“Come on, Dorothy,” Terry coaxed her with a grin.
“The letter is—?” George asked soberly.
Dorothy pursed her lips, then smiled.
“In your father’s copy of Jones’ Aircraft Power Plants,” she replied calmly. “Find that book, which Mr. Lewis was so keen to locate that he offered to buy this house in order to get it—and you’ll have the letter.”
“I believe you’re right,” conceded Bill, “you generally are—but that book is going to take some finding, or I’ve got another guess coming.”
“If there really is a letter and it’s in the book,” said George, “Mr. Lewis must have hired those men.”
“Not necessarily,” returned Dorothy, “but I’ll admit it’s possible.”
George’s face wore a puzzled frown. “What I can’t understand is why outsiders should know about this letter, when I have never heard of it.”
“And if your father really wrote a letter to you, and they knew it—why did they wait nearly three months before they tried to steal it?” Bill shook his head. “It’s beyond me.”
“And why did they start in using strong arm stuff right off the bat?” Terry propounded this question to the table at large.