“That so?” said Frank, entering into the spirit of badinage. “Give me a racquet, and I’ll take you both on for a set. About 6-0 ought to be right, with me on the large end. Never saw a girl yet that could play passable tennis.” 64
“You scalawag,” laughed Della. “When it was only my playing that enabled us to beat Bob and Jack last light. Well, here’s your racquet, all waiting for you. Come on.”
Della was a prophet. The slender, lithe Miss Faulkner, with her tip-tilted nose, freckles, tan and all, proved to be almost as good a player as Della herself. The result was that, although both games were hotly contested, Frank lost the first two of the set. He was about to start serving for the third game, when Bob and Jack, giving evidences of considerable excitement, approached from the house.
“Hey, Frank, come here,” called Bob.
Frank stood undecided, but Della called to her brother:
“He’s a very busy boy, Bob. You and Jack better come and help him.”
Noting the presence of the other girl, Bob and Jack came forward, whereupon Della once more managed introductions. Bob, usually rather embarrassed in the presence of girls, seemed at once at ease, and apparently forgot entirely his urgent business with Frank. He and Miss Faulkner fell into the gay chatter from which the others were excluded. Jack seized the opportunity to pull Frank aside.
“Look here,” he said. “Something has happened already. That call was from one of the government 65 prohibition enforcement agents up in New York. He said Inspector Condon had carried our information and surmises about our neighbors to him immediately after seeing us. He’s coming down to-night to the house. Said he thought he could make the trip in about three hours, and would be here at 9 o’clock.”
“Is that so?” said Frank. “Has Uncle George come home yet?”
“No, and he won’t be home. It seems he telephoned earlier that he was running down to Philadelphia on business for a day or two. He always keeps a grip packed at his office, you know, for such emergencies.”