Dorothy grinned. "That's all there is, there isn't any more, my child.
Don't imagine those police are efficient, do you? None of the missing
bonds have been found, and as for the money, those chaps have probably
spent it by this time. I feel awfully sorry for Daddy, though," she
continued in a changed voice, "--that Mrs. Hamberfield is still raising
the roof about her diamond necklace. Serves her right for being such a
mutt, I say."
"Tough on both parties, I should think."
"Nothing of the kind. Daddy says that her husband, Stonington
Hamberfield, made his coin profiteering during the war. What do you
think his name really is?"
"You tell me."
"Steinburg Hammerfeld--isn't that a hot one?"
"A Hun, eh?"
"Well, if he isn't--I'm President Hindenburg, San Francisco Harbor and
the Statue of Liberty all in one!"
Bill smiled appreciatively at this sally, then changed the subject.
"Let's go to the movies this evening?"
"Can't. It's Pen and Pencil Club night."
"What on earth is that?"
"Oh, about a year ago, a bunch of us at high school, girls and fellows,
started a club to write short stories. We meet every other Tuesday night
at some member's house. Everybody has to write a story at least one a
month, or they're fined a quarter. We read aloud and discuss them at the
meeting. Come with me after supper and pay my quarter."
"Nothing doing. That kind of thing is my idea of a perfectly terrible
evening."
Dorothy slipped the compact into a pocket of her jodhpurs and got to her
feet.
"That's where you're all wrong, Bill. Noel Sainsbury, the writer, is our
adviser. He makes it awfully interesting--we have lots of fun. He was a
naval aviator during the war. You two should have lots in common. Do
come along and meet him."
"Why I dined at his place, Little Windows, last night!"
"Oh, you do know him?"
"Naturally. Where would I be if it weren't for him? Look at the books
he's written about me. Noel Sainsbury brought Dad and me to New Canaan.
We're awfully fond of him and his wife and little girl."
"Yes, Winks is a darling and Mrs. Sainsbury is a peach--" Dorothy
agreed. "She comes to our meetings, too. I'm named for her, you know."
"Really? That's interesting."
"You bet. Then you'll come tonight?"
"I'd like to, very much."
"All right. The meeting is at Betty Mayo's, in White Oak Shade. I'll be
here about eight in my car and drive you down there."
"I'll be ready--so long!"
"So long!"
-------------------------------------------
It was nearly quarter to nine before they got started, as things turned
out. Mr. Dixon had gone to New York for the day on business, had been
detained in town, and Dorothy waited dinner for him.
"Well, we won't have missed much," she explained to Bill as her car
breasted the Marvin Ridge Road. "The first half hour is always taken up
with the minutes of the last meeting and all that parliamentary stuff. I
love driving in the twilight, anyway. Next place on the left is where
we're bound. We'll be there in a jiffy."
They rounded a bend and came upon a Packard parked at the roadside. The
hood was up and a man looked up from tinkering with the engine as their
lights outlined his figure.
"Pull up! pull up!" Bill's tense whisper sounded in her ears. "Where are
your eyes, girl?"
But Dorothy needed no second warning. She shot home the brake, for she
too had seen the great, misshapen boot that the dapper little motorist
wore on his left foot.
_Chapter XI_