“I don’t quite see what you mean?”
“Why, it has given us the only real clue we have to the gang’s whereabouts,” smiled Bolton senior.
“Dad’s one up on me, too,” grinned Bill. “How about you, Dot?”
Miss Dixon stamped her foot. “You’ll dot, and carry one you’ll remember for the rest of your life if you murder my perfectly decent name that way, Bill! You ought to know by now that I won’t stand for it.”
“So sorry, Dorothy!” he apologized with mock politeness. “Will Miss Sherlock Holmes, the famous lady sleuthhound who solved the New Canaan Bank mystery, deign to say whether or not she also spots a clue in the villain’s message?”
“Aren’t you the bunk! Yes, I think I know what Daddy Bolton is talking about.”
“Well, Miss Cleverness, what is it then?”
“Oh, you make me tired! But just to prove that I’m not as dumb as you act, the clue is this—”
“Give me a chance,” begged Mr. Dixon, entering into the spirit of the game. “Your idea, Bolton, is to find out from the servants who they’ve been talking to and trace the smugglers from—”
“Cold as an iceberg,” broke in Mr. Bolton. “I’m sorry to admit it, but you and Bill don’t seem very quick on the uptake this morning. What do I mean, Dorothy?”