"What _you've_ found out, you mean. As I think I told you before, when
it comes to detective work, I'm a ground hog!"
"Nonsense! But that reminds me, Bill. Do I get a lesson tomorrow?"
"Do you think you can take time enough from your life work?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You may think I've finished fooling with this
robbery when I turn over the dope to Daddy--but I haven't. I want a
flying lesson, just the same, in the morning. Shall we go up in the
_Loening_ again?"
"No. I'll drive you down to the shore and we'll take the _N-9_ out.
Don't wait for your father to-night. Tell him what you want to at
breakfast."
"But I've got to--"
"This is your flight instructor speaking, Dorothy. No lesson in the
morning for you, young lady, unless you go straight to bed now and get a
good night's rest. A clear head and steady nerves are the first
requisites for flying."
"All right then. I'll turn in directly. Good night."
Bill was already seated behind the wheel of his car. "Good night,
Dorothy. By the way, _I've_ got a hunch about this bank business. After
you've had some flight training we'll investigate together--and the
plane will be a great asset," he added mysteriously. His foot pressed
the self-starter.
"Don't be so vague--spill the news like a good fellow."
"Sh--" mocked Bill. "'Sherlock Holmes is thinking!'" His laugh rang out
and the car disappeared in the deep shadows of the drive.
"He's not so dumb as he pretends," mused Miss Dixon. "What can he have
up his sleeve?"
Slowly she moved off toward the back door of the house.
_Chapter VIII_