The Smuggled Atom Bomb

“Yes. Except that it would haul under water a conspicuous bouquet of lily pads and buds and flowers.”

“You believe there was a box and Bogan got slugged and the box was taken away while he was unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe”—McIntosh took time to make himself say it—“that there was uranium in the box?”

“Or some other part of an A-bomb.”

“I don’t.”

Higgins started to say something argumentative, changed his mind, and smiled. “I don’t blame you.”

“Not one tangible piece of evidence! Bogan once had what he called a sample, a few particles he filed off, and he claims he analyzed them — which is difficult even for a specialist, and he wasn’t that. But he lost what was left of his sample before we could work on it. Ellings did have a hunk of platinum on hand, and that’s peculiar, but it’s not uranium.

Ellings met a man we’re supposed to believe was seven feet tall. Phooey! Ellings doubtless met a man. He may even be busy with some deal — a little smuggling or the passing of stolen goods. But do you realize what you’re saying when you talk about A-bombs?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt it. You’re saying, man, that whole cities are being prepared for slaughter without warning! And you’re saying this is being done by people we have no whisper of, line on, word about — not a notion of, a smell, scent, track, trail or even hunch about!”

“Exactly.”

“Frankly, I think that’s impossible.”

“You can’t say it’s impossible, Mac.”

The Scotsman shrugged. “Very well. As unlikely as flying saucers. Put it that way.

On the other hand, grant, for a second, it’s true. What then?”

“That’s what I’d really like to discuss.” McIntosh put away his key and folded his hands across his chest. “All right. We’ll discuss it. I will. In the first place, any such an underground outfit actually doing any such thing wouldn’t hesitate for a second to murder this Bogan lad, or the whole Yates family, or any hundred other people.”

“Obviously.”

“Second, such an outfit actually might use the Yates house. It’s off the beaten track.

No other houses near. Rundown. Surrounded by big trees. Not conspicuous. And protected.

Those Yateses would be about the last persons anyone would suspect of doing anything criminal or haboring criminals. Mother a cripple. Beautiful young daughter — Orange Bowl Queen. Normal Americans. Two boarders. And a man like Ellings, if he were an enemy agent, would be ideal because he’s got such a long, hardworking, churchgoing, commonplace history.”

“Check.”

“Third, the whole routine you’re trying to sell me would therefore have worked — except this Bogan lad had a lot of cockeyed hobbies. Like picking locks. Like housework.

And he’s a physics graduate student, so when he sees metal, he’s curious. He has, besides, a hobby of raising tropical fish and water lilies. When he can’t get a satisfactory answer from us, he takes on another hobby.”

“Yeah,” said Higgins dryly. “The hobby of danger!”

McIntosh sniffed. “Nosing! He gets nosy. He gets the girl nosing, even. And he gets bopped on the bean by a branch — and lucky his brains weren’t knocked out.” McIntosh unlocked his hands and flattened them on his desk. “Not a sign that anything happened but a branch fell! Ellings, the logical one to hit Bogan if all this wonder dust is real, was in bed.

Mrs. Yates saw him come downstairs. So who hit him? Presumably, somebody coming for or standing guard over the alleged box in the lily pool. So now what? Four-five days, Bogan’s out of the hospital. Ready to nose some more!”

“We could tell him to quit. Tell him the bureau was taking over from here on in.”

The Scotsman scowled. “Which is exactly what we don’t want anybody to know!”

There was quiet elation and relief in Higgins’ voice. “Meaning, we are taking over?”

McIntosh frowned harder and then smiled. “If it weren’t Sunday, I believe I’d swear.

Of course, we’re taking over! However, we won’t accomplish anything unless all and sundry really believe we’ve missed our cues by deciding the injury was an accident, the box a myth.

You can see that?”

“Sure. The Yates place is hot. It will be as long as we’re interested. Or the cops.

Anybody. Maybe it always will be, from now on, and maybe — if Ellings was merely being used — we have only one hope: finding out who used him. But there’s one difficulty about telling Bogan and the Yates family that we don’t feel anything was going on around there.

It’s Bogan himself. He really believes what he reported. I believe it. And if we give him the brush, he’s undoubtedly going to push right on with—”

“His hobby of danger?” McIntosh smiled bleakly. “I suppose he is. But — still just being hypothetical — if there is such an outfit as you take on faith, will they be badly alarmed by a physics student’s attempt to catch up with them? I think not.”

“They near killed him.”