“That’s just it. And then you must remember that we really have no facts to go on as yet.”
“Well, I think I’ll go to bed,” yawned Dorothy. “Do you mind if I try to trail that plane with my own?”
“Not if you’ll promise to be careful, dear. In fact, I think it’s a good idea. But one thing I must insist upon and that is—you’re to keep me posted. No more of this taking things into your own hands, as you did with the Martinellis. It’s too dangerous. Confide in your old Dad, girl, and we’ll do a lot better.”
Dorothy was half way across the room, but here she turned and ran back to her father and kissed him. “Of course I’ll tell you everything. Isn’t it too bad, though, that Bill Bolton is away? He’d have been a wonderful help. Have you any idea what he is doing?”
“All I know is what his father told me—that he’s off on some government job. It may be Secret Service work, again. Anyway, he’s to be away indefinitely, I understand. Now, just one thing more.”
“Oh, Daddy! More instructions to take care of myself?”
Mr. Dixon laughed at her outraged expression, and relit his pipe.
“Not exactly—you seem to have the luck to generally land on your feet. But, I want you to consider this: if the bearded aviator or his associates are behind Terry’s disappearance, they kidnapped him because they thought he would recognize the man. And they tried to do the same thing to you tonight.”
“Why on earth should they fear being recognized?”
“Haven’t the slightest idea. It depends on what they’re up to. There must be a strong motive behind it. You don’t strike a match unless you want a light. But unless we’re chasing moonbeams, something illegal is going on and if there is a hunt for Terry tomorrow, I don’t want you to take part in it.”