e smile gave way to a look
of concern as Tom explained the crisis.

"How dreadful!" Sandy gasped. "We _must_ figure out what it means!...
Wait a minute!"

Tom looked at her expectantly. "Got an idea, Sis?"

"Well..." The pretty, blond teen-ager hesitated. "You don't suppose
Exman might have been translating some foreign words with a meaning
similar to 'high loyalty'? For instance, high loyalty could mean 'good
faith.' I know that in Latin 'good faith' would be _bona fide_."

"Sandy! You've guessed it!" Tom crossed the room in a single bound, gave
his sister a quick hug, and whirled her around. "Exman must mean the
Bona Fide Submarine Building Corporation! He didn't dare risk telling us
the exact translation."

"Of course!" Mr. Swift was equally jubilant. But his face was grave as
he added, "The company's located on the West Coast close to the San
Andreas fault. Tom, a quake in that area could be devastating!"

"You're right, Dad," the young inventor replied. "I'll call Dr. Miles
and Bernt Ahlgren at once!"

The telephone conversation that followed was grim with tension. Both
government men begged Tom to take personal charge of the
quake-deflection measures. Dr. Miles pointed out that tremors along the
fault might trigger off a chain of quakes amounting to a national
disaster.

After a hasty discussion, Tom agreed that he should station himself at
the Colorado site, rather than at the West Coast Quakelizor
installation. This would give him broader scope for damping out shock
waves across the continent.

"I'll fly out immediately!" the young inventor promised.

Ahlgren, meanwhile, would flash orders to the Bona Fide Company and to
civilian officials to have the entire area evacuated as soon as
possible.

Hasty preparations were made for Tom's departure. He telephoned the
airfield to have a jet plane with lifters readied for take-off. He also
had Bud paged over the plant intercom. The copilot came on the run. When
he heard the news, he was eager to accompany his pal.

"Listen, you two! I insist you have something to eat before you leave!"
Sandy declared.

Tom was impatient over any delay. When Sandy proceeded to call Chow, the
old Texan solved the problem by volunteering to go along as cook.

A short time later Chow came jouncing out to the airfield astride a
motor scooter, hauling a cart loaded with supplies.

"Good grief!" Tom said, unable to suppress a grin. "We'll be back
tomorrow, unless something