“Yes. I . . . Was the gate locked?”
“Yes, but he might have bulldozed the forester into letting him in.” They had been moving down toward the ship as they talked. Cargraves made a quick examination of the ship, but found nothing amiss. It seemed likely that the intruder had not found what he was looking for, probably because the drive was not yet installed.
He still worried about the matter of the locked gate. “I’m going to run down to the gate,” he announced, heading for the car. “Tell the boys.” “I’ll drive you.” None of the boys approved the way Cargraves drove a car; it was one respect in which they did not look up to him. Privately, they considered his style stuffy.
“Okay. Snap it up.”
Morrie ran down toward where the other two were wasting ammunition on innocent tin cans and bellowed at them. Seconds later he had the engine revved up and was ready to gun the rig when Cargraves slid into the seat beside him.
The padlock was intact, but one link of the bull chain had been hack-sawed away and replaced with wire. “So that’s that,” Cargraves dismissed the matter.
“Hadn’t we better put on a new chain?” inquired Morrie.
“Why bother? He’s still got the hacksaw.”
The trip back was gloomy. Cargraves was worried. Morrie felt responsible for not having unmasked and made prisoner the impostor. In retrospect he could think of a dozen dramatic ways to have done it. Cargraves told him to keep his lip buttoned until after supper. When the dishes were out of the way, he brought the others up to date on the ominous happenings. Art and Ross took it with grave faces but without apparent excitement. “So that’s how it is,” Ross said. “Seems like somebody doesn’t like us.”
“Why that dirty so-and-so,” Art said softly. “I thought he was too smooth.
I’d like to have him on the other end of one of those Garands.”
“Maybe you will,” Cargraves answered him soberly. “I might as well admit, fellows, that I’ve been worried. . . .”
“Shucks, we knew that when you ordered that watch-dog hook-up.”
“I suppose so. I can’t figure out why anybody would do this. Simple curiosity I can understand, once the fact leaked out- as it seems to have done -that we are after space flight. But whoever it is has more than curiosity eating him, considering the lengths he is willing to go to.”
“I’ll bet he wants to steal your space drive, Uncle Don.”
“That would make a swell adventure yarn, Art; but it doesn’t make sense. If he knows I’ve got a rocket drive, all he has to do is apply for a license to the commission and use it.”
“Maybe he thinks you are holding out some secrets on the commission?”
“If he thinks so, he can post a bond for the costs and demand an examination. He wouldn’t have to fake letters, or bust open gates. If he proves it on me, I go to jail.”
“The point is,” Morrie asserted, “not why he’s snooping but what we can do to stop him. I think we ought to stand watches at night.” He glanced at the two rifles.
“No,” Cargraves disagreed. “Art’s squawk circuit is better than a guard. You can’t see enough at night. I found that out.”
“Say,” put in Art. “Look — I could take the pilot radar and mount it on the roof of the cabin. With it set to scan for a landing it’ll pick up anything in the neighborhood.”
“No,” Cargraves answered, “I wouldn’t want to risk jimmying up the equipment. It’s more important to have it just right for the moon landing than it is to use it for prowlers.”
“Oh, I won’t hurt it!”
“I still think,” insisted Morrie, “that getting a shot at him is the best medicine.”
“So much the better,” Art pointed out. “I’ll spot him in the scope. You wear phones with about a thousand feet of cord and I’ll coach you right up to him, in the dark. Then you got `im.”
“Sounds good,” Morrie agreed.
“Take it easy,” Cargraves cautioned. “You fellows may think this is the Wild West but you will find that a judge will take a very sour attitude if you plug a man engaged in simple trespassing. You boys’ve read too many comic books.”