The Swifts had discovered that their enemy had been intercepting Tom's
messages, thereby learning the frequency to which the Swifts' receiver
was tuned. They then radiated a signal at this frequency, modulated at
the frequency to which the local oscillator was set. This had caused a
buildup of energy in the I.F. transformers, resulting in their
explosion.

Now Mr. Swift said, "You're right, son. We'll insert a blocking filter
in the R.F. stage that should do the trick."

Their minds relieved of this problem, the Swifts were eagerly looking
forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day. The
scheduled time, if pinpointed at exactly two weeks from the moment when
the first message was received, would be half an hour past noon.

The spot, two miles from Enterprises, was on a lonely hillside. It was
shaded by trees, higher up the slope, with bushes and other wild-growing
greenery softening its contours. Over the week end, Tom had had
carpenters from Enterprises put up a small cabin at the foot.

As twelve-thirty approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, Arv
Hanson, and several other Swift technicians stood by at the scene with
the star-headed container. Chow had also begged to be on hand.

"I jest got to see Ole Think Box come to life!" he said.

Eyes darted back and forth from wrist watches to sky as the zero moment
ticked closer. Bud even began muttering a countdown.

"X minus three... X minus two... X minus one... This is it!"

All eyes flashed skyward. _But nothing happened!_ Not a speck showed in
the blue, cloudless sky.

The watchers glanced at one another uncertainly. More minutes went by.
Soon it was quarter to one... then one o'clock.

"No mistake about the time, was there?" Arv asked.

Mr. Swift shook his head. "Not if the code was translated correctly." He
frowned. "It's true they spoke merely in terms of days. But their time
references are usually very precise."

The waiting group fidgeted and prowled back and forth to ease their
tension. Feelings of suspense began changing into gloom after two more
hours had passed with no sign from the sky.

Disappointed but unable to wait any longer, the technical men went back
to the plant, one by one. Hank Sterling, too, and Arv Hanson finally had
to leave.

"Sorry, skipper," Hank muttered. "Ring us right away if it shows up."

"Sure, Hank."

As six o'clock went by, Chow tried to pep up his companions' drooping
spirits with a s