"I don't know," Rick said. "It depends on a lot of things. We can't go unless we get jobs, and Steve evidently didn't say anything to Dad about the rest of the staff, including us." "Dad hasn't even said he'll go," Scotty reminded. "Doesn't saying he has reconsidered mean that he'll go?" "Could be. Or maybe it just means he's willing to talk some more about it. We should have pinned him down." "We will," Rick said. "In the morning." He lay awake for long hours, staring into the darkness and trying to piece together Chahda's references to a golden mouse, a Chinese with a glass eye, and a long shadow. It was no use. But there was no mistaking the urgency of his friend's plea. Where was Chahda now? At a guess, somewhere between Singapore and Hong Kong. But whether by land or sea or air, Rick couldn't imagine. Nor could he even venture a wild guess at what kind of danger Chahda faced. After a long time he fell asleep, but it was fitful sleep broken by frequent awakenings. In the morning, the discussion resumed over breakfast, bringing forth wild speculations from Barby. Rick had to grin at her flights of fancy. "One thing seems sure," Scotty offered. "Chahda was in a big hurry." "What makes you think so?" Mrs. Brant asked. "Barby! Please stop feeding Dismal at the table." Dismal turned beseeching eyes to Rick in a plea for moral support, but his young master was listening to Scotty. "The words he used. Like putting together an atomic symbol and Russian money to make 'troubles,' and using 'umbra' instead of shadow. I'm sure in a big book like _The World Almanac_ troubles and shadows are mentioned somewhere. But he didn't have time to search. He took the first possibilities that came along." Rick nodded approval. "That figures. But why didn't he have time?" Scotty shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe better." Julius Weiss, who had tired of the discussion and started to the lab, ran back into the house. "There's a plane heading this way," he announced. "I'm sure it's coming here, because it's down pretty low." The conversation ended abruptly. Rick and Scotty were first out on the lawn. The engine noise of the plane was loud. Rick saw it first, a sleek, four-place cabin job, circling wide out over the water, losing altitude. In a few moments it banked sharply behind the lab building, straightened out, and cut the gun. Rick was running toward the end of the grass strip even before the plane settled smoothly to the ground. "Steve Ames," he said to himself. "I'll bet it is." The JANIG officer had wasted no time! Sure enough, Steve was the first out of the plane. Rick saw that he was the only passenger. The pilot got out then, and Rick recognized him as one of the JANIG operatives who had chased the Whispering Box gang across Washington. Steve and Rick shook hands, grinning at each other, then Rick greeted Mike, the pilot.