ot 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. Swift on the line.
After speaking to him briefly, he passed the phone to Bud so the
scientist could identify his voice.

"That's Bud Barclay, all right. He's one of our most trusted employees,"
Mr. Swift told the chief after hearing Bud's story.

The officer promised to release Mel and Bud at once. Before doing so,
however, he took them into the adjoining office where the two frogmen
were being questioned.

"Any luck?" the chief asked the sergeant.

Sergeant Gryce shook his head in disgust. "Not much. They did admit they
came in a sub, but they claim it didn't wait to pick them up."

The police chief shot a few questions of his own at the men, but they
answered either in curt monosyllables or not at all.

"Look, sir," Bud put in, "if they're telling the truth about their sub
not waiting, our jetmarine may have chased it. That means Mel and I are
stranded here. Could you have your men wait for us on the beach till we
find out?"

"Gladly," the chief replied. "You two have done a fine day's work."

After the prisoners had been locked up to be handed over to the FBI, the
two Beach Patrol officers drove Bud and Mel back to the area where they
had landed. Just as the jeep turned down the dirt road leading to the
shore, Bud's keen eyes spotted a lurking figure in the distance.

"Stop, please!" Bud said, tapping the driver on the shoulder.

As the jeep halted, Bud pointed toward the beach. A man was crouching
behind a sand dune, with a large fish basket beside him. The sergeant,
puzzled, took out a pair of binoculars to study the situation.
Fortunately, the jeep was still screened by trees, and the crouching man
evidently did not realize he had been seen.

"What's in the basket?" Bud asked. "Could it be clothes?"

"Sure