Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case. Wayne Dorothy

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I said it was a bad night to be out in,” shouted George. “What can I do for you?”

      “Yes, that’s it, my lad – there’s something I – Yes, it’s a bad night – bad storm. Listen, George!”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “What say?”

      “I’m listening, Mr. Lewis.”

      “Well, listen then.”

      The sharp eyes peered up and down the hall. Dorothy moved further back into the dark room.

      “Your father had a lot of books, George – a very fine library.”

      “Yes, he had.”

      “What say?”

      “I said he had.”

      The old man shook his head. His high voice became querulous.

      “I know he’s dead,” he snorted. “I’m talking about his books.”

      “They are not for sale,” said George.

      “Bless you – I don’t want to buy ’em. But there’s one I want to borrow.”

      “Which one is that?”

      “What say?”

      George’s reply sotto voce was not polite. He was getting impatient.

      “I want to borrow a book called Aircraft Power Plants; it’s by a man named Jones.”

      Dorothy pricked up her ears.

      “All right,” shouted George. “I’ll try to find it.”

      “What say? Listen, George! Speak distinctly, if you can. I’m not deaf – just a little hard of hearing. Don’t mumble – you talk as though your mouth was full of hot potato. That’s a bad eye you’ve got – been in a fight?”

      George ignored this last. “Listen – ” he said, then stopped, controlling a desire to giggle as he realized his plagiarism. “Come into the library, Mr. Lewis. I’ll try to find the book for you.” He took the old man by the arm and led him down the hall.

      Betty crept over to Dorothy.

      “Do you know who he is?” she asked in a low tone.

      “Mr. Lewis, I gathered,” said Dorothy, straining her ears to catch the muffled sounds coming from the library. “He talked loud enough, – quite an old gentleman, isn’t he?”

      “Old skinflint, you mean.”

      “You’ve seen him before?”

      “Certainly. I’ve seen him at our house. Daddy knows him – says he’s made a fortune, foreclosing mortgages and loaning money at high rates of interest. He’s terribly rich, though you’d never know it by his looks.”

      “That’s interesting – wonder what he wants with George?”

      “Came to borrow a book – that’s plain enough.”

      “Almost too plain, if you want my opinion,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “There’s no use guessing at this stage of the game.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Oh, nothing much. Can you hear what they’re saying in the next room?”

      “They seem to be having an argument – but it’s not polite to listen – ”

      “Polite, your grandmother! I’d listen if I could – but all I get is a mumble-jumble. I vote we go back to the kitchen. I want my supper. I’ll feel better when I’ve eaten. This house gives me the jim-jams for some reason.”

      “Me, too,” Betty admitted ungrammatically. “Fancy being alarmed at the sound of a doorbell!”

      “My word – and likewise cheerio!” Dorothy turned the flash on her friend. “How do you get that way, Betty? Been reading the British poets or something?”

      Betty blinked in the glare. “Turn it off. No, I haven’t. Don’t you remember the movies last night? The English Duke in that picture – ” She broke off suddenly and caught at Dorothy’s arm. “Listen – Dot, listen!” she whispered.

      From the rear of the house came a muffled pounding.

      Dorothy shook her off. “I’ll dot you a couple, if you take liberties with my name,” she snapped. “And for goodness’ sake, don’t hold on to me that way, and stop that listen stuff! This isn’t an earthquake – somebody’s at the back door, and I’m going to see who it is!”

      “But suppose those men have come back?”

      “They’re too well salted down,” Dorothy flung back at her. “I fancy you’d better stay in here – if you’re alarmed!”

      She crossed the hall to the dining room again and hurried through the kitchen with Betty close on her trail. That young person apparently preferred to chance it rather than be left alone.

      Dorothy went at once to the back door.

      “Who’s there?” she called, as the knocking broke out again.

      “It’s Bill Bolton,” returned a muffled voice. “Is that you, Dorothy?”

      She drew back the bolt and flung the door open.

      “Hello, Bill!” she hailed. “You’re just in time for supper.”

      A tall, broadshouldered young fellow wearing golf trousers 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! СКАЧАТЬ