Frank nodded, then looked thoughtful.
“He ought to be here, however,” he said. “Well, anyway, there’s your father.”
Jack shook his head.
“No, Dad planned to stay in town to-night at his club.”
“Well,” said Frank. “We’ll have to handle this alone. I suppose, however, this man just wants to talk with us at first hand and, perhaps, by staying until to-morrow, get an idea of what’s down here for himself. He might even ask us to take him up in the plane over the Brownell place, to-morrow.”
“Told him to come on down,” said Jack. “What else could he say? We had told Inspector Condon that we placed ourselves at the government’s service. I expect I had better put him up at our house overnight. Then we won’t have to make any useless explanations to Mrs. Temple.”
Frank nodded. Mrs. Temple, though kindly soul enough, was so involved in social and club duties that she had little time to give the boys. As a matter of fact, Frank was not at all certain that she would be at home for dinner that night. As to putting up the stranger at Jack’s home, that would be an easy matter. Jack’s mother was dead, and a housekeeper managed the house and servants for himself and his father. She was an amiable woman, and all Jack would have to do would be to prefer a request that a guest room be prepared, and it would be done.
“Hey, Frank,” called Bob, interrupting their aside; “see how this strikes you? Miss Faulkner and I will play you and Della. We shall have time for a set before dressing for dinner.”
“Righto,” agreed Frank, taking up his racquet, while Jack sank to the turf bordering the court, to look on.