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came Bud’s voice, awestruck.
    Tom placed a calming hand on Mills’ shoulder. "Got anything on the scope, Ed?"
    "Not a thing!" the man exclaimed. "It’s just not there— but we see it!"
    "Keep your eye on it," Tom directed.
    "It's got its eyes on us!" said Jack Vincenzo, the co-pilot.
    The mammoth crow wheeled around in a spiralling motion, effortlessly keeping pace with the jet and slowly descending. Maybe we can get another photo! Tom thought excitedly.
    But even as this crossed his mind, everyone gave a shout. The crow had vanished! Not a trace was left in the darkening vault of stars.
    After a shocked silence, Jack said:
    "Man alive, I’m sure glad you spread the word about this thing, Tom. I’d’ve thought I was losing my marbles."
    "That’s the way Tom and I felt, Jack," said Bud quietly.
    "Brand my high-flyin’ fritters!" breathed Chow. "I shore wish Jessee’d been on hand t’see that Ow-eee-paw of hers!" As Tom turned, the cook looked him in the eye, worriedly. "Boss, this means some cayuse has got you marked fer vengeance!"
    Tom did not reply. He double-checked the instrument readings, then returned to his seat, troubled and thoughtful.
    Some hours later the jet roared down to a smooth landing on the brightly-lit main runway of Swift Enterprises. As Tom and the others debarked, Tom’s father drove up in a jeep. He greeted his son warmly.
    "It’s good to have you here safe," said Damon Swift. "So there’s been another incident involving that phantom crow, eh?"
    "And we’re no closer to figuring it out," Tom confirmed. "What do you think, Dad?"
    "Obviously, it’s a hoax of some kind," he responded. "As to how it’s done…" His voice trailed off in a verbal shrug.
    "Say there, I got me an idee!" said Chow, who was standing nearby. "Mebbe them Martian pals o’ yours is behind it! Seems like they can do jest about anything!"
    Earlier in the year a small automated space missile had plunged into the grounds of Swift Enterprises, bearing an array of symbols that seemed to represent concepts in the universal language of mathematics. Not yet announcing the event to the public, Tom and his father had tentatively deciphered much of the message. It appeared to have originated with friendly scientists who maintained a base on nearby Mars. Subsequently Tom had been able to exchange simple messages with these beings by means of a video-oscillograph transmitter.
    Tom smiled. "I guess you could be right, Chow," he said. "But why our space friends would want to get involved with the likes of Nicky Ammo is anybody’s guess!"
    "Nevertheless, it might be worth the attempt to contact them," Damon Swift commented. "I’ll spend some time tomorrow trying to construct an inquiry in the space-symbol language."
    The young inventor went home for a much-needed night’s sleep. He was late for breakfast the next morning, but his mother, his sister Sandy, and their friend Bashalli Prandit were enjoying cocoa and doughnuts from The Glass Cat, the Shopton coffee house where Bashalli worked, and having a lively discussion.
    "Good morning, all," Tom said, kissing his mother and giving each of the girls an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Hi, Bash! How’s tricks?"
    "I would say tricks are at their worst, Tom. That’s why I’m here. You are just the very person to save the day."
    Tom sat down, dug a spoon into half a grapefruit, and grinned a boyish grin. "Bash, you’re making a hero out of me even before I know why. What’s the story?"
    Bashalli, a pretty girl with dark hair and large brown eyes, had come to Shopton from Pakistan. In the short span of time since he had met her, just prior to his trip to South America in his Flying Lab, she had become a good family friend and was always Tom’s date at parties, with Sandy and Bud usually completing the wholesome foursome. Sometimes the four young people would go off together on scientific outings led by Tom. Sandy was an excellent pilot, and Bashalli had a flare for sketching