“I’m not. Men always club together.”
“And what can a poor girl do?” supplemented Bill with a grin.
“Stop teasing, Bill!” commanded Mr. Bolton. “Apologize to Dorothy and tell her why you mean to take short hops. I can’t see the sense in such procedure myself—any more than she can. And just remember that an overdose of excitement puts anybody’s nerves on edge. She’s been through a lot more than you have during the last few days.”
At his father’s words, Bill’s face wore such a look of honest contrition, that Dorothy’s conscience smote her. They both began to speak at once.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Dorothy—”
“I’m an idiot, Bill—”
They burst into laughter simultaneously.
“Now we can get on with our discussion,” smiled Dorothy. “Go ahead, Bill.”
“Well, the smuggler’s pilot has been taking most of his flights—or I ought to say, the flights we know about—during the late afternoon. I haven’t the slightest glimmer why he chooses to fly at that time. But, as I see it, if he has done it day after day in the past, the chances are he’ll continue to leave his hangar at about the same time. My plan is for us to take off at about four each afternoon. We can remain in the air until six. If he comes from around here, we’d catch him shortly after he takes the air. That’s how I figure it.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Dorothy was still unconvinced. “But how about the warning we got a little while ago?”