“The Beach Club, eh?” He leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I take a dip most afternoons. Wonderful bracer after mornings in the city in this hot weather. You ought to get down there more often.”
“Well, there’s a pool at the Country Club, and I’d rather play golf,” argued his host. “I haven’t been to the Beach Club this summer, but Dorothy tells me that the cabana you’ve built is quite a palace—much larger and more ‘spiffy,’ I think was the word, than those we ordinary members rent!”
“I like to be comfortable and have some privacy when I entertain my friends down there,” Mr. Holloway admitted. “But I’m interested in hearing Dorothy’s story. I was there this afternoon, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.”
“Did you see the airplane that landed in the cove?”
“Why, no. What time was that?”
“A little after five-fifteen.”
“I had already left for home. I’m rarely at the club after five o’clock. I like a bright sun when I’m in the water. What about the plane?”
While Dorothy told of her experience with the bearded pilot, the two gentlemen continued their meal in silence.
“A nasty customer—that!” snapped her father when she had concluded. “But then, my dear, you shouldn’t allow your keenness for aviation to over-excite your curiosity. Let it be a lesson to you not to interfere with other people’s private business.”
“You say that he wore a false beard?” interjected Mr. Holloway. “Now I wonder why the man wants to disguise himself? And why he was so standoffish about his plane?”