“I will. So long!”
He ran down the porch steps, and hurried across the lawn toward the highroad. When he got to his room, he went straight to the telephone where he called up the Hiblein Hotel at Hartford, and eventually heard Mr. Dixon’s voice on the wire.
“Bill Bolton speaking—” he began abruptly and launched into an account of the night’s happenings.
“My thanks to you, boy, and to Osceola,” said Dorothy’s father. “I won’t waste time now in talking about this outrage—but you can count on me being in New Canaan just as soon as the car can get me there.”
“Just a moment, sir—there’s something else I want to tell you, and something you can do for us.”
“Shoot,” said Mr. Dixon.
Bill rapidly ran over the adventures of the silver dollars, gave his own suspicions of the case, and ended by mentioning his affiliation with a certain department in Washington.
“Good enough, Bill. That explains why you resigned from Annapolis, of course. You undoubtedly have a flair for this kind of thing. But there doesn’t really seem to be any tangible clue to go on in this beastly kidnapping affair. Have you hit on anything yourself?”
“The license number of the gangsters’ car, the one that’s parked in your drive at present, sir, may lead us somewhere. Of course it may have been stolen; and if not, the owner’s house would be the least likely place for them to take Deborah. Still, if we could locate that residence, Osceola and I might be able to get a line on the chap and his friends. What do you think, sir?”
“That sounds like a mighty good plan. No telling what you may stir up. But where do I come in?”