“I wonder why Father didn’t tell me of those plans?” George remarked rather wistfully.
“That I can’t explain, my boy. As you know now, I thought you had them. Either that you had removed them from the book before it left your house, or that your father had changed his mind and given them to you. Anyway, I decided to await developments. Nothing happened until Joyce, who had been in Europe since Conway’s death, returned home a couple of weeks ago. He came to see me and asked me outright if I knew anything about Conway’s airplane motor plans. I never liked nor trusted Joyce, but I saw no harm in telling him the truth. For of course I figured that George must have set the wheels in motion for the sale of the motor long before. Joyce could do nothing about it at this late date.”
“But to my astonishment, the man told me the motor had not been marketed—that he would have heard if any company had bought it. ‘Either that boy’s got the plans,’ he said, ‘or Conway had two copies of the book and sent you the wrong one—’ I didn’t understand how the book came into it and told him so. ‘Conway always sent important papers through the mail by placing them between the pages of a book,’ he assured me. ‘Thought they would travel safer that way.’
“Well, he changed the subject then, and left. I got nervous about what I’d told him, and hired Michaels to watch the fellow. Michaels dug up a lot of things about Joyce, and managed to get himself placed on his staff of roughnecks. If he could have been in two places at once, all this trouble over at the Conway house last night would never have come off.”
Dorothy spoke from her place on the couch beside Betty. “How did you happen to go there last night?”
“I wanted to find out if George really had another copy of the book. Later I learned from Michaels that Joyce’s men had tried to torture the boy into telling them where the plans were—and that then he intended to kidnap him. I was on my way over there to warn him when we met on the road. He wanted to put young Walters wise, but I was sure the Joyce gang wouldn’t hurt his friend. I had promised Michaels not to go ahead on my own hook until I saw him. Perhaps I was wrong, but I did what I thought was best for George’s interests. I’ve heard since that they just about tore the house apart, looking for the other copy of that book!”
“Do you happen to have the copy that was sent you, here in the house?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes—right here, on the table.” Michaels handed it to her.
Dorothy pored over the book for a few minutes, then laid it down. “Mr. Lewis, do you mind if I take it home with me?”
“Why, of course not—keep it as long as you wish.”