“Very likely,” his father acquiesced. “Although it is my opinion they will discontinue, temporarily, and lay low for a while.”
“Still there must be other shipments in transit right now,” suggested Mr. Dixon. “But I suppose they could manage that by sending radios in code?”
Mr. Bolton carefully knocked the ash from his cigar.
“I think that’s beyond the point,” he argued. “We can only surmise what they may or may not do. The government men will watch the ships and the coast. Both Bill and I talked to Washington over the phone just before we came over here. And the officials there believe that the bearded aviator’s plane is a most important factor in the operations of the smugglers. And the Chief wants Bill to find that plane—”
Dorothy snorted derisively. “Well, he doesn’t want much! That airplane won’t fly over the Beach Club again, after this—”
Mr. Bolton smiled at Dorothy’s vehemence. “But you see, my dear, the Washington gentleman thinks that if Bill is able to follow the mysterious amphibian, it will eventually lead him to the headquarters of the gang.”
Bill burst out laughing. “It’s just like telling me to take a handful of salt—and if I can put it on the birdie’s tail, I will eventually catch the birdie! But it isn’t really the Chief’s order, he knows what we’re up against. It’s that assistant of his who wants to cover himself with glory. I asked him if I hadn’t better disguise my plane like a string of white boxes so they’d take me for a diamond necklace!”
“What’d he say?” giggled Dorothy.
“Oh, he spread on the soft soap until I got even more disgusted and turned him over to Dad!”
Mr. Dixon chuckled. “It’s a pretty large order. I don’t suppose your Secret Service friend gave you any valuable suggestions?”