“Dad,” Eddie said that morning after breakfast, as his father prepared to leave for school, “what would a foreign submarine be doing around here?”
“That’s a tough question to answer, Eddie,” Mr. Taylor said. “And remember, what showed up on the airplane’s radar wasn’t positively identified as a submarine. It might have been a whale. Or several whales, for that matter.”
“The newspaper doesn’t think so,” Eddie said. “Besides, no one’s ever seen whales that close in.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“But what if it was a submarine?” Eddie insisted.
“It’s possible that it got off its course and surfaced to try and get a bearing,” his father said. “If that’s the case, they probably were considerably startled to find themselves so close to shore, and dived immediately to avoid discovery. It could happen. Submarines have been known to scout off this coast. But usually they are far out to sea in international waters.”
“Maybe they were picking up spies,” Eddie blurted. “Or—or landing some.”
His father looked at him sharply. “What kind of harum-scarum talk is that, Eddie?” he demanded.
Eddie swallowed uncomfortably. He wished he hadn’t said it. But he had been doing so much thinking about the stolen radioisotope and the missing blueprints from the Acme Aviation Company that the words had leaped from his mouth without his realizing it.
Before Eddie could think of an answer, his father’s face relaxed. “Forget it, son,” he said. “You always have had a pretty active imagination. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just don’t let it get away from you. Well, I’d better be leaving.”