"You've done splendidly, my dear. I'm proud of you. This information
you've dug up will be a lot of help in tracing that gang, I'm sure."
Dorothy and her father were seated at the table, taking their morning
meal in the breakfast porch, just off the dining room. Although the bond
of affection uniting father and daughter was a strong one, especially
since the mother's death some years earlier, neither was particularly
demonstrative. And Dorothy was not used to receiving unstinted praise of
this sort from her father. The colour in her cheeks deepened, and she
said off-handedly:
"I'm awfully glad, Daddy. You haven't had your second cup of coffee,
have you?"
Mr. Dixon smiled, and passed his cup to her. His shrewd glance took in
her evident embarrassment.
"No need to dissemble, daughter. Fact is, I keep forgetting you're no
longer a child; and I don't mind telling you how valuable you are to
me."
Dorothy smiled back at him. "Thanks a lot, Dad." She returned his filled
cup. "Did the gang get away with much?"
"Plenty. A number of easily negotiable bonds, what currency we had on
hand, etc. Of course, we're well covered by insurance--but the worst of
it is, they took Mrs. Hamberfield's diamond necklace!"
"What! The Hamberfields, of Canoe Hill?"
"The same. They bought the old Adams place two years ago and keep it for
a summer residence. More money there than--er--taste, I believe. Mrs. H.
goes in for jewels on a big scale."
"Wears diamonds at breakfast, I'll bet, Daddy. She came to the Country
Club last Saturday night, dressed up to the hilt and beyond it. I've
never seen so much jewelry! Doug Parsons suggested that she'd been
robbing Tiffany's. A regular ice-wagon with her diamonds!"
"Well, she's lost a lot of them, now. That gang evidently knew she had a
habit of keeping some of them in her deposit box at the bank, for it was
the only one they raided."
"That's interesting."
"In what way?"
"Never mind now. Tell me some more."
"Well, naturally, I phoned the lady last night--and well--she was most
unpleasant--"
"The nasty cat! Serves her right to have them stolen!"
"Hardly that, dear. But the bank is responsible for her necklace and
other gewgaws. And her husband is a power in the financial world."
Having breakfasted sufficiently for one day, Dorothy was busy with an
orange lipstick.
"More unpleasantness for you, Daddy?" she asked through pursed lips, her
eyes on the small mirror of her compact, open on the table before her.
"He is in a position to do the bank considerable harm--By the way,
Dorothy, are you as efficient at manicuring as you are at making up your
mouth?"
"P-perhaps. Why?"
"Good. Then, after this I'll get you to do my nails while I have my
second cup of coffee each morning!"
"Aren't you horrid!"
"Aren't you the cheeky kid, using that thing in front of me?"
"You really don't mind, Daddy?"
"Do you think it an improvement over nature?"
"I know it isn't."
"Why use a lipstick then?"
"But--why do you wear that curly mustache?"
"More cheek?"
"Not at all. But it adds dignity to your face--what's more, your
mustache is becoming and you know it."
"Nonsense!" Mr. Dixon's tone was derisive but there was a twinkle in his
keen gray eyes.
Dorothy nodded decisively. "While my lipstick, properly used, is also
becoming," she went on. "And it gives your daughter a sophisticated
appearance otherwise lacking--" she broke off with a giggle as she saw
her father's expression.
Dorothy snapped her compact shut and rose from the table. Going round to
his side, she gave her father a hug and kissed him lightly on his
mustache. "There!" she laughed. "Now I've added sophistication to your
dignity, Daddy. You'll be able to run both the bank and that ritzy Mrs.
Hamberfield like a charm today. So long! Bill is coming for me and we're
going down to the beach. I'm to have my first real flight instruction
this morning, you know."
"From all accounts you did pretty well yesterday, young lady. Don't you
think you'd better come down to the bank and tell the story of your
sleuthing to the Bankers' Association detectives? They'll be up here
from New York this morning."
From the doorway, Dorothy shook her head. "Nothing doing!" she cried. "I
love you a lot--but you have the story down pat yourself--and I've got a
date I can't break. That glass with the fingerprints on it, you'll find
nicely wrapped up on the hall table. 'By--" She was through the door and
across the lawn before Mr. Dixon could reply.
He folded his napkin and laid it on the table with a sigh. "Heigho!" he
murmured. "I wonder what her mother would say to that? Still, Dorothy
grows more like her every day. The youngster has brains if she only uses
them in the right way. She certainly has been a help on this
robbery--and she is a comfort to me--but a great responsibility at
that."
Then, carefully lighting his after-breakfast cigar, Mr. Dixon walked
into the house.
Shortly after Mr. Dixon had left for the bank, Bill's horn honked in the
drive.
Dorothy appeared presently, wearing a boy's outing shirt open at the
neck and a pair of fawn-colored jodhpurs. She noticed as she approached
the car that Frank, the Bolton's chauffeur, was seated in the rumble.
"I've got to run into New York and buy some flying clothes," she
announced as she seated herself at Bill's side.
"Don't bother about clothes, for heaven's sake. They won't help you to
fly. I've got several extra helmets and some goggles and those things
you're wearing now will be just the thing. All you need are
overalls--and I bought you those in the village this morning."
"Aren't you nice," she beamed. "But I do need a leather coat, don't I?"
"What for?"
"Didn't you tell me the cockpits of your N-9 were open--that they didn't
have windshields?"
"Yes--but what of it?"
"Won't it be cold?"
"Not at this time of year. We're not out for an altitude record. Of
course, when you get a couple of miles or so above the earth you have to
bundle up--but the old OXX motor in my N-9 would never get you there.
She's not built for that kind of work. Later on, you can order a monkey
suit or a leather coat from the city."
"Yes, I'll get one of those sporty knee-length coats--" decided Dorothy
gleefully.
"Not if I know it!"
"But why not? They're so goodlooking!"
"And more dangerous than a broken strut!"
"They are?" Dorothy's tone was horrified.
"Certainly. If you buy a coat, get a waist-length model. Anything longer
not only hampers a pilot, it catches the wind and is likely to get
caught around your stick or other controls and crash the plane."
"Oh!" said Dorothy disappointedly.
Bill slanted his eyes from the road and smiled at her. "Not everyone who
wears a yachting cap is a yachtsman! You'll have plenty to think of
during your flight training without bothering about such things."
"I guess you're right," she agreed. "How long will it take to teach me
to fly, Bill?"
"It all depends upon your aptitude, Dorothy. Ask me again after ten
hours of dual instruction. But no matter how apt you prove to be, flying
is not learned in a day. I've mapped out a forty-hour course for you.
Want to look it over?" He handed her a typewritten sheet.
She studied the paper interestedly. It was titled.
"Course of Flight Training.