“Because, if you’re willing, I may want you to work for me for a few days. I suppose I can reach your father by telephone at the New Canaan bank?”
“No, you can’t—Daddy is down in Florida on a fishing trip. He’s on Mr. Bolton’s yacht, somewhere off the coast. They won’t be back until Christmas Eve.”
“That,” said the Secret Service man, “complicates matters. Who, may I ask, is looking after Miss Dixon while Mr. Dixon is away?”
“I’m looking after my own sweet self, sir.” Dorothy grinned roguishly.
“Then who is to take the responsibility for your actions, young lady?”
“Why, you may—if you want to!”
For a moment or two the detective studied her thoughtfully. There was a certain assurance about this girl’s manner, a steely quality that came sometimes into her grey eyes, an indefinable air of strength and quiet courage—
“Do you think you could impersonate your cousin, Dorothy?”
“Why—of course!” Dorothy showed her surprise. “We look exactly alike. Didn’t Howard take me for Janet?”
“He did—but from what he has told us about her, your natures are entirely different. Janet, from all accounts, is a rather meek and demure young lady. Remember, that in order to convince anyone who knows her you would have to submerge your own personality in hers. And nobody would ever describe you as a meek, demure young lady!”