“Exactly. If you and Mr. Barclay would be kind enough to let yourselves be modeled from life, the present wax figure is yours to keep!”
After some coaxing by the girls, Tom and Bud agreed to come to the museum the next morning so clay casts could be made of their features.
“Splendid!” The owner beamed. “I’ll have this one sent to you as soon as we close today!”
The four young Americans managed to squeeze in a little more sightseeing, including a visit to the Tower of London and a look at the red-coated sentries outside Buckingham Palace. Then they returned to their hotel for dinner.
As they were enjoying a hearty meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, Sandy suddenly exclaimed, “Look, Phyl! Here comes that fellow we met on the plane!”
A tall, thin, rather hatchet-faced young man of about thirty was walking toward their table. His black hair was slicked down over his skull. He was clutching an attache case.
“How nice to see you again, Miss Swift-and Miss Newton!”
The girls smiled politely, and Sandy introduced him to the boys. “Mr. Tristan Carlow … this is my brother, Tom, and Bud Barclay.”
After shaking hands, Carlow pulled up a chair TOM SWIFT’S DOUBLE 57
and sat down, uninvited. “Frankly, Mr. Swift, I’ve been hoping to meet you,”
he said. “I have a proposition that will make your fortune. If you’ll just look at my new undersea invention-”
He opened his attache case and started to pull out some blueprints. Tom tried to hide his disinterest, while Bud plainly looked bored.
Just then a brass-buttoned pageboy came into the dining room. “Paging Mr.
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