Read Online Tom Swift and His Subocean Geotron by Victor Appleton II - Free Book Online Page A

in your photograph— Si !"
    "He was staying here?" asked Tom eagerly.
    The boy hesitated. "He came here a time ago, I forget, and paid for five weeks. I have seen him now and then. He rides a bicycle into town. But his casita is off to the side—I wouldn’t see him much anyway. Lately... Well, I don’t think I have seen him for quite a few days now. Maybe a week? Two? I mind my business."
    "Then he’s gone," muttered Nee quietly.
    "May we see his cottage?" Tom inquired.
    Before the boy could reply, Jualéngro answered for him. "We may!"
    The boy gave Tom a key and directed them. As they approached the cottage, fearful of what they would find within, Bud suddenly whispered. "The door!—not even shut."
    "I hear sounds inside," said the Chief, drawing her weapon.
    Bud rushed ahead impulsively, thrusting the door open but standing aside on the porch. As the door swung round into the wall, there was a muffled shout from inside.
    With a passing glare at Bud, the Chief marched up to the open door and called out in Spanish, then English, "This is the police, in there. Please come to the door!"
    An instant later a tall, slender figure stood blinking in the sunlight. "Wha—great— Tom !—?"
    "Ed!" Tom rushed forward and greeted his amazed cousin with a bearhug.
    Ed Longstreet grinned and gulped. "How in the world did you find me down here?—oh! Nee!"
    "You set off some alarms, friend," said Ruykendahl.
    Ed shrugged. "Come in. Hi ya, Bud. And—?"
    Jualéngro introduced herself, and the four entered the casita and found places to sit among scattered clothes and stacks of unwashed plates. "Guess it isn’t detective work to see that I wasn’t expecting visitors," Ed declared sheepishly. "But what’s this about alarms? Are Mom and Dad worried about me?"
    "They don’t know how to get in touch with you," Tom responded.
    "Well—that’s me , cuz. They’re used to it."
    The young inventor looked toward Ruykendahl and gave a slight nod. "I’ll tell the story," he began. "I like to talk. The sound of my voice, very motivating."
    He told it. When it was concluded, Ed’s face was full of bewildered astonishment. "I don’t understand any of this, Nee—guys."
    Bud chuckled. "That makes it unanimous."
    "What happened that morning, Ed? When you were to meet Nee at the library?" asked Tom soberly.
    "At the library ?" The young traveler looked at his younger cousin with perplexity. "Look, Tom, Nee... this whole deal is new to me. I never sent any of those emails! "
    "What!" exclaimed Nee.
    Ed nodded emphatically. "The last time we talked was face to face, last summer, months ago! The object I had found on the cruise—you wanted to see if matched the one you had back in South Africa. Remember?"
    "Of course. You kept it. You said you were going to have it cleaned."
    "Sure, in Mexico City. I stopped there along the way to here, Las Mambritas. This is one of my now-and-then hangouts—beach life for a few weeks. Dad says I’m ‘getting my head together’; far as I’m concerned, I’m just sleepin’ late and not worrying about maps and timetables." After a pause, and a nodding grin from Bud, he continued: "Maybe I should have been in touch, Nee, but... I guess I wanted to relax for a while. I didn’t feel like getting up a meeting with you so soon."
    Ruykendahl chuckled. "I’ve heard rumbles that dealing with Ruykendahl can be strenuous ."
    "I didn’t realize you thought comparing the objects was urgent. Just something we were curious about."
    Chief Jualéngro tapped her hand on an endtable. "Let us be precise, Mr. Longstreet. You say there was no arrangement to meet in town? No recent exchange of messages?"
    Ruykendahl pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Here—I printed these out."
    Ed looked at them. "Not from me. Where did you get this net address for your replies?"
    "Ah!—it was merely the return address on the earliest of the messages, after you had come to Mexico. So it said."
    Ed shrugged. "Not mine. I