Chapter XIII
THE WARNING
Dorothy and Mr. Dixon were finishing breakfast next morning when theBoltons, father and son, dropped in.
"Good morning, stranger," was Mr. Dixon's greeting to Bill. "Iunderstand you've been to Europe and back a couple of times since we sawyou last. We've missed you, boy."
"Thanks," returned Bill. "I'm glad to be home again."
"Which home?" asked his father with an amused smile. "When in New Canaanyou seem to spend most of your time across the way here."
"And why not?" protested Mr. Dixon. "Dorothy and I return the complimentoften enough. Since you people moved here two lonely widowers haveacquired another child apiece. It's fine--both Dorothy and I are thehappier for it."
"And that goes two ways," asserted Bill. "How about it, Dad?"
"Yes, of course," Mr. Bolton assented heartily. "The intimacy is one Ienjoy immensely. But I'm afraid that Bill has begun the habit of leadingDorothy into all kinds of dangerous adventures. This diamond smugglingbusiness, for instance."
Mr. Dixon chuckled. "If you ask me, I don't think Dorothy needs anyleading."
"Well, I should say not!" exclaimed his daughter. "If it weren't forBill, I'd never be able to get out of half the messes we drift intotogether!"
Mr. Dixon pushed his chair back from the breakfast table. "This meetingof the mutual admiration society is all very nice," he announced with atwinkle in his eye, "But it is high time the ways and means committeegot together on this last Bolton-Dixon hair-raiser. I vote we adjourn tothe porch and learn what the subcommittee on the smugglers' notebook hasto report."
"Second the motion," chirped Dorothy. "I'm just crazy to hear whatyou've found out, Daddy Bolton. I suppose Bill has been hitting the hay,like me?"
"He put in nearly sixteen hours of uninterrupted slumber," Mr. Boltonanswered as they found chairs for themselves on the shaded porch, wherethe air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle.
"Well, I guess it was a dead heat," she laughed. "I woke up less than anhour ago, myself."
Mr. Dixon passed his case to Mr. Bolton and when their after-breakfastcigars were well alight, Bill produced the notebook.
"While you're busy with that stogie, Dad, I'll start the ball rolling."
"Humph! That--er--stogie happens to be a fifty-cent Corona!" snorted Mr.Dixon who was touchy about his smokes.
"Means nothing to me," replied Bill blandly. "Don't use 'em myselfand--"
"Say, will you please pipe down on cigars--" broke in Dorothy, "and getto the notebook?"
"Oh, what a pun--" groaned Bill, "you certainly--"
"Be still!" ordered his father. "She's right. Let's get down tobusiness. Now, here's the book," he went on, opening the little volume."I dried it in our oven and although the writing is blurred, it is stillquite legible. As you see, only a few pages have been used, and theyshow a simple set of flag signals. The red flag means: 'Meet Steamship.'The yellow flag stands for 'A.M.'; the white, 'P.M.' Then there aretwenty-four flags to designate the hours and half-hours from one totwelve."
"Is that all?" asked Dorothy, disappointedly.
"Absolutely. The rest of the pages are blank."
"I remember hearing the men speak of the bosses' red flag when I waslistening outside the cottage," she said slowly, "and that meant, ofcourse, that Donovan and Charlie were to meet the steamer."
"Quite. But until we are able to locate the spot where these signals aredisplayed we won't accomplish much."
Bill nodded. "And now that they know we have discovered their method ofsmuggling, they'll probably shift their operations from Fire IslandLightship to some other point along the coast."
"Very likely," his father acquiesced. "Although it is my opinion theywill discontinue, temporarily, and lay low for a while."
"Still there must be other shipments in transit right now," suggestedMr. Dixon. "But I suppose they could manage that by sending radios incode?"
Mr. Bolton carefully knocked the ash from his cigar.
"I think that's beyond the point," he argued. "We can only surmise whatthey may or may not do. The government men will watch the ships and thecoast. Both Bill and I talked to Washington over the phone just beforewe came over here. And the officials there believe that the beardedaviator's plane is a most important factor in the operations of thesmugglers. And the Chief wants Bill to find that plane--"
Dorothy snorted derisively. "Well, he doesn't want much! That airplanewon't fly over the Beach Club again, after this--"
Mr. Bolton smiled at Dorothy's vehemence. "But you see, my dear, theWashington gentleman thinks that if Bill is able to follow themysterious amphibian, it will eventually lead him to the headquarters ofthe gang."
Bill burst out laughing. "It's just like telling me to take a handful ofsalt--and if I can put it on the birdie's tail, I will eventually catchthe birdie! But it isn't really the Chief's order, he knows what we'reup against. It's that assistant of his who wants to cover himself withglory. I asked him if I hadn't better disguise my plane like a string ofwhite boxes so they'd take me for a diamond necklace!"
"What'd he say?" giggled Dorothy.
"Oh, he spread on the soft soap until I got even more disgusted andturned him over to Dad!"
Mr. Dixon chuckled. "It's a pretty large order. I don't suppose yourSecret Service friend gave you any valuable suggestions?"
"He did not," sneered Bill. "That, as he explained, was entirely up tome!"
For several minutes no one spoke.
"We sure are up against it," sighed Dorothy at last.
"You mean I am," was Bill's reply. "The only thing I can do is to starta series of patrols."
"_We_ will start a series of patrols," she corrected. "Two planes willbe better than one."
"Just as you say." Bill showed no enthusiasm. "My idea of somethinguninteresting to do is to fly around all day, hunting another plane,that's probably safely housed in its hangar all the time."
"Oh, don't be such a wet blanket! If none of us have brains enough tothink of a plan to trap that fellow, there's no use grouching over it!"
"That's all very well. But where are we going to patrol? You told me, Ithink, that those lads planned to take you from the warehouse to theirheadquarters in Connecticut. This state's not so big when you compare itwith Texas or California--but when it comes to locating a singleplane--"
"Listen!" cried Dorothy and ran to the porch steps. "Come here--all ofyou--quick!"
The deep drone of an airplane increased to a giant roar as a smarttwo-seater swept down toward the house.
"It's the Mystery Plane!" she shrieked. "The nerve of him!"
On came the amphibian with throttle wide open, just topping the trees atthe edge of the lawn. Then the four on the steps saw the pilot dropsomething overside and zoom upward missing the roof of the house byinches.
"I should say he has nerve--" Mr. Dixon pointed out on to the lawn. "Runout and get that parcel he dropped on the grass, Bill. This business isgetting more interesting by the minute!"
Bill brought the package back to the porch.
"Oh, what do you think it is?" Dorothy grabbed Bill's arm in herexcitement.
"Calm down!" said her father, as Bill held out a small box covered withbrown paper and sealed with dabs of red wax. "Handle it carefully--theremay be explosive in it."
"I don't think so--" said Bill, "those things generally run byclockwork. There's no tick in this box."
"Come on--let's open it," exclaimed Dorothy impatiently. "I'll bet it'snothing dangerous. Couldn't have been dropped from a plane without goingoff!"
"Wait one minute," commanded her father. "We'll be on the safe side,anyway. Don't touch the thing till I come back."
He ran into the house.
"Any address on it?" inquired Dorothy.
"Not the slightest bit of writing. If there is any, it's underneath thisoutside wrapping."
Mr. Dixon came out of the house carry
ing a pail of water, which hebrought down to the lawn, where they were waiting.
"Drop that package into the water," he ordered Bill. "A good soakingwill take the sting out of any explosive."
Dorothy burst out laughing.
"Maybe--but not in this case, Dad. Look, the thing floats!"
She snatched up the package and ripped off the outside paper, disclosinga white cork box, similar to those used for carrying the contraband.
Bill took a knife from his pocket and opened a blade that proved to be asmall screwdriver. He took the box from Dorothy and removed the screwsfrom the lid.
"Gee, do you think they've sent us a diamond?" she asked jokingly.
"Not a chance. This is a message of some kind, I'll bet!"
The box was filled with jeweler's cotton, from the center of which hedrew a revolver cartridge. Around it, fastened by a rubber band, therewas a small sheet of note paper. The others gathered close as hesmoothed out the paper.
Blocked in capitals with a red crayon was the smugglers' message.
"LAY OFF! THIS MEANS BOTH OF YOU."
"Aha! And if we don't lay off, we'll be plunked with a bullet from acartridge like this!" Dorothy summed up. "This affair is likely to getexciting before we finish it."
Mr. Bolton studied the paper then returned it to the box with thecartridge.
"Has it struck you oddly," he said quietly, "that these people shouldknow that Bill was mixed up in this? That message, of course, is forDorothy and Bill."
"Yes, I was thinking of that," admitted Bill.
"Strange--" cogitated Mr. Dixon. "You two flew from Babylon back herewithout a stop--and you both went straight to bed. Neither you, nor I,Bolton, have spoken to anyone about their exploits, I'm sure."
"Somebody must have found out from the servants that our offspring flewback together," his friend decided. "It could not have happened anyother way. Then that fact, added to the glimpse they must have caught ofa young man in the Mary Jane with Dorothy, when they rammed thesmugglers' motor sailor off the lightship, gave them a simple line ofreasoning. And the joke of the matter is that their warning has donejust the reverse from what they figured it would do!"
Mr. Dixon looked puzzled.
"I don't quite see what you mean?"
"Why, it has given us the only real clue we have to the gang'swhereabouts," smiled Bolton senior.
"Dad's one up on me, too," grinned Bill. "How about you, Dot?"
Miss Dixon stamped her foot. "You'll _dot_, and carry one you'llremember for the rest of your life if you murder my perfectly decentname that way, Bill! You ought to know by now that I won't stand forit."
"So sorry, Dorothy!" he apologized with mock politeness. "Will MissSherlock Holmes, the famous lady sleuthhound who solved the New CanaanBank mystery, deign to say whether or not she also spots a clue in thevillain's message?"
"Aren't you the bunk! Yes, I think I know what Daddy Bolton is talkingabout."
"Well, Miss Cleverness, what is it then?"
"Oh, you make me tired! But just to prove that I'm not as dumb as youact, the clue is this--"
"Give me a chance," begged Mr. Dixon, entering into the spirit of thegame. "Your idea, Bolton, is to find out from the servants who they'vebeen talking to and trace the smugglers from--"
"Cold as an iceberg," broke in Mr. Bolton. "I'm sorry to admit it, butyou and Bill don't seem very quick on the uptake this morning. What do Imean, Dorothy?"
Dorothy made a face at Bill.
"We know that these men have headquarters somewhere in this state," shebegan airily. "Why? Because Donovan said they must get me over toConnecticut. And later, in the warehouse, he told Peters not to rob mebecause the boss wanted me delivered just as I was. Daddy Boltonbelieves that because these men have been spotted so quickly that _you_are mixed up in it, Bill, their headquarters are much nearer to thishouse than we figured: that the chances are, it is only a very few milesfrom here that they're to be found--or their system of spying on uscouldn't be so perfect!"
"That's right," concurred Mr. Bolton. "This smuggler boss or hisaccomplices over here must live in the neighborhood. Some of hisservants know ours--have known them for some time or they would not havebeen able to ask questions without causing suspicion."
Mr. Dixon looked suddenly serious. "You can't mean that our neighborsalong this ridge are mixed up in it? The Clarks, old Holloway, theDenbys, Miss Cross--and ten or a dozen others--are all old friends andeminently respectable people! Why, it's preposterous to think--"
"I'm not trying to pin it on anybody yet," countered Bill's father. "Butmark my words--when this business is cleared up, you'll find that someeminently respectable New Canaan household _is_ mixed up in it!"
Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane Page 13
