"We just nailed these two Brungarian frogmen," Bud explained. "A sub put
them ashore--probably as spies or saboteurs. They won't talk to us, but
maybe you can pump them at headquarters."
The startled sergeant turned a cold eye on the two prisoners. "Got
anything to say for yourselves?" When neither answered, he unholstered
his revolver and covered them. "Better take off those wires and put
bracelets on them, Mike," he told his fellow officer.
The frogmen were handcuffed with cool efficiency and bundled into the
jeep. Meanwhile, the sergeant turned back to Bud and Mel.
"You fellows come along too," he ordered.
"But we haven't got time," Bud protested. "Our own sub's waiting right
offshore and we want to tail the sub that brought those guys here!
We're from the Swift rocket base."
"Any identification?" the sergeant asked.
"How _could_ we have in this getup?" Mel retorted.
"That's what I thought. So get moving," the sergeant barked.
Reluctantly, Bud and Mel hopped onto the running board and clung to the
bouncing jeep as it sped to the nearby town of Sandbank. At headquarters
they were questioned by the local police chief.
"If you'll call Swift Enterprises at Shopton, sir, Mr. Swift--or Harlan
Ames of the plant security department--will vouch for us," Bud said.
The chief picked up the telephone and soon had Mr.
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