clared.

This, however, was not easily accomplished. The tidal wave had caused
devastation along the entire shore front. Many docks had been wrecked,
boats splintered like matchsticks, and buildings along the water
smashed.

When Tom's group reached Bud's convertible, parked near the yacht club
pier, they found the car completely waterlogged. Its electrical system
gave not even a faint sputter or spark.

"Oh, fine!" Bud groaned. "The crowning touch!"

Eventually ambulances and private cars began to arrive to transport the
injured. Tom, Bud, and the two girls were given a lift to the Swift home
where Sandy and Phyl were immediately put to bed by a worried Mrs.
Swift.

Downstairs, Tom switched on the TV set. A mobile camera crew from the
local station was scanning the water front and interviewing witnesses of
the disaster. To the two boys, the most interesting note came in a
statement by the announcer that a very slight earth tremor had been felt
in Shopton.

"But no damage occurred except along the water front," the announcer
explained.

Tom gave a snort of anger, jumped up from his chair, and began pacing
about the living room. "Bud, I feel sure that wall of water was caused
by a minor earthquake!" the young inventor declared. "What's more, I'll
bet it was _man-made!_"

Bud stared at his friend, appalled but feeling a hot surge of anger
himself. "If you're right, pal, it's the most fiendish sabotage I've
ever heard of! Think of all the lives that were endangered!"

Tom nodded grimly. "I _am_ thinking!"

Both boys jerked around to look at the TV set again as a studio
announcer's voice suddenly broke into the telecast:

"Flash! A severe quake has occurred at the headquarters of the American
Archives Foundation, a hundred miles from Shopton. The Foundation's
buildings, containing many priceless government and scientific
documents, were badly damaged, and an underground microfilm vault was
utterly destroyed. Apparently this quake was part of the tremor felt
here at Shopton."

Within minutes the Swifts' home phone began jangling constantly. Some
calls were from friends, others from strangers. Many of the calls were
routed through from the Enterprises switchboard.

One was from Dan Perkins of the _Shopton Bulletin_. "What about it,
Tom?" the editor demanded. "I guess you know by now the public's aroused
and in a state of near panic over all these quakes. What they all want
to know is this: are you, Tom Swift