk code we used when we were--”

Suddenly Tom paused, his mouth dropping open. ”_Chow!_ You've just solved my problem!” he exclaimed.

”I have?” Chow goggled at the young inventor.

”You sure have!” Tom bounced off his stool and began pacing about. ”Now, take porpoises. They utter all sorts of sounds--grunts, squeals, jawclaps--and one particularly characteristic sound, like the grating of a rusty hinge.”

Chow scratched his chin uncertainly. ”Wal, what about it?”

”Suppose I used that rusty-hinge noise to mask the diver's noise.” Tom turned and stabbed the air with his finger. ”I could _also_ use that same sound output as the search pulse for my quality a.n.a.lyzer sonar!”

In this way, Tom explained, he could eliminate part of his bulky equipment and do an even better job of making the diver ”invisible.”

Bubbling with enthusiasm, Tom decided to buy a live porpoise at once and make an exact recording of its sounds. As soon as he had finished lunch, he put in a number of calls to suppliers of marine specimens. But none could provide a porpoise on short notice.

”Guess I'll have to catch one myself!” Tom told Chow.

He drove out to the airfield and took off in a Whirling Duck for Fearing Island. At the base, both Mel Flagler and Zimby c.o.x were eager to accompany the young inventor when he told them about the trip he had in mind.

Tom chose the _Sea Hound_ as the fastest and best suited craft for his purpose. With Mel's and Zimby's help, he quickly rigged a plastic ”tank”

in the stern cabin. Minutes later, the seacopter zoomed skyward, heading for the Florida Keys.

The flight was a short one at transonic speed. Tom chose a sparkling stretch of open water, a mile or so offsh.o.r.e from a palm-green islet.

Zimby agreed to stay aboard and tend s.h.i.+p while Tom and Mel went over the side in hydrolungs.

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