Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case

She pushed Betty into the room and raced for the open front door. She heard the sound of voices from the drive as she neared the end of the hall. She could see the figures of two men just beyond the front steps. Just as her hand reached the door handle, they turned in her direction and the black night was seared with the sharp red flash from an automatic.

Chapter III

IN THE CONWAY HOUSE

With the detonation of the gun in her ears, Dorothy flung herself against the door and slammed it shut. Her hand fumbled for the key, found it and sent the bolt shooting into place. About the house the rain-lashed wind howled and moaned like some wild thing in torment. Her heart was pumping and her breath came in choking gasps. Leaning against the solid oak door she pressed her ear to a panel.

The noise of the storm muffled all other sound, but she thought she could detect the mumble of men’s voices just outside the door. It was impossible to catch the words, of course, but the mere sound told the girl that they were standing on the small front porch. To her right was a sitting room. She hurried into it.

A quick flash of her torch showed two windows facing the drive. She tried the catches. They were unlocked. She fastened them and ran out of the room, down the hall to the rear. The light from the library threw the staircase into silhouette. Dorothy started for the dining room, but stopped short as the young man whom she had sent Betty in to free, bounded into the hall.

“Hello!” he cried. “Do you know where they are?”

Dorothy pointed toward the front door.

“Right out there!”

“Good! I’ll fix ’em!”

He raced up the stairs and she heard him running toward the front of the house.

“Betty!” she called. “Come here!”

“What is it?” answered that young lady’s voice from the library. “George told me to stay in this room.”

“George?” exploded Dorothy. She ran to the door and looked in. Betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. She turned her head when Dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze.

“Yes – George Conway,” she explained smilingly. “He owns this house, you see.”

Dorothy’s fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out.

“Well, you are a fast worker – ” was her comment. “Dash over to those windows and see that they’re fastened. Then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the French doors – anything will do, just so it’s heavy. Hurry – and when you’ve finished, go into the hall and stay there.”

Betty stared through the darkness. “But George says – ”

“I don’t care what George says! The hall is the safest place right now.”

“Well, why can’t you help me?” grumbled Betty. “Suppose those awful men come before I’ve – ”

“They won’t if you snap to it. I’m off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house.”

This last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. After making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. Here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. It took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside.

She went out into the hall and another report from above shook the windows in their frames.

Betty, wild-eyed with fright, rushed into the bright arc of Dorothy’s flash light.

“What on earth is it?” she cried in very evident alarm.

“Shotgun,” said Dorothy tersely. “If those yells meant anything, I guess we can take it that somebody’s been hit.”

Then she noticed that Betty’s left hand held an open compact, while in her right she clutched a small rouge puff. Her ash-gold hair which she wore long had become unknotted and hung halfway down her back. Her petite figure drooped with weariness.

“Gracious, Betty! How in the wide world did you ever get rouge on the end of your nose? You’re a sight!”

“Well, you turned out the light – ” Miss Mayo’s tone was indignant, as she rubbed the end of her nose with a damp handkerchief. “I think I’ll run upstairs and spruce up a bit.”

Dorothy looked at her and laughed.

“Come on up with me,” suggested Betty. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“No, you run along and pander to your vanity, my child. When you’ve finished, why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a batch of fudge – that would be just the thing!”

“Why so sarcastic?” Betty raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Well – what do you think we’ve run into – a college houseparty or something?”

“Oh, I think you’re mean,” Betty pouted.

“But you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!”

“Do you think those men will try to get in again!” Betty’s blue eyes widened.

“If I didn’t know that your head was a fluffball – But what’s the use. Run along now. It sounds as if George were coming down. Hurry up – you might meet him on the stairs!”

“Cat!” said Betty and flew.

Dorothy went to the door and listened. If the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm.

Then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on George. He carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm.

“Howdy!” he greeted her enthusiastically. “You know, I can never thank you girls enough for all you’ve done. Gosh! You’re a couple of heroes, all right – I mean heroines. When I saw Betty – I mean, Miss Mayo,” he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, “come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why I just couldn’t believe my eyes!”

“Some wonderworker, isn’t she?” Dorothy contrived to look awestruck, but there was no malice in her amused tone.

“You said it – she’s a whizbang! And she told me you two came in an airplane. I’ve never met a girl aviator before. I guess she’s a second Dorothy Dixon – you must have read what the newspapers said about that girl!” He shook his head admiringly. “Betty sure has nerve!”

“She has, indeed!” Dorothy kept her face straight with an effort. “But tell me – what did you do to that crew outside?”

“Plugged ’em – clean. Got a bead on them through a front window.”

“What? You – killed them? Buckshot, at that distance?”

George chuckled. “Not buckshot – rock salt. Use it for crows, you know. It stings like the dickens.”

“I’ll bet it does!” Dorothy’s laugh was full-throated and hearty.

“What’s become of them?” she asked when she could speak.