The inspector turned to Sandy. “And if you ever decide on a career as a policewoman, Miss Swift, I hope you’ll apply to Scotland Yard first.”
Sandy dimpled. “Thank you. I might do that.”
Bud had had the wax figure crated again, and both this and the boys’
luggage already had been sent to the airport. Tom, Bud, and the girls taxied there directly from the hospital.
“Sandy and I wish you weren’t leaving,” Phyl told the boys wistfully as they were about to board the Sea Hound.
“You’re going on to Paris?” Tom asked.
THE UNDERSEA MESA 79
“Yes, Dad’s friend, Professor Legron, and his wife have invited us to visit them,” Sandy said.
“Oh, he’s that physics prof at the Sorbonne. This Centurion job may keep us pretty busy, but maybe Bud and I can hop to Paris and join you for a day or two.”
“I sure hope so!” Bud added, blushing as he caught Sandy’s eye.
The Sea Hound was the biggest and sleekest of Tom’s diving seacopters. Its powerful enclosed rotor, spun by atomic turbines, could lift the ship like a helicopter, or submerge it to any depth when the blade pitch was reversed. In sea or air, the craft was jet-propelled.
A rotund, balding figure greeted Tom joyfully as the boys climbed aboard through the entrance hatch. “Boss, you’re a sight fer sore eyes!”
“Chow, you old spud peeler!”
The Texan looked like a worried mother bear as he added, “You gave us an awful scare, gettin’ kidnapped like that, Tom!”
“What scares us is that hot number he’s wearing.” Arv Hanson winked and pointed to Chow’s gaudy red cowboy shirt. “We’re afraid he’s going to set fire to the galley.”