Three quarters of an hour later, Ashton Sanborn and Bill Bolton marched into the room to find the two shoppers sound asleep in their respective chairs. The detective coughed discreetly and both the young people awoke.
“I see that you’ve brought your spoils back with you,” he smiled, pointing to the boxes and bundles. Dorothy stared at him, only half awake, then sat upright in her chair as she realized where she was.
“Looks to me,” said Bill, getting out of his overcoat, “as if she thought Janet was going to start a shop of her own. Why did you cart all the stuff back here instead of having it sent?”
“Because, Mr. Inquisitive—well, just because. You and Howard run along now and prepare your handsome selves for dinner. The principles of this piece are going into conference now.”
“My word—” began Bill, but at a shake of the head from Sanborn, he took the still drowsy Howard by the arm and together they disappeared into the bedroom.
“Pretty tough time you’ve had, I expect?” Mr. Sanborn’s eyes twinkled, though his tone was grave.
“Oh, but it was lots of fun,” cried Dorothy. “Thanks to Uncle Sam, and Uncle Sanborn! And look here, I’ve got a great idea.”
“Which has to do with your bringing back the packages yourself?”
“Quite right, it has. Do you think those boys can hear what we’re saying?”
“I doubt it, Dorothy—but Bill, as you probably guessed at the end of the affair of the Winged Cartwheels, is a full-fledged member of my organization and—”