Free Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space by Victor Appleton II

foot. It has a short great toe to match that queer print we saw in the sand!"
    Sandy stole a second glance in the direction Bashalli had indicated. The man lay stretched out on a big beach towel with a rolled-up T-shirt across his eyes to protect them from the sun.
    The girls looked at each other knowingly and studied him for a moment. His black hair was close-cropped above a high forehead, and though his face was partly hidden they judged him to be about thirty years old. Sandy turned to Bash and hurriedly whispered a plan for finding out more about him.
    Casually the girls edged their umbrella closer to the spot where the man was lying, then resumed their game of beach ball. Sandy purposely let the ball go past her. It landed several yards away and rolled up to the corner of the towel the man was lying upon. As it hadn’t rolled quite far enough, Bashi carefully strode closer and gave it a nudge—twice—quickly jumping away. At last it bumped up against the man’s legs. He pulled the T-shirt from his eyes and regarded Bash curiously.
    Sandy hurried to recover the ball and apologized profusely. "Oh, I’m terribly sorry!" she said. "I missed the ball."
    "Not a problem," he said with the hint of a drawl. The man now looked at Sandy with a friendly grin; or at least a grin of some kind or other. It crossed her mind that he certainly did not look like a criminal. One of the suave variety, Sandy decided. Now he’s going to say something charming!
    "Actually, I’m glad I was lying in the way," the stranger said pleasantly. Even more than pleasantly.
    I was right! thought Sandy. She cocked her head and assumed a puzzled frown. "Aren’t you the man who lives next door to the Lawsons?" she inquired.
    "I’m afraid not." He laughed. "But if that would make us neighbors, I’m all for it."
    He was smooth—clearly a hard case! Sandy laughed too, reddening a tad beneath her new suntan. She and Bashalli abandoned their game and reclined under the beach umbrella. The conversation with the suspect was resumed.
    The stranger told them that he was an ex-Army officer, recently separated from the Signal Corps. He had come to Florida for some sunshine and a much-needed rest.
    "By the way," he added. "may I introduce myself? Kenneth Horton."
    "Oh, is that your name? Mm, I mean—" She bit her lip. Oh, is that your name? Ugh! "I’m Sandra Swift," responded Sandy, "and this is my friend, Bud—er—"
    "No," Bash corrected.
    "Bash. Bashalli…something."
    The man offered his hand. "Hey there, Bash Bashalli Something. You two just meet?"
    "Comparatively speaking," Bashalli replied. "My last name is difficult. Foreign, you know."
    "Well, Kenneth is foreign to me, actually. I’d rather you called me Ken."
    Sandy gulped. This mission was not going as planned! "Sure…Ken."
    Bashalli spoke up in the brief silence that followed. "Sandy and I are here, here on this beach, in Florida with our boyfriends, Bud and Tom, to vacation. Here. Florida. Which is where we are now."
    "With your boyfriends."
    "Prexactly. Excisely."
    "Who are here."
    "Yes."
    "So where are they?"
    "Well, ah, they’re…elsewhere." A curse upon this American hunk-lizard! was the phrase that came to Bashalli’s mind, unbidden.
    "We ought to get together," Horton said. "That is, the five of us—if I’ve kept track."
    "Oh, absolutely and look what time it’s getting to be!" Sandy cried with a glance at her wrist.
    Horton raised an eyebrow. "You’re not wearing a wristwatch."
    "No," said Sandy earnestly. "No, in fact, I’m not. Do you wear one?"
    He held up both bare arms. "See one?"
    "We must run," Bashalli said. "Really we must." She looked at Sandy, who looked back helplessly. "Really we must! Run!"
    "Later," waved Ken Horton.
    The girls grabbed their things in a flustered flurry and trotted away across the sand. "That went well," Sandy murmured.
    As they arrived inside the Lawsons’ house, where Bud and Tom were relaxing, Bashalli was speaking to Sandy in a tone of