After a moment’s thought, Tom added, “Here’s another suggestion, though.
Eat at the Mandarin Gardens as often as you can. You might recall something that will give you a clue to the suspect’s identity.”
“Good idea,” Felix promised. “I’ll do it.”
Tom went by jeep to his private laboratory and put through a call to Fearing Island. He ordered
74 COSMIC ASTRONAUTS
the base to have a cargo rocket ready for launching at one o’clock. Then he telephoned Bud.
“Feel up to a return flight to the outpost? I’ll probably stay there for a couple of days to work on my cosmic reactor.”
“Count me in, rocket man,” Bud replied. “If those mysterious enemies of yours try any more monkey business, I sure wouldn’t want you floating around in space all by your lonesome I”
Tom chuckled. “Thanks, chum. If we get stuck again, maybe we should start a space taxi service! Anyhow, I’ll meet you on the airfield at eleven-thirty. We’ll blast off from Fearing at one.”
“Righto.”
Tom made a final telephone call to the Enterprises cafeteria kitchen, asking Chow Winkler to bring a sandwich lunch to his laboratory at eleven o’clock. Tom made it a rule not to eat within at least two hours of blast-off time. Then he set to work on a series of sketches and engineering calculations for his space kite’s cosmic reactor.
“Heads up, pardner! Here comes the chuck wagon!” boomed a gravelly Western voice at five minutes to eleven. Chow Winkler, with a white chef’s hat perched on his balding head, came in, trundling his cart.
Tom looked up in surprise. “Good night! Is it eleven already?”