Читать книгу Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case - Wayne Dorothy - Страница 3

With the detonation of the gun in her ears, Dorothy flung herself against the door and slammed it shut. Her hand fumbled for the key, found it and sent the bolt shooting into place. About the house the rain-lashed wind howled and moaned like some wild thing in torment. Her heart was pumping and her breath came in choking gasps. Leaning against the solid oak door she pressed her ear to a panel.

The noise of the storm muffled all other sound, but she thought she could detect the mumble of men’s voices just outside the door. It was impossible to catch the words, of course, but the mere sound told the girl that they were standing on the small front porch. To her right was a sitting room. She hurried into it.

A quick flash of her torch showed two windows facing the drive. She tried the catches. They were unlocked. She fastened them and ran out of the room, down the hall to the rear. The light from the library threw the staircase into silhouette. Dorothy started for the dining room, but stopped short as the young man whom she had sent Betty in to free, bounded into the hall.

“Hello!” he cried. “Do you know where they are?”

Dorothy pointed toward the front door.

“Right out there!”

“Good! I’ll fix ’em!”

He raced up the stairs and she heard him running toward the front of the house.

“Betty!” she called. “Come here!”

“What is it?” answered that young lady’s voice from the library. “George told me to stay in this room.”

“George?” exploded Dorothy. She ran to the door and looked in. Betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. She turned her head when Dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze.

“Yes – George Conway,” she explained smilingly. “He owns this house, you see.”

Dorothy’s fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out.

“Well, you are a fast worker – ” was her comment. “Dash over to those windows and see that they’re fastened. Then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the French doors – anything will do, just so it’s heavy. Hurry – and when you’ve finished, go into the hall and stay there.”

Betty stared through the darkness. “But George says – ”

“I don’t care what George says! The hall is the safest place right now.”

“Well, why can’t you help me?” grumbled Betty. “Suppose those awful men come before I’ve – ”

“They won’t if you snap to it. I’m off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house.”

This last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. After making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. Here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. It took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside.

She went out into the hall and another report from above shook the windows in their frames.

Betty, wild-eyed with fright, rushed into the bright arc of Dorothy’s flash light.

“What on earth is it?” she cried in very evident alarm.

“Shotgun,” said Dorothy tersely. “If those yells meant anything, I guess we can take it that somebody’s been hit.”

Then she noticed that Betty’s left hand held an open compact, while in her right she clutched a small rouge puff. Her ash-gold hair which she wore long had become unknotted and hung halfway down her back. Her petite figure drooped with weariness.

“Gracious, Betty! How in the wide world did you ever get rouge on the end of your nose? You’re a sight!”

“Well, you turned out the light – ” Miss Mayo’s tone was indignant, as she rubbed the end of her nose with a damp handkerchief. “I think I’ll run upstairs and spruce up a bit.”

Dorothy looked at her and laughed.

“Come on up with me,” suggested Betty. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“No, you run along and pander to your vanity, my child. When you’ve finished, why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a batch of fudge – that would be just the thing!”

“Why so sarcastic?” Betty raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Well – what do you think we’ve run into – a college houseparty or something?”

“Oh, I think you’re mean,” Betty pouted.

“But you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!”

“Do you think those men will try to get in again!” Betty’s blue eyes widened.

“If I didn’t know that your head was a fluffball – But what’s the use. Run along now. It sounds as if George were coming down. Hurry up – you might meet him on the stairs!”

“Cat!” said Betty and flew.

Dorothy went to the door and listened. If the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm.

Then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on George. He carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm.

“Howdy!” he greeted her enthusiastically. “You know, I can never thank you girls enough for all you’ve done. Gosh! You’re a couple of heroes, all right – I mean heroines. When I saw Betty – I mean, Miss Mayo,” he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, “come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why I just couldn’t believe my eyes!”

“Some wonderworker, isn’t she?” Dorothy contrived to look awestruck, but there was no malice in her amused tone.

“You said it – she’s a whizbang! And she told me you two came in an airplane. I’ve never met a girl aviator before. I guess she’s a second Dorothy Dixon – you must have read what the newspapers said about that girl!” He shook his head admiringly. “Betty sure has nerve!”

“She has, indeed!” Dorothy kept her face straight with an effort. “But tell me – what did you do to that crew outside?”

“Plugged ’em – clean. Got a bead on them through a front window.”

“What? You – killed them? Buckshot, at that distance?”

George chuckled. “Not buckshot – rock salt. Use it for crows, you know. It stings like the dickens.”

“I’ll bet it does!” Dorothy’s laugh was full-throated and hearty.

“What’s become of them?” she asked when she could speak.

“They beat it around the house to the garage. Do you know what happened to their car?”

“Yes. It ran away – down the lots to the bottom of the valley. And between you and me and the hatrack, I don’t think it will ever run any more.”

“Gee whiz!” chuckled George. “Who’d ever think a little thing like Betty would have the pluck to pull a stunt like that!”

“Who would?” said Dorothy and joined in the laugh.

“Well, as long as their car is out of the running, they’ll probably try to steal my flivver.” George tapped his gun significantly, “But I’ll put a crimp in that. They’ve got to pass the dining room windows to get out of here.”

“You needn’t bother – the Ford won’t move.”

“Sure it will.” George stopped short in the doorway and turned toward her. “That car of mine runs like a watch.”

“But not without gas,” explained Dorothy. “I drained the tank into a couple of tins.”

“You did?”

“Sure thing. Parked the tins in your orchard. They’ll never find ’em.”

“Say!” exclaimed George. “You must be almost as good as Betty that is, I mean – ”

“Who’s taking my name in vain?” Miss Mayo was tripping blithely downstairs. “You two seem to be finding a lot to talk about.”

George stared at her. “Say, you certainly look swell when you’re dolled up.”

“Well, it’s the best I can do now,” deprecated Betty. “I borrowed a pair of your slippers though – woolly ones. That is, I s’pose they’re yours?”

“Glad to have you wear ’em.” George’s eyes were still glued to Betty’s pretty face when Dorothy broke in.

“Look here, we’ll have to get down to business. George – listen to me. Betty won’t melt, you know – ”

“Oh, I think you’re terrible – ” interrupted Betty.

Her friend paid no attention, but kept on talking to George. “Do you really think they’ve gone?”

He nodded. “I’m pretty sure they have – that is, for the present. You can’t do a whole lot when your hide is full of salt. I’ll bet they’re kiting down the road right now. Maybe they’ll stop in at the Robinson’s or somewhere and get a lift to Stamford or Ridgefield or wherever they came from. They may have some pals about here, of course. I sort of gathered that they weren’t working on their own – that there was somebody in back of them.”

“Well, at least we can count on a breather. Let’s go in the library and turn on the light. I’m tired of standing about in this hall and I want to dry out by the fire.”

In the library, George pushed a couple of easy chairs before the comforting blaze. Dorothy cast aside her slicker and helmet and dropped into one of them. She kicked off her sodden shoes and stretching her legs toward the warmth, drew forth a comb and proceeded to make herself neat. George perched on the arm of Betty’s chair, and the two stared at the flames without speaking.

At last Dorothy put her comb away, turned to George and broke the silence.

“It’s none of my particular business, of course, but would you mind telling me the reason for all this rough house? Why did those men attack you and tie you up – what were they doing around here?”

George shook his head slowly. “Hanged if I know,” he said.

“You don’t know? But they seemed to be asking you questions – from what I could see through the window, it looked that way.”

“That’s right. But – but – well, you two girls are real sportsmen. You’ve pulled me out of an awful mess. Heaven knows I appreciate what you’ve done, but I just can’t have you running any further risk on my account, Miss – ”

“Dixon,” supplied Betty. “I forgot you hadn’t been introduced.”

George leaned forward. “Do you come from New Canaan?” he shot out.

“Of course, we live there,” said Betty. “And I want you to know that Dorothy is my best friend. We’re seniors at the New Canaan High – if that interests you.”

“So you’re Dorothy Dixon, the flyer!” he exploded. “Suffering monkeys! I didn’t know I was entertaining a celebrity. Why, you’re the girl I was talking about – who – ”

“Here, here – don’t make me blush,” laughed Dorothy.

“But don’t you see? Your being Dorothy Dixon makes all the difference in the world.”

Dorothy’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

“I don’t get you,” she said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why, if what the newspapers say is true, you simply eat up this gangster stuff – a whiz at solving all kinds of mysteries.”

“Nice lady-like reputation, what?” she mocked.

“Well, that’s all right with me. Because now – I have no hesitancy in telling you all I know about this queer business. You’ll probably know just what to do – and you’ll be a wonderful help.”

“How about me?” Betty was a direct little person and seemed at no pains to disguise her feelings. “I don’t think you’re a bit polite, George!”

“Oh, I feel differently about you – ” stammered that young man, then stopped short and looked painfully embarrassed.

Dorothy thought it time she took matters into her own hands.

“Don’t be silly, Betty, George knows how clever you are!” She flashed a mischievous glance at her friend, then went on in a serious tone. “And of course we’re keen to hear all about it, George, and we’ll do anything we can to help you. But your story will keep a while longer. I hope you don’t mind my mentioning such a prosaic thing – but do you happen to have anything to eat in the house?”

“Oh, my gosh! Of course I have – ” he threw a glance at the clock and jumped to his feet. “It’s nearly eight o’clock. You girls must be starved! Sit right here and I’ll bring supper in a jiffy. I was just about to eat mine when those two thugs dropped in and put an end to it for the time being.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Betty, hopping out of her chair.

“That’s a good plan,” decreed Dorothy. “While you’re starting things in the kitchen, I’d like to use the phone, if I may.”

“There it is, on that table in the corner,” said George. “Hop to it. I’ll drive you home later in the flivver.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to have gas for my plane. We’ll talk it over at supper, shall we?”

She took up the telephone and the others hurried from the room.

Presently she joined them in the kitchen.

“I called up your mother, Betty, and told her you were spending the night with me,” she announced. “Dad is away, so I got hold of Bill Bolton and he’ll be over here in about twenty minutes.”

“Oh, fine – ” began Betty and stopped short as an electric bell on the wall buzzed sharply.

For a moment they stared at it in startled silence. Then George spoke. “Somebody’s ringing the door bell,” he said slowly.