“I see!” cried Tavia. “I see what you are driving at. Aren’t you smart, Doro Dale? The way to do, then, is for us to find this John Smith—— But how will you do it?”
“How?”
“Of course that isn’t his name. I don’t believe there is a John Smith in Dalton.”
“Perhaps not. Although John Smiths aren’t uncommon,” laughed Dorothy. “But we know that is the name in which he’ll ask for his mail. Now, why not keep watch——”
“Better than that!” gasped Tavia. “Let’s tell Mr. Somes, the postmaster, and have him set a watch upon whoever gets a letter for John Smith.”
“But where’ll he get a letter—if I don’t write him?” demanded Dorothy.
“Of course, you’ll write him. Write now. Make him think you are going to ‘bite’ on his offer.”
“But I don’t intend to pay any great sum for finding Tom Moran—though I’d be willing to if I had it.”
“We can fool him; can’t we?” demanded Tavia. “He is evidently trying to over-reach Tom and you both. Let the biter be bitten,” said Tavia, gaily. “Come on, Doro! Write the letter.”