is latest triumph to Mr. Swift. As always,
he used the automatic scramblers to make sure any enemy eavesdroppers
would pick up only static.

"Great work, son!" Mr. Swift congratulated Tom. "I was confident you
could handle the situation with your Quakelizors."

"Thanks, Dad. See you soon."

When the jet finally landed at Enterprises and came to a halt on the
runway, the control tower operator spoke over the radio.

"Harlan Ames would like to see Tom Jr. at the security building. He left
word just a few minutes ago."

"Roger!" Tom replied.

Chow frugally carted off his leftover supplies. Tom and Bud, meanwhile,
went by jeep across the plant grounds to security headquarters.

Ames greeted the two boys enthusiastically. "Nice going on that
earthquake situation, Tom!" he said. "And now I have some more good
news. We've just nabbed the man who imitated your father's voice over
the phone the other night."

"What!" Both boys were excited, and Tom added eagerly, "Who is he?"

"An actor at the Shopton summer playhouse."

"How did you find out?" Tom asked.

"I had a hunch," Ames went on. "If the impersonator wasn't a plant
employee at Enterprises, then he had to be a person with a trained
voice. That gave me the idea of checking on all actors and station
announcers here in the vicinity. It paid off right away. The guy's name
is Brent Nolan."

"Have you questioned him yet?" Tom asked.

"I'm about to," Ames replied. "Radnor just brought him in."

The security chief led the way into an adjoining office. A slender,
good-looking young man with blond wavy hair was seated on a chair with
Phil Radnor on one side of him and a Shopton police officer on the
other. The actor was visibly nervous and perspiring.

"This is Tom Swift Jr.," Ames told him. "Brent Nolan."

Nolan nodded. "Yes, I've seen your picture in the papers many times."
The actor tried to force a smile but his face muscles twitched.
"I--I seem to have pulled a pretty dumb stunt by faking that phone
call from your father. I'm sorry."

"What was the reason?" Tom asked.

Nolan fingered his wavy blond hair uneasily and swallowed hard. "A man
named Professor Runkle paid me to do it."

"Professor Runkle?" Tom frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar.

"He spoke with a foreign accent. Said he was doing research at Grandyke
University," Nolan explained. "He told me you might be expecting a rare
biological specimen from the East Indies. He said both of you wer