this girl was terrific-looking, sparsely clad and with a very tiny appendix scar right along—-"
"Ha!" Rocky rose up, snapped his fingers. "I see the handwriting on the wall."
"If you spot any good phone numbers," said Prof, "let—"
"That dame you was dallying with there in Malibu, Prof. Ha!"
"I'll have you know, old man, I never dallied in my life."
"It was what's her name, it was Hildy Niven," accused Rocky. "You blabbed to her, gave her all this guff about us. Such gunk as, and I quote, 'Each Challenger faced a personal moment of truth mere weeks before the fateful plane crash that was to alter their lives so completely.' And like, 'They were flying toward fame and fortune when a sudden violent storm changed their flight plan and their lives. They lived through a crash that should have been fatal. And having survived this clash with the greatest unknown of them all—death—the feisty quartet vowed to continue challenging the many mysteries that puzzled and ofttimes imperiled mankind.' Kee-rist, Feisty? Vowed? Fateful?"
"The young lady writes very well," said Red. "And she got your number, Rocko. You are a feisty one."
"Listen, you clowns," growled Rocky, "I am ticked off. Getting written up in this sheet along with Egyptian doohickies and guys who claim to have cured their crippled old grannies with a dowsing rod."
Prof cleared his throat. "Do you want to put all this in the form of a motion?"
"Broads," muttered the big man, "going to be the ruin of you."
"Quite likely," admitted Prpf. "I would, however, like to talk a bit more about the more immediate and less attractive forms of getting knocked off."
Red folded his arms, eyed the ceiling. "You think our little accidents are work of one hand?"
"The most obvious assumption, isn't it? In the same day three heavies try to cold-cock Rocky, somebody cuts the string on your trapeze and they plant an infernal machine in the prop sub I am rumored to be descending in."
Rocky grunted. "That makes it kind of spooky," he said. "Means whoever's got it in for us also knows one heck of a lot about us, about what we were gonna be up to." He scowled down the table at Prof. "Somebody like that newspaper broad of yours."
Prof smiled slowly at his teammate. "What I told Hildy about us, Rockbound, was little more than she could have dug out of magazines and newspapers," he said, the smile gradually fading. "We've been together a long time and you ought, I think you do, to know I'm not about to betray the Challengers."
"Takes more than a pretty face to get anything out of Prof," added Red.
"Okay, okay, excuse it." Rocky examined his knuckles. "So who, then?"
"To put your alleged mind at ease," Prof said, "Hildy didn't know where you or Red were. And she was one person who knew for sure I wasn't in that sub."
"Aw, okay." Rocky dug a handful of carrot sticks out of a pocket, began chomping on them. "Don't keep harping on it, Prof. I'm sorry."
"We understand," Red told him. "Getting jumped and losing a pint of your favorite yogurt all in one day can unsettle anyone."
"It was a quart."
"I am wondering," said Prof, tilting back in his chair, "if these tries at removing us from this plane of existence are maybe connected with our new assignment."
"Possible." Ace had come silently into the long win-dowless room.
"Hi, skipper." Rocky gave him a casual salute, touching a carrot hunk to his craggy forehead.
"What more can you tell us on this new job?" Red wanted to know.
Ace slid into the chair at the head of the table.
"Alex Hentoff of the National Espionage Agency will be out here in the morning to give us a complete briefing," he said. "From the hints June dropped, though, I've been able to put together—"
"June?" Rocky sat up. "We going to be working with June Robbins again?"
"Looks like," answered Ace.
The big man made a chuckling sound. "I like Juney." Frowning in Prof's direction, he added, "Don't go bird-dogging the poor kid this time, huh?"
"Me? Hardly know the
"Ha!" Rocky rose up, snapped his fingers. "I see the handwriting on the wall."
"If you spot any good phone numbers," said Prof, "let—"
"That dame you was dallying with there in Malibu, Prof. Ha!"
"I'll have you know, old man, I never dallied in my life."
"It was what's her name, it was Hildy Niven," accused Rocky. "You blabbed to her, gave her all this guff about us. Such gunk as, and I quote, 'Each Challenger faced a personal moment of truth mere weeks before the fateful plane crash that was to alter their lives so completely.' And like, 'They were flying toward fame and fortune when a sudden violent storm changed their flight plan and their lives. They lived through a crash that should have been fatal. And having survived this clash with the greatest unknown of them all—death—the feisty quartet vowed to continue challenging the many mysteries that puzzled and ofttimes imperiled mankind.' Kee-rist, Feisty? Vowed? Fateful?"
"The young lady writes very well," said Red. "And she got your number, Rocko. You are a feisty one."
"Listen, you clowns," growled Rocky, "I am ticked off. Getting written up in this sheet along with Egyptian doohickies and guys who claim to have cured their crippled old grannies with a dowsing rod."
Prof cleared his throat. "Do you want to put all this in the form of a motion?"
"Broads," muttered the big man, "going to be the ruin of you."
"Quite likely," admitted Prpf. "I would, however, like to talk a bit more about the more immediate and less attractive forms of getting knocked off."
Red folded his arms, eyed the ceiling. "You think our little accidents are work of one hand?"
"The most obvious assumption, isn't it? In the same day three heavies try to cold-cock Rocky, somebody cuts the string on your trapeze and they plant an infernal machine in the prop sub I am rumored to be descending in."
Rocky grunted. "That makes it kind of spooky," he said. "Means whoever's got it in for us also knows one heck of a lot about us, about what we were gonna be up to." He scowled down the table at Prof. "Somebody like that newspaper broad of yours."
Prof smiled slowly at his teammate. "What I told Hildy about us, Rockbound, was little more than she could have dug out of magazines and newspapers," he said, the smile gradually fading. "We've been together a long time and you ought, I think you do, to know I'm not about to betray the Challengers."
"Takes more than a pretty face to get anything out of Prof," added Red.
"Okay, okay, excuse it." Rocky examined his knuckles. "So who, then?"
"To put your alleged mind at ease," Prof said, "Hildy didn't know where you or Red were. And she was one person who knew for sure I wasn't in that sub."
"Aw, okay." Rocky dug a handful of carrot sticks out of a pocket, began chomping on them. "Don't keep harping on it, Prof. I'm sorry."
"We understand," Red told him. "Getting jumped and losing a pint of your favorite yogurt all in one day can unsettle anyone."
"It was a quart."
"I am wondering," said Prof, tilting back in his chair, "if these tries at removing us from this plane of existence are maybe connected with our new assignment."
"Possible." Ace had come silently into the long win-dowless room.
"Hi, skipper." Rocky gave him a casual salute, touching a carrot hunk to his craggy forehead.
"What more can you tell us on this new job?" Red wanted to know.
Ace slid into the chair at the head of the table.
"Alex Hentoff of the National Espionage Agency will be out here in the morning to give us a complete briefing," he said. "From the hints June dropped, though, I've been able to put together—"
"June?" Rocky sat up. "We going to be working with June Robbins again?"
"Looks like," answered Ace.
The big man made a chuckling sound. "I like Juney." Frowning in Prof's direction, he added, "Don't go bird-dogging the poor kid this time, huh?"
"Me? Hardly know the
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