“What is it, Daddy?” A door at the back of the hall burst open and Dorothy ran toward them. Her girlish figure was clothed in a blue linen frock and a white apron covered her from throat to ankles. There were some faint traces of flour clinging to her wrists as if she had been suddenly summoned from the bread bowl. She looked fresh and sweet, strong and healthy, and a certain grace of manner pleased Mr. Davis instantly. He saw that she had her father’s eyes and coloring, his air of self-reliance. He noticed, too, that when she spoke to her parent her voice was tempered with a particular tenderness. This pleased him most of all, for he had expected to see somewhat of a hoyden. This girl, for all her prowess as a flyer, was totally feminine. Mr. Dixon introduced them.
“I didn’t know young ladies made bread these days,” said the detective as he shook hands with her.
Dorothy smiled and glanced at her arms. “Not bread, Mr. Davis, rolls for breakfast. Daddy likes them home-made, and I hate to get up early, so I’ve been mixing dough.”
“Do you think, dear, that Deborah can see Mr. Davis now? He is in charge of the case, you know.”
“Why yes, that will be perfectly all right, Daddy. When I took down her supper half an hour ago, the nurse said that any time would be convenient. She stipulated, though, that Mr. Davis have only one other person with him, and that the interview be as brief as possible.”
“Certainly, we want to spare her as much as we can,” said Mr. Davis. “I have only a few questions to ask. And I think I’ll take Bill with me. He’s been wounded in the fray, and I think that under the circumstances he has the right to hear first whatever Miss Lightfoot has to tell us.”
“He certainly has,” chimed in Osceola. “He saved Deb’s life. I’ve seen her this afternoon, but the nurse wouldn’t allow us to talk. Make it snappy, you two. I’m on pins and needles to learn her story.”
“All right—” Bill waved a bandaged hand, and with Dorothy leading the way, he and Mr. Davis went upstairs.
When they reached the door to Deborah’s room, Dorothy excused herself and went in, leaving them waiting in the corridor.
“Let me do most of the talking,” cautioned the detective. “And if she can’t remember, be sure not to press her. It might have a very serious effect on the girl’s health.”