Mr. Swift hurried over and gazed at the crow which Tom had just finished cleaning of oil. After an inspection the elder inventor remarked: “You’re right, Tom. This is a brilliant piece of engineering. It’s almost flawless.
Not one cubic centimeter of unused space.”
“The co-ordinator is an electronic gem of a circuit,” Tom added.
His father frowned. “This is the work of a very ingenious scientist. No one else could have planned such a mechanism.”
“Yes, Dad. And I’m sure it couldn’t be Flash Ludens. He may be an electrical wizard, but he’s just
NARROW ESCAPE 51
a flash in the pan compared to the genius behind this crow!”
“Right,” Mr. Swift agreed. “Look at that Tittle gyro which stabilizes the bird in a resting position until it receives directing impulses. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“The man must be mad to hobnob with cutthroats like the Briggin gang,” Tom said.
“I agree, son. And that makes him all the more dangerous. I want you to take every precaution in tracking him down.”
Tom smiled. “I will, Dad,” he said. “But I want that relotrol back before he makes some horrible use of my invention.”
For a few minutes father and son talked over the improved relotrol on which Tom was working. The new one, to be installed in the control panel inside the atomic energy plant, would be one-hundred-percent radiation proof.
“By the way, Dad,” said Tom, “I think I should take a trip out to the plant soon. Do you realize I haven’t seen it yet?”
Mr. Swift’s eyes twinkled. “It’s your own fault,” he said good-naturedly. “If you’d stop gallivanting around the world in your own inventions, you might have time to come out West and see my project!”