Tom opened the door. A short, rather squat man stood in the outer vestibule.
His hair, though dark, was streaked with gray and his complexion was ruddy.
“Tom Swift Jr.?”
“Yes,” replied Tom questioningly. “And this is my friend Bud Barclay. Will you come in?”
The man stepped into the hall. “My name’s Shanzer,” he began. “I’m an engineer with the Trutype Safe Company.”
“Offhand, I can’t remember ever hearing of your firm, Mr. Shanzer.”
“We are rather new in the field,” the caller said. “But Trutype knows you. We understand from one of our men who attended a performance here that your company is building some rather impressive robots. We want to commission you to devise one especially for us.”
Tom studied the man carefully. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar. Yet Tom could not remember encountering him before. His name? No, he had never heard of anyone named Shanzer. Had he seen a picture of him, perhaps?
Like a flash a scene came to Tom of Ames, in the Swifts’ office, uncurling a photograph between his
76 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
thumb and forefinger. Pins Zoltan! Could this be the bank robber?
Tom offered Shanzer a chair, all the while studying the man. His height seemed to fit Pin’s description. True, the hair color was different. Pins was supposed to be a blond, but he could have dyed his hair.
Tom had to be certain. Somehow he must let Bud know of his suspicions and then prove them, one way or another. Tom decided to use the baseball code the boys had devised some time ago to warn each other of impending danger.