  “I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” It was the voice of eleven-year-old Monica Brewster. “You always do,” grumbled her twin brother Ted. “I never do get to answer the telephone. Not when you’re in the house.” Monica wasn’t listening. She was flying into the kitchen to answer the steady ring before her mother could lift the phone from its cradle. Mr. Brewster’s study was nearer, and there was a telephone in there, too. But Monica knew that her father was in the study, talking to her older brother Biff. She was sure the call was from her friend Betsy, because Betsy generally called her about five o’clock in the afternoon. Monica didn’t want her father interrupting her talk with Betts. Daddy didn’t approve of long phone gabs. Moments later, Monica came bursting through the living room. Her excitement was at a pitch as high as her voice. “Daddy! Daddy! The call’s from Honolulu! Someone’s calling you from Honolulu!” “Take it easy, sis, or you’ll explode.” Biff grinned as he saw the eagerness on his sister’s flushed face. Thomas Brewster picked up the telephone. He listened briefly, then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to his older son. “Close the door, Biff. Behind your sister.” Biff got up from his chair and gently ushered Monica, protesting, out of the study. When he turned back, he was startled to see that an expression of worry clouded his father’s face. “Yes, Johann, I agree.” Mr. Brewster gave the name its Germanic pronunciation, “Yohann.” Biff could only distinguish a mumble of words coming from nearly four thousand miles away. “Well, Johann, don’t you take any chances yourself,” Mr. Brewster continued. “Wait until I get there.... Danger? There’s always danger when the stakes are as high as those we’re playing for.... What!” Thomas Brewster’s frown deepened. “Perez Soto? You say Perez Soto is there? I don’t like that one little bit. The letter, though, you have that safely hidden?” Again the speaker at the other end took over the conversation. Biff could hear only a scramble of sounds coming from the telephone. He saw his father nod his head absently. His brows knitted into deeper thought. “You think your room was searched?” he exclaimed. “Had you hidden the letter?” Biff watched his father intently. Mr. Brewster listened attentively to a long reply. At last he said, “That’s bad, Johann. Very bad. We’ll have to make the best of it, though. All right, Johann.... Yes, leaving here tomorrow ... Northwest Airlines.... Take off from Seattle early the next morning, Wednesday, at five A.M. Be in Hawaii about eight o’clock your time.... You’re stopping at the Royal Poinciana, aren’t you?... Hello ... hello ... Johann?” Thomas Brewster waited a few moments. “Hello....” Then he hung up and turned to Biff. “That’s funny. He didn’t answer. Maybe we were cut off.” “Maybe the three minutes were up,” Biff suggested with a smile. “That’s not as funny as you think, my boy,” his father chuckled. “Dr. Weber’s a peculiar man about some things having to do with money. A call from Honolulu to Indianapolis means nothing to him. But if the operator told him his three minutes were up, he’d hang up quickly. He obeys what he thinks are the rules.” Biff laughed. “Isn’t Dr. Weber the famous scientist? I’m sure I’ve heard you speak of him.” “That’s right, Biff. He’s a staff consultant for Ajax. I’ve worked with him before.” Biff nodded his head. “I thought so.” Thomas Brewster was the chief field engineer for the Ajax Mining Company, headquarters Indianapolis, Indiana. His job took him all over the world, to many of the strangest and least known spots on the globe. Whenever it was possible, he took sixteen-year-old Biff along. “One of my reasons for going to Hawaii is to meet Dr. Weber,” Biff’s father continued now. “You mean the Engineers’ Conference isn’t the main reason?” Biff asked. Thomas Brewster shook his head. “No. Oh, the meeting is important, all right. But I doubt if I would have gone out there for that alone. Dr. Weber wrote me over a month ago. Said he wanted to meet with me and Jim Huntington. He said it was very important. But he didn’t go into details. I imagine he didn’t want to put too much information on paper. Afraid it might be seen by eyes other than my own.” Biff was thinking. “It seems to me, Dad, that I’ve heard you mention this Mr. Huntington before, too. Am I right?” “Probably. I hadn’t heard from Huntington for a long, long time. But he did some work for me in the past.” “What’s going on, Dad? And what was all that about a letter?” Thomas Brewster sighed. “Oh, the letter. Forget you ever heard about it. Dr. Weber told me Jim Huntington was lost at sea sailing up to Hawaii from New Zealand. Got caught in a terrific storm, and his sloop sank. He was able to send a radio signal of his position, but Weber said a sea and air search has failed, so far, to discover any trace of Huntington or his sloop.” “Gee, that’s really too bad. Do you know why he wanted to see you and Dr. Weber?” Biff asked. “I have an idea. And if what I think is true, then Jim Huntington’s loss is a very real one for the whole world.” “I heard you mention there might be danger—” Biff stopped. A spark of excitement flashed across his face. His blue eyes lighted up. “Danger, Biff? Well, we’ve been in tight spots before. You, in China, and with me in Brazil.” Tom Brewster paused, then said slowly, “There’s always an element of danger in the work we do for Ajax.” Biff, his face serious, nodded his head. He was thinking of Hawaii, our fiftieth state. What danger could there be there? The telephone operator at the Royal Poinciana Hotel on Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, looked up as her luncheon relief came into her small room. “Hi. Am I ever glad to see you! I’m just about starved. I’m on a diet. Not for much longer, though. Hey, something funny’s going on. That old gent in suite 210. Made a stateside call just now and didn’t hang up when he finished. Imagine! He left the phone off the hook. I’ll tell a bellboy to hop up there when I go out.” |
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