“Exactly. I don’t want him to see us, though, so be careful.”
The three rounded the gaily painted cottage and ducking under the red and black striped awning, entered the front room which was fitted out with the usual wicker furniture and bright rugs.
“I wonder where he keeps them,” Dorothy murmured to herself. “Ah—this looks like it!”
She lifted the hinged lid of a handsome sea chest and pulled forth a dozen or more colored flags.
“By jove! The goods!” cried Bill. “How did you ever guess it, Dot?”
Dorothy was so pleased by her find that she passed over his use of the despised diminutive.
“I just happened to remember that he generally decked out his cabana with a flock of these things. And though the club runs up flags on special occasions, Mr. Holloway did it nearly every afternoon. It came to me when you pulled off Tracey’s beard back there in the tunnel.”
“Precisely,” said Arthur Jeffries. “Holloway would get word in New York at his office, probably, when a liner carrying contraband was expected off Fire Island light. Then he’d come out here and signal the time to Tracey in his airplane, by means of these flags. I’ll bet the old boy never went near that Castle. Some alibi! He and Tracey probably never saw each other from the time he went to the city in the morning until he came home for dinner at night.”
“Are you going to arrest him now?” she asked breathlessly.
“As soon as I can get out on the beach. I’ll do it as quietly as possible, of course. No use in causing a disturbance with his friends around. So long, Bill. Glad to have met you, Miss Dixon—and many thanks. See you both later on.”