“Thank that anonymous phone caller,” Ames answered.
“I’ll be happy to if we ever find out who it was,” Tom said. “Let’s survey the damage.”
As the two boys and Ames made their way into the lab through the throng of employees, Chow stayed behind to calm the crowd.
“It’s okay, buckaroos,” the Texan drawled, like a cowhand soothing a herd of steers.
Meanwhile, inside the lab, Tom was heartsick as he beheld the destruction caused by the blast. The whole shop was a shambles. Windows had MOON JAUNT 91
been blown out, filing cases lay toppled on the floor, shelves and workbench were littered with electronic debris and broken glass.
“Good grief!” Bud muttered.
For a moment the only sound was the dripping of liquids from the broken bottles of chemicals. Then Tom walked over to examine the remains of his megascope space prober equipment. The console looked as if it had been smashed open by a sledge hammer. The electronic circuitry inside had been ruined beyond repair.
“It’s a tough break, skipper,” Ames murmured.
Bud slapped the young inventor on the back. “You’ve had tougher ones, Tom, and they haven’t stopped you yet. Neither will this one.”
Tom swallowed hard and summoned up a grin. “No, it won’t,” he declared firmly, “but it looks as though our unknown playmate has managed to slow me down a bit. At least my Private Ear radios weren’t around to get pulverized.”
The latter inventions had already been sent to Fearing Island, the Swifts’
rocket base, for space testing.
“It’s strange that Harlan couldn’t raise us over the phone or the intercom,”
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