Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case. Wayne Dorothy
and an old blue sweater which sported a Navy “N” came into the room. He was bareheaded and his thick, close-cropped thatch of hair was brown. When he smiled, Bill Bolton was handsome. A famous ace and traveller at seventeen, this friend of Dorothy’s had not been spoiled by notoriety. His keen gray eyes twinkled goodnaturedly as he spoke to Dorothy.
“Well, I should say you look pretty much at home,” he grinned. “But then you have a faculty of landing on your feet. And how’s Betty tonight? Thought I’d find you girls in a tight fix and here you are – getting up a banquet. Terry Walters was over at my house when you rang up, so he came with me. He’s outside, playing second line defense. All sereno here, I take it?”
“Quiet enough now,” Dorothy admitted, “though it was a bit hectic, to say the least, a while back. Call Terry in, will you? I’m going to do some scrambled eggs and bacon now.”
She reached for a bowl and began to crack eggs and break them into it. Bill stuck his head out the door and whistled.
A moment later, a heavy set, round faced lad of sixteen made his appearance in the doorway. Under his arm he carried a repeating rifle.
“H’lo, everybody,” he breezed, resting his rifle against the wall. “This is some surprise, – Bill and I were all set to play the heavy heroes and we find you making fudge!”
“Not fudge,” corrected Betty. “Honest-to-goodness food! Dorothy and I haven’t had a single thing to eat since lunch, except a lettuce sandwich and some cake at Helen Ritchie’s tea over at Peekskill this afternoon. We’re getting supper now.”
“We?” Dorothy’s tone was richly sarcastic. “Then, old dear, suppose you do some of the getting. I think I heard the front door shut just now, so that means that old Mr. Lewis has shoved off. You can go into the dining room and set the table. – Bill, you’re a good cook – how about starting the coffee? Terry, be a sport and cut some bread – you might toast it while you’re about it!”
“Whew! – some efficiency expert!” Terry winked at Bill. “Where do they keep the bread box in this house, anyway?”
“Barks her orders like a C.P.O. doesn’t she?” laughed Bill, opening the coffee tin. Then he drew forth a wax-paper wrapped loaf from an enameled container, held it up: “Here’s your bread, Terry – catch!”
The door from the dining room swung open and George came in.
“Well, George!” Dorothy turned to the others. “Here is our host,” she explained and introduced him all round.
“It’s certainly white of you fellows to hustle over here,” he said as he shook hands. “I appreciate it.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” grinned Bill. “We seem to be rather late for the excitement.”
“Well, if it hadn’t been for Betty and Dorothy – ” began George.
“You’d have pulled yourself out all right,” interrupted the latter young lady. “Look here, supper’s nearly ready, and since I’ve set everybody else to work, suppose I give you a job, too? Take Betty into the dining room and show her how to set the table, and you’ll be a fine help.”
“Say, it’s great, the way you’ve pitched in here – did you have a hard time finding things?”
“No, not at all. Except – ” here Dorothy looked stern, “I don’t approve of your housekeeping methods – I had to scour the frying pan twice, sir, do you realize that?”
George hung his head. “Gee, I guess I’m pretty careless, but – ”
The cook giggled: “Mercy, you look downcast. I was only kidding, George. I think you’re a fine housekeeper, honestly, I do. Now you get a wiggle on with the table, please. These eggs are nearly finished. They’ll be ruined if we have to wait.”
When the two had disappeared, Dorothy dished the scrambled eggs into a warm plate and turned to Bill and Terry.
“He thinks Betty ran this job,” she informed them. “They’ve got a crush on each other, I guess. So don’t put him wise, will you?”
“Mum’s the word,” smiled Bill, while Terry nodded. “Far be it from me to mess up love’s young dream.”
“Don’t be silly,” retorted Dorothy. “But you know, Betty’s a darling. I had to be terribly cross with her all the time, just to keep her bucked up. But she’s my best friend and I’m crazy about her.”
“She is nervous and high-strung, I know,” supplemented Terry. “I’ll bet you had a sweet time with her.”
“Not so bad. Have you boys had supper?”
“Oh, yes, some time ago,” answered Bill.
“That’s good. I didn’t want to use up all George’s food. I’ll let you have some coffee, though – that is, if you’re good and don’t kid those two in the other room.”
“Cross-my-heart-hope-to-die-if-I-do.” Bill’s face was solemn.
“Likewise me,” declaimed Terry. “I must have my coffee.”
“Table’s set,” announced Betty, popping in to the kitchen, closely followed by George.
“Eggs are finished and the bacon’s fried,” returned Dorothy. “How about the coffee, Bill?”
“Perfect – though I sez so.”
“And the toast!” Terry was busy buttering the last slice. “You know, lovers used to write sonnets on their lady’s eyebrows – now, if they’d seen this toast!”
Dorothy shook her head at him. “That will be about all from you. Come along, all of you – everything smells so good, and I’m simply ravenous.”
It was a merry party that gathered about the old mahogany dining table. Bill began by teasing Dorothy about her lack of foresight that sent her up on a flight without enough gas. She returned his banter with interest: the others joined in and for a time everybody was wisecracking back and forth.
George was the first to bring the conversation back to current events.
“I don’t know Mr. Lewis very well,” he replied in answer to a question of Betty’s. “He was a friend of my father’s – at least father had business dealings with him. I thought I’d never get rid of the old boy tonight.”
“Did you find the book he wanted?” asked Dorothy. “Jones’ Aircraft Power Plants, wasn’t it?”
“Some book, too!” affirmed Bill. “Have you read it, Conway?”
“Didn’t know I owned it. The book – in fact, the whole library, was my father’s. About all he saved from the wreck. When I couldn’t find the book for old Lewis, what do you think he said?”
“‘Listen!’” Dorothy’s voice mimicked perfectly the old gentleman’s querulous tones. Everyone burst into laughter.
“Yes, he said that,” George told her, “and a whole lot more.”
“I hate riddles,” cried Betty. “Do tell us – ”
“Why, he wanted to buy the entire library – and when I turned him down, he made me an offer on the house providing entire contents went with it!”
Betty laughed. “A good low price, I’ll bet. Mr. Lewis is a terrible old skinflint.”
“I thought so, too, until he made me this offer.”
“Do you mind saying how much?” Dorothy never hesitated to come to the point.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars!”
“Seems like a lot of money to me!” was Bill’s comment.
“A lot of money! I should say so.” George cried excitedly. “Why, this place isn’t worth more than eight – possibly ten thousand dollars at the outside.”
“I smell a rat,” said Terry, “or