“He sure will!” Bill replied enthusiastically, “—and after what these cartwheel fellows have done to Deborah, there’d be no keeping him out of it anyway.”
Mr. Davis looked grave. “That young lady holds the most important clue we have.”
“Yes,” said Bill. “Gosh, I can hardly wait till eight o’clock!”
Chapter XI
THE MAN WITH THE WHEEZE
Bill, Osceola and Mr. Davis walked across the lawn to the Dixon house a few minutes after eight that evening. Mr. Dixon greeted them at the door.
“Come in, come in,” he said genially, shaking hands with Davis and nodding to the lads. “Deborah, I’m glad to say, is much better. She is just finished with her supper. We can go up in a moment or two.”
“I’m sorry to intrude at this time, Mr. Dixon,” apologized the secret service man. “Chief Osceola tells me that your maids departed, bag and baggage, this morning, to further complicate matters, and I should think your household must be very much upset.”
“Dorothy,” pronounced her father, “is a mighty good little housekeeper. She’s been running the place in great shape, with the help of a girl we got in from the village. You haven’t met my daughter yet, have you, Mr. Davis?”
“No, but I’ve heard of her flying exploits. She’s by way of being quite a detective, too, isn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed. She saved me and my bank a heap of trouble earlier this summer,” said her father proudly. “Dorothy—” he called, “come here for a moment, please.”