“I hope this works,” Bud said, not completely sure that the boys would not be blown up, despite Tom’s precaution. The metal breastplate of the bird had already been removed, exposing an intricate network of wires and transistors.
Now Tom reached for a screw driver and fine pincers. In a moment he had the back of the crow off.
“No bomb here,” he muttered.
“What about that bulge in the belly area?’ Bud asked nervously.
Tom quickly unbolted a bottom plate. “No,” he said. “This is the radio-sensory receiver. The crow sees with its legs. The talons are meshed radar screens-it sort of hears its way along with them.”
“That leaves just the head of the bird,” said Bud. “Tom, don’t you think we’d better quit?”
But Tom, working with delicate precision, had begun to unwind the threading on the sharp-beaked
Tongues of flame spit from the opening
50 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
head of the crow. Within was a seepage-diffusion chemical time fuse and a charge of dynamite! But it had been deactivated by the oil.
“Whew!” Bud exclaimed. “You didn’t give that old crow a bath a minute too soon! The chemical had eaten along the tape almost to the dynamite!”
Tom admitted being shaken by the whole experience and suggested that they fly back to the plant at once.
Immediately upon their arrival Tom ordered repairs begun on the Flying Lab’s hangar, then took the crow to his own metallurgical workshop. Picking up the intercom, he located his father and asked him to come at once to inspect the mechanical bird.
“It’s a scientific wonder,” he said. “And powerful.”