“Perfect, pal!” Bud said. “I’ll bet it sniffs out the Centurion in nothing flat.”
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed,” Tom replied. “Hank’s trail was only a couple of hours old, but that liner was sunk over ten days ago. With all the diffusion that’s taken place since, its trail will be colder than a bloodhound’s nose.”
Next morning the Sea Hound streaked eastward at supersonic speed. When they were over the Centurion’s reported position, Tom landed on the water and submerged. He began cruising about beneath the surface.
“What do we look for?” Bud asked.
“There’s a whole slew of traces we might look for,” Tom said. “However, I got an exact chemical analysis of the paint used on the Centurion, both hull and topside, and also of the scrubbing compound used on her deck planking. They should be easy for the tracker to detect.”
Suddenly the young inventor tensed as he watched the readout panel. “Thar she blows, Bud-we’ve picked up her trail!” Hastily Tom turned a number of elements on the trail construe-98 AQUATOMIC TRACKER
tor, then flicked the toggle switch from manual to autopilot.
For several moments the Sea Hound swerved about in seemingly aimless fashion as the tracker processed the information feeding to it from the RSG units on the bow. Gradually the seacopter’s course tightened into a downward spiral.
“Wow! This must be right where the Centurion took her plunge!” Arv Hanson murmured breathlessly. “Kind of a weird feeling, eh, skipper?”
Tom was studying the readout lights and the RSG monitor. Bud noticed his puzzled look.