"They are. Parnell Winston is probably having lunch at his cottage. Hobart and Julius are in New York, examining some new equipment for the lab. They'll be back tonight."
Rick was dying to ask questions, but he knew this was not the right time. At lunch, perhaps, they might be given some details.
John Gordon looked at him and grinned. "Here's Rick Brant," he declared, "politely holding his tongue when he's about to pop like a firecracker with questions. Your self-control does you credit, Rick. Want one bit of data to chew on while you're waiting?"
Rick gulped, then returned the grin. "Yes, sir!"
John Gordon lowered his voice to a confidential pitch. "We have an enemy," he stated. "What kind of enemy may be seen clearly in the name by which he goes." He paused.
"What name?" Rick asked impatiently.
"Homo Terrestrialis."
John Gordon turned and hurried upstairs to his room to wash up for lunch.
Rick stared after him. What in the name of a simple-minded spacefish did that mean?
Homo Terrestrialis.