either," Chow advised as he gathered up the tray. "A brainy young hombre
like you needs plenty o' rest an' vitamins to keep from burnin' himself
out."

"I'll remember." Tom grinned affectionately as the leathery-faced old
Texan took his leave. The Swifts had first met Chow when they were on an
atomic research expedition in the Southwest. Chow had become so attached
to Tom that he had returned to Shopton with the Swifts as a permanent
employee.

Soon after Chow left the office, the telephone rang. Tom took the call
and had just finished talking with Harlan Ames when Bud came strolling
in.

"Any more news on that nut who jumped you this morning?" the young flier
asked. "Ames told me about it."

"Not yet, but there may be soon," Tom said. "Harlan just phoned and said
he'd had a call from Washington, asking us to stand by the videophone at
one-thirty sharp."

Ames arrived in person shortly before the scheduled time. Moments later,
a red signal flashed on the control board of the Swifts' private TV
network. Tom flicked on the videophone and two men appeared on the
screen.

One was Blake, the Swifts' Washington, D.C., telecaster. He introduced
the other man, a calm-faced, balding individual in a dark suit.

"This is John Thurston of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tom," Blake