Rick Brant 1 The Rocket's Shadow

by John Blaine

  Rick stiffened again.

  Scarface spoke in cold, flat tones. “Kogan, I can’t afford to have men working for me who have jumpy nerves. We heard nothing.”

  “Okay,” Kogan growled.

  The boys heard the boards rattle as the paint cans were replaced. Rick applied his eye to the crack in the wall again and saw the men walk toward the gray sedan. The motor roared to life and in a moment the car was speeding across the field toward the highway.

  Dismal put back his head and sneezed.

  Rick and Scotty began to laugh, weak with relief. “Sneeze again,” Rick said. “Bark your head off.

  They’re gone.”

  Dismal lay down and rolled over.

  “You should have played dead a few minutes ago,” Scotty said. “Come on, dog, let’s go.” He picked up the pup and carried him down the ladder.

  After a cautious look around, to be sure no member of the gang had been left behind, the boys dashed outside for a look at the sign.

  SMOKE WHITE CREAM, it proclaimed.

  But of the numbers which they had heard Scarface read off, there was absolutely no trace!

  “Well, I’ll be doggoned.” Rick looked at the sign and then at Scotty.

  “Where are they?” Scotty asked.

  ‘We heard Scarface reading off the numbers, and we heard that Kogan guy painting them on. They have to be here!”

  “But they’re not,” Scotty protested.

  Rick turned back into the barn. “I want a look at that paint,” he said.

  He selected a can with wet paint on its top and pulled it out. It was ordinary white paint, the same as used in the background color on the sign.

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  “Just ordinary white paint, as far as I can see,” he said. He held the can out toward Scotty. The marine bent to look at the mixture, and just at that moment Dismal decided that he was being ignored. With a little whine, he rolled over on his back at Scotty’s knee, and his legs were flung into the air, straight against the side of the can. The can slipped from Rick’s grasp, and white paint cascaded over the dog’s fur.

  “Diz, you dope!” Rick moaned.

  With handkerchiefs and scraps of hay, they cleaned the dog’s fur as best they could; then they picked him up bodily and carried him back to the boat.

  As they roared off toward the island, Rick looked back at the sign and shook his head.

  “Scotty,” he said, “I can’t help feeling that the key to the whole business is right in our hands. And we’re just too dumb to see it.”

  CHAPTER XII

  Dismal Does His Bit

  It had been the busiest and certainly the most adventurous day in Rick’s life. But, tired as he was, sleep came reluctantly.

  After half an hour of tossing restlessly, he looked in on Scotty. That young man was sprawled flat, dead to the world. Rick looked at him enviously and went back to his own room.

  He picked up the spark coil and tinkered with it for a while, making the connections. He attached the small flashlight batteries and pushed the button. The coil buzzed very satisfactorily. The wire was connected to the output of the coil. Now, if he held the wire in his hand and pressed the button, anything he might touch would get a dose of electric current.

  He put the gadget down listlessly. It had seemed like a good idea when he had started working on it.

  Now, in the light of recent happenings on Spindrift, it seemed like a waste of time. He got back in bed and tried to will himself to sleep.

  He blinked sleepily and his eyes closed. His hand fumbled for the bed switch that turned out the lights.

  The room faded and gave way to the shadowy land between full sleep and awakening. He tossed a little, and finally drifted into sleep.

  Then suddenly he was standing up, poised to jump, his eyes wide open. A horrible scream was still ringing in his ears.

  “Barby!” He threw open his door and ran down the hall, Scotty right behind him. Other doors were opening as the household jerked to startled wakefulness.

  They found Barby standing on her bed, one hand across her eyes, the other with a firm grip on the Page 54

  bedpost. At her feet crouched a very unhappy Dismal.

  “Take him away! Please, someone take him away!” she cried.

  Rick lifted her down bodily. “Barby, what is it? Were you dreaming?”

  She lifted a tear-streaked face. “Rick, Dismal’s dead. He’s a ghost, I saw him!”

  Scotty was speechless.

  Rick hushed her frightened cries. “It’s all right, sis. Diz is okay. Look at him. He’s worried about you.”

  The pup was looking up and his tail thumped hopefully. There was anguish in his sad eyes. He knew he had caused all the rumpus, but he didn’t know why.

  Neither did Rick. “Look at him, Barby,” he pleaded. “He’s all right.”

  Scotty picked Dismal up and held him close. At the feel of his cold tongue on her cheek, Barby gave a little jump; then she reached out a frightened hand and stroked his head.

  “Diz,” she said. “You’re all right, Diz?”

  “Sure he is,” Scotty assured her.

  Rick led her to a chair. “Sit down, sis. Now tell us what happened.”

  Barby closed her eyes and shuddered. “Rick, I was so frightened! I got into bed and turned out the light, and when I looked over in the corner, there was Diz. He- he was all bright and spooky-like a ghost. I screamed, I guess.” She gave them an apologetic little smile.

  “I should think you would,” Scotty said.

  The rest of the household was crowding into the room now.

  “You must have been dreaming, dear,” Mrs. Brant said.

  “No,” Barby insisted. “I hadn’t gone to sleep yet.”

  “Of course you had,” Hobart Zircon insisted. “It’s a common thing not to know one has fallen asleep.”

  Rick counted noses swiftly. Weiss and Stringfellow were missing. He asked Zircon where they were.

  “Guarding the lab and the launcher,” the huge man said. “Against what, I don’t know.”

  Rick whispered to his mother, “Get them out, Mom. I want to talk with Barby alone.”

  She shooed the others back to their rooms, assuring them that Barby was all right. Then she turned to Rick. “What is it, dear? Don’t you think Barby was dreaming?”

  “No,” Rick said. “I don’t, Mom.”

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  He sat down beside his sister. “What were you doing, just before you went to bed?”

  Barby hesitated and then said, “I was getting a tan.”

  “A tan?” Scotty looked incredulous.

  “With Rick’s ultraviolet lamp,” she confessed. She indicated the lamp in the corner. “It’s July already, and I haven’t any tan at all and I wanted to catch up with the rest of the girls.”

  “What about Diz, though?” Rick interrupted.

  “He took a sun bath with me.” She giggled a little at the thought.

  Rick was thoughtfully silent for a moment.

  “So that’s it,” he announced. “Diz got into some paint today, and that paint must have been sensitive to ultraviolet light. It glowed, that’s all.” He rose and walked to the ultraviolet lamp and switched it on. Then he turned off the overhead light.

  Dismal walked into the light to sniff. Rick waited a second and then snapped the ultraviolet lamp off.

  Dismal glowed a ghostly blue.

  “Well, that answers the mystery of Dismal then,” Barby said as Rick turned the lights back on.

  “That isn’t the only mystery it solves,” Rick remarked, looking at Scotty as he spoke. “Think you can sleep now, Barby?”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry about the screams.”

  Mrs. Brant kissed her daughter good night, and Rick and Scotty walked from the room with Dismal at their heels.

  “Well, now we know why we couldn’t see the numbers on that sign,” Rick said after he closed the door behind them. “Those numbers would only be visible through special le
nses that could pick up ultraviolet light.”

  “But there’s ultraviolet in the sunlight,” Scotty said. “How come that didn’t make it glow so we could see them?”

  “There’s not a high enough concentration of ultraviolet in sunlight,” Rick explained. “Special lenses would have to be turned on the paint to see it.”

  “That white paint was the thing then, huh?”

  Rick nodded.

  “And the numbers weren’t painted there until after we saw Stringfellow looking at the barn. That’s why we couldn’t see them through his binoculars.”

  “Either that, or those glasses weren’t equipped with special lenses at all.”

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  “Which would make him innocent,” Scotty offered.

  “Not necessarily,” Rick said. “He might have been looking to see if there was a message. Besides, he had the code book with him. And he was looking at that sign on the barn.”

  “He sounds guilty all right.”

  “I’m sure he’s guilty,” Rick said.

  Scotty grinned sourly. “Seems to me I’ve heard that song before,” he said. “About Weiss and Zircon.”

  Rick groaned. “I know it, I know it! We were just as positive before and just as wrong. Let’s admit it.

  We still haven’t found our traitor.”

  Dismal wandered in, sidling up to the boys sheepishly.

  “Here’s the ghost.” Scotty grinned.

  Rick bent down to scratch the pup’s ribs. Diz promptly rolled over, all four legs in the air.

  “Sometimes I think you’re not very bright,” Rick told him, laughing. “But spilling that paint was the smartest bit of detecting any of us have done so far.”

  Dismal groaned his satisfaction, his hind legs flailing the air as Rick scratched his ribs.

  “Maybe we’d better turn over the whole business to Diz,” Scotty said. “He’s come closer to solving it than we have.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Missing Microtron

  Rick awoke from deep, exhausted sleep with Scotty shaking him.

  “Hit the deck,” Scotty teased. “You going to sleep all day?”

  “Go away,” Rick mumbled. Then he turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

  “It’s half-past ten,” Scotty pleaded. “Roll out and come on down to breakfast. I’m starved.”

  Rick sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “All right,” he answered grumpily.

  “I’ll be downstairs, sleep fiend,” Scotty said.

  Rick swung out of bed reluctantly. He felt as though another ten hours of sleep would just suit him. But Scotty was right, he couldn’t sleep all day.

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  He quickly washed and dressed. Hurrying downstairs, he was amazed at the vitality that grew in him at the smell of bacon and eggs.

  Stringfellow and Weiss were seated at the table, already hard at work on their late breakfast. Rick greeted them, though a little coolly. He had the uncomfortable feeling that with each “good morning” he might be addressing a traitor.

  “We’ve been up all night,” Stringfellow explained. “I stayed at the launcher and Julius guarded the laboratory. Tonight Scotty and Zircon will act as guards.”

  “Fine,” Scotty said. “Where is Mr. Zircon now?”

  “At the lab,” Stringfellow answered.

  Rick sat down to breakfast, concentrating on his bacon and eggs. He didn’t feel like engaging in conversation with the two scientists.

  “How can I be cordial to any of them?” he thought. “They’ve all been acting suspiciously. How do I know which one is selling us out?”

  Dismal nuzzled his leg and Rick fed him a small scrap of bacon. The pup put it down on the floor and stared at it for a few moments before eating it.

  “It’s all right. It’s safe. Go on and eat it, dopey.”

  Dismal downed it in one gulp and waited expectantly for more.

  “Rick!” Mrs. Brant frowned from the doorway. “Are you feeding Dismal at the table again?”

  He said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She called to the pup, and he followed her into the kitchen. Rick smiled to himself. His mother was very strict about feeding Diz at the table; but she was the first to put aside small scraps for him.

  At that moment Hobart Zircon barged into the dining room like a huge whirlwind. His face was red with anger and his voice boomed out at everyone there.

  “Which one of you took the microtron tube?”

  There was an instant of stunned silence; then they all were talking at once.

  Julius Weiss demanded shrilly, “Are you accusing us of stealing the microtron, Hobart?”

  Rick jumped to his feet. “Are you sure it’s gone, Professor?”

  “Sure? Of course I’m sure! The socket is empty!”

  It was Stringfellow who restored order. “Listen, everyone. Please, gentlemen. One at a time. You’re certain it is not in the lab, Hobart?”

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  “Didn’t I say so? I looked everywhere!”

  Stringfellow’s calm eyes went from one to another. This is serious. But somehow, I just can’t believe the tube is missing. Rick, it seems to me your father mentioned something about taking it with him. Did he say anything to you?”

  “No, sir,” Rick said definitely. “Why would he take the tube with him to New York?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Stringfellow said. “Your father is in charge. I certainly wouldn’t question his actions.”

  “If that is true,” Zircon bellowed, “then we have no need to worry. But if Hartson does not have the tube-“

  “But he must have,” Weiss interjected. “Surely no one would steal it. Of what use would it be to anyone but us?”

  “What is this tube, anyway?” Scotty asked.

  “A special one that was made right here in the lab,” Rick explained. “It’s the only one of its kind. And it’s the most important part of the rocket control.”

  “Exactly,” Stringfellow said. “It was made for this special purpose. No one would have anything to gain by stealing it.”

  Rick could have said something at this point, but he kept silent.

  “We will search the laboratory,” Stringfellow decided. “If the tube is not found, we must conclude that Hartson has it.”

  As the scientists hurried to the lab, Scotty asked, “You’re sure your father wouldn’t take it?”

  “Why on earth would Dad take it?”

  “For safekeeping. Or maybe to have a duplicate one made-just in case.”

  “Possible, but not probable,” Rick said. “I’m going to call Dad.”

  Using the phone in Mr. Brant’s office, he asked Barby to get the Whiteside operator and then placed a call to the Claymore Hotel in New York.

  Scotty paced the floor, while Rick waited impatiently.

  The phone buzzed. “Mr. Brant is out. He is not expected back until midafternoon. Do you wish me to call again?”

  “Please,” Rick replied. He hung up and turned to Scotty. “Another wait,” he said. “We’re always waiting.”

  By the time an hour had passed, Rick was growing so restless he couldn’t keep still. He glared at Scotty, who was absorbed in a book.

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  “Don’t you ever get nervous?”

  “Sure, but what’s the sense in wearing a groove in the floor?”

  “This is getting me down. I’m going out to the lab.”

  He went upstairs and picked up his spark-coil contrivance, intending to put the finishing touches to the gadget. Keeping his hands busy might keep his mind from turning over the same old questions again and again.

  As he went out of the house, Scotty fell in step. “I’ll go along and watch,” he said. “The book wasn’t very good.”

  Rick grinned. “You’re as nervous as I am. You just keep it under cover better.”

  “Could be.” Scotty admitted, grinning too.

  The big, main room with its workbenches and test equipment was de
serted. Rick placed the spark coil in a vise and made adjustments, while Scotty watched silently. Then he took friction tape and strapped the batteries to the wooden coil box, wiring the button to the top.

  “It’s finished,” he said.

  Scotty inspected it. “Good. Now what are you going to do with it?”

  Rick shrugged. “Nothing.” He took the length of wire in his hand and placed the hand on Scotty’s shoulder. Then, so casually that his friend suspected nothing, he reached over and pushed the button.

  Scotty leaped a foot in the air and let out a yelp. “Hey!”

  “Now I’m sure it works,” Rick said, chuckling.

  “And how!” Scotty rubbed his shoulder. “The shock tied me up in knots for a minute. Don’t do that again, pal!”

  “I won’t,” Rick promised. He pushed the contrivance back under the bench shelf. “Come on, let’s go see if Mom has anything for making sandwiches.”

  Later, armed with tall glasses of milk and sandwiches, they sat on the porch and watched a cargo ship pass by on its way to some northern port.

  “I wonder who Scarface is?” Rick asked, thinking about what they had seen and heard at the barn.

  “Judging by the way he gave orders, he must be the boss.”

  “And I wonder what he meant when he said they had to get back to the plant,” Scotty said thoughtfully.

  The word hit Rick so hard that the glass of milk slipped from his grasp and shattered, unnoticed, on the floor.

  “The plant!” he shouted. “That’s it! That’s why they stole the microtron tube. To use in a laboratory of Page 60

  their own!”

  “Of course!” Scotty exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of that before? They’ve been stealing your father’s ideas and using them in a lab just like this one!”

  The two boys leaped to their feet. t

  “We’ve got to find that plant,” Rick said.

  “But where?”

  “I don’t know. Let me think.” His mind raced over the incidents of the past few days. “There was the black plane. We could go look near the place where Mac tried to force me down!”

  “And how about the gray car? Where were they heading, the day you followed it?”

  “Not toward their lab. They’d be too smart for that,” Rick said.