Dorothy Dixon heard the low, eager whisper at her elbow but disregarded it. She was intent on selecting a tie from the colorful rack on the counter before her. She spoke to the clerk:

“I’ll take this one, and that’ll make four. I hope Daddy will approve my taste in Christmas presents,” she smiled, and laid a bill on her purchases.

“But – please, dear, tell me! Don’t you know I’m worried crazy? Who let you out?”

This time Dorothy felt a touch on her arm. She wheeled quickly to face a tall, slender young fellow of twenty-two or three. As she stared at him, half indignant, half wondering, she saw sincere distress in his brown eyes, and in the lines of his pleasant face. Hat in hand, he waited anxiously for an answer to his question, while the crowd of holiday shoppers poured through the aisles about them.

Dorothy’s eyes softened, then danced. “It seems to me,” she said, “that you have the wires twisted – it’s not I who’ve escaped, but you! Run along now and find your keeper. You’re evidently in need of one!”

“Your change and package, miss,” the impersonal voice of the haberdashery clerk intervened and Dorothy turned back to the counter.

“But why on earth are you acting this way, Janet?” The strange young man was at her elbow again.

Once more Dorothy turned swiftly toward him but when she spoke her eyes and voice were serious. “Do you really mean to say you think you’re speaking to Janet Jordan? Because – ”

“My dear – what are you trying to tell me?” He broke in impatiently. “I certainly ought to know the girl I’m going to marry!”

Dorothy nodded slowly. “I agree with you – you ought to – but then, you see, you don’t!”

The young man crushed his soft felt hat in his hands and took a step nearer to her. “Look here – what is the matter with you? I know you’ve been through a lot, but – ” He broke off abruptly, a gleam of horror and suspicion in his honest eyes. “Janet! What have they done to you?”

Dorothy laid a firm hand on his arm. “Sh! Be quiet – listen to me.” Then she added gently – “I am not Janet Jordan, your fiancee.”

“You’re not – !”

“No. My name is Dorothy Dixon – and I’m Janet’s first cousin.”

The young man seemed flabbergasted for a moment. Then he stammered – “Wh-why, it’s astounding – the resemblance, I mean! You’re alike as – as two peas. If you were twins – ”

“But you see,” she smiled, “our mothers, Janet’s and mine, were twins, and I guess that accounts for it. I’ve never seen Janet, but this is the third time, just recently, that I’ve been taken for her by her friends, Mr. – ?”

“My name is Bright,” he supplied. “Howard Bright. Yes, now I can see a slight difference, Miss Dixon. You’re a bit taller and broader across the shoulders than she is. But it’s your personalities, more than anything else, that are altogether unlike. I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Dixon, for making a nuisance of myself!”

“No indeed – that is, of course I will!” Dorothy laughed merrily. “You’re not a nuisance, you know, but,” and her tone became grave, “I can see that you’re in trouble. Is there – ” she hesitated.

“Not I, Miss Dixon – that is, not directly. But,” he lowered his voice, “Janet is – is in very serious trouble. And for a moment, when I saw you, I thought that in some miraculous way she had escaped.”

Howard Bright’s face suddenly became almost haggard and Dorothy’s sympathy and concern for her cousin deepened into resolve.

“Look here, Mr. Bright,” she said abruptly, “we can’t talk here, in this shopping crowd, it’s a regular football scrimmage. Let’s go up to the mezzanine. A friend of mine is waiting there for me now, I’m a little late as it is, and – ”

“But I can’t bother you with this,” he protested, “and especially – ”

“Oh, come along,” she urged, “Bill is a grand guy when it comes to getting people out of messes. I insist you tell us all about it. After all, Janet’s my cousin, you know, and you’ll soon be a member of the family, won’t you?”

“There doesn’t seem much hope of that now.” Young Bright’s tone was despondent. “But Janet certainly does need help, and she needs it badly – so – ”

Dorothy caught his arm. “I’m going to call you Howard,” she announced briskly. “So please drop the Miss Dixon. And come on – let’s push our way over to the elevators.”

The mezzanine floor of the department store was arranged as a lounge or waiting room for customers. Comfortable arm chairs and divans invited tired shoppers to rest. Writing desks and tables strewn with current magazines gave the place a club-like appearance.

Dorothy and her newly found acquaintance stepped out of the elevator and looked about. The place seemed especially quiet after the rush and bustle on other floors, and was almost deserted, save for two elderly ladies conversing in low tones near a window, and a young man, who rose at their approach.

As the good looking youth moved toward them with the lithe, easy grace of a trained athlete, Howard Bright saw that he had light brown hair, and blue eyes snapping with vitality and cheerfulness.

“Hello, Dorothy!” He greeted her smilingly, “better late than never, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’d just about figured you were going to pass up our date.”

“Sorry, Colonel,” she mocked. “Explanations are in order I guess, but they can wait. This is Howard Bright, Bill – Howard, Mr. Bolton!”

The two young men shook hands.

“Bolton – Dixon?” Howard’s tone was thoughtful. “Why!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You two are the flyers – the pair who won the endurance test with the Conway motor! I’m certainly glad to meet you both. The papers have been full of your doings. Well, this is a surprise! But you know, I’d got the impression that you were both older – ”

“I’m sixteen,” smiled Dorothy. “Bill has me beat by a year.”

“How about lunch?” suggested Bill. He invariably changed the subject when his exploits were mentioned. People always enthused so, it embarrassed him. “You’ll join us, of course, Mr. Bright?”

“Thanks, Mr. Bolton. I really don’t think I can butt in this way – ”

“There’s no butting in about it,” Dorothy interrupted. “Howard is engaged to my cousin, Janet Jordan, Bill. And Janet’s in a lot of trouble. I’ve promised we’d do everything we can to help.”

Bill, after one look at Howard’s worried face, sized up the situation instantly. “Why, of course,” he said. “And we can’t talk with any privacy in this place. I can see that whatever the trouble is, it’s serious.”

“Janet’s in desperate peril,” Howard said huskily.

“You said something about her escape when we met,” Dorothy reminded him. “Has somebody kidnapped her? Have you any idea where she is?”

“Yes, she’s a prisoner. A prisoner in the Jordans’ apartment on West 93rd Street.”

“Then her father is away?”

“No. He leaves tonight, I believe.”

“But, my goodness! – a girl can’t be kidnapped and made a prisoner in her own home. Especially if her father is there. It doesn’t sound possible.”

“I know it doesn’t,” admitted Howard desperately, “it sounds crazy. But it’s the truth, just the same. She’s in frightful danger.”

Dorothy looked horrified. “You mean that my uncle and Janet don’t get on together – that they’ve had a row and you’re afraid he will harm her?”

“Oh, no, they’re very fond of each other.”

“Then Uncle Michael is a prisoner, too!”

“No, he is free enough himself, but he can do nothing – it would only make matters worse.”

“Well!” declared Dorothy, “I don’t think much of Uncle Michael if he can’t protect his own daughter.”

Bill stepped into the breach.

“What about the police – can’t you call them in?”

Howard Bright shook his head. “They would only bring this horrible business to a climax,” he explained. “And that is exactly what must not be done. It is more a matter for Secret Service investigation – but I don’t think that even they could be of any real help.”

Bill and Dorothy exchanged a quick glance.

“Have you ever heard of a man named Ashton Sanborn, Mr. Bright?”

“Yes, I have, Mr. Bolton. Wasn’t he the detective who helped you unearth that fiendish scheme of old Professor Fanely?”¹

“Bull’s eye!” grinned Bill. “Only Ashton Sanborn is quite a lot more than a mere detective. And it so happens that he is over at the Waldorf right now, waiting for Dorothy and me to lunch with him. Let me tell you, Bright, it’s a mighty lucky thing for Janet Jordan that he is in town. Come along. We’ll hop a taxi and be with him in ten minutes.”

Howard hung back. “But really – ”

Dorothy caught his arm. “Don’t be silly, now,” she urged.

“But I can’t call in a detective, Dorothy. I know I’m rotten at explaining, but if these devils who have Janet in their power are interfered with they will kill her out of hand!”

“But you spoke of the Secret Service just now. This is not for publication, but Mr. Sanborn is the head of that branch of the government. If anyone can help Janet, he can do it.”

“I doubt it. I admit I’m half crazy with worry, but Janet is going to be removed from the apartment tonight, and heaven only knows what will happen then. It takes days, generally weeks, to get the government started on anything.”

“Not Sanborn’s branch of it,” interrupted Bill. “We’re talking in circles, Bright. If Sanborn can’t help Janet, he’ll tell you so. At least you can give him the dope and find out. He’s an expert and you’ll get expert advice.”

“All right, I’ll go with you. But I’m afraid it won’t do any good. Please don’t think, though, that I’m not appreciating the interest you’re taking. I don’t mean to be a wet blanket.”

“Of course you don’t, and you’re not.” Dorothy led toward the staircase. “You’ll feel a whole lot better when you get the story off your chest.”

“And when you’ve got outside a good substantial lunch,” added Bill. “I know I shall, anyway.”

“That,” said Dorothy, “is just like a boy. I believe you’d eat a good meal, Bill, an hour before you were hung, if it were offered to you.”

“I’d be hanged if I didn’t,” he laughed and followed her down the steps onto the main floor.

Chapter II
“FAMILY AFFAIRS”

“Just – one – moment, please!” Ashton Sanborn’s keen blue eyes twinkled as he surveyed his young guests. His heavy-set body moved with a muscular grace as he placed a chair for Dorothy and motioned the two boys to seats on a divan nearby. “Now then, Dorothy and Bill – I want you two chatterboxes to keep quiet while I ask Mr. Bright some questions and get this matter straight in my own head. Your turn to talk will come later.” His quizzical smile robbed the words of any harshness, and the culprits grinned and nodded their willingness to comply with his request.

“Mr. Bright,” he went on, “if you’ll just answer my questions for the present, I’ll get you to tell the story from the beginning in a few minutes.”

“It’s mighty decent of you to take all this interest, Mr. Sanborn.”

The Secret Service Man shook his prematurely grey head – “It’s my business to ferret things out. Now, as I understand it, you mistook Dorothy for her cousin, Miss Jordan, to whom you are engaged. The likeness must be amazing?”

“It is, sir.”

“Yes – well, we’ll get back to the likeness after a while. You say that Miss Jordan is a prisoner in her father’s apartment, and is in danger of her life?”

“Yes, sir.” Howard, tense and taut as a fiddle string, his hands gripping the edge of the cushioned couch, gazed steadily back at his questioner.

“Do you know for certain that she is in actual danger at the present moment, Bright?” Ashton Sanborn’s quiet tone and unhurried manner of speaking was gradually gaining the young man’s confidence. Bill and Dorothy noticed that Howard’s strained look was beginning to disappear, and he had started to relax.

“She has been in great danger,” he replied, “but now, they’ve decided to test her. There isn’t a chance, though, that she will pass the test, Mr. Sanborn. The poor girl is so worn out and nervous she’s bound to fail.”

“Do you know what time she is to be taken away from the apartment?”

“Yes, sir. Lawson told her to pack her clothes today, so as to be ready to leave at midnight.”

“Mmm!” Sanborn glanced at his watch. “It is now one-thirty. That gives us exactly eleven and a half hours in which to get her out of their hands. Now just one question more, Mr. Bright. What made you say that this is a matter in which the so-called Secret Service of the United States should be called in, rather than the police?”

“Well,” Howard’s brows knit in a puzzled frown, “you see, Janet is being taken to Dr. Tyson Winn’s house near Ridgefield, Connecticut, tonight. As I understand it, Dr. Winn has a big laboratory up there where he is experimenting on high explosives for the government. Lawson, the man who told Janet she was to go there, is Dr. Winn’s secretary. It all looks so queer to me – I thought – ”

“That is interesting!” Ashton Sanborn’s tone was serious and for a little while he seemed lost in thought. Then abruptly he looked up from an inspection of his finger tips, and rose from his chair. “I ordered lunch for three before you young people arrived,” he said with a return of his cheerful, hearty way of speaking. “Now I’ll phone down and have lunch for four served up here instead.” He looked at Dorothy. “By the way, the menu calls for oyster cocktails, sweetbreads on grilled mushrooms, O’Brien potatoes, alligator pear salad, and cafe parfait – any suggestions?”

“Oh, aren’t you a dear!” Dorothy, who had been using a miniature powder puff on her nose, snapped shut the cover of her compact. “You have ordered all the things I like best. No wonder you’re a great detective – you never forget a single thing, no matter what it is.”

Sanborn laughed. “Thanks for the compliment – but those dishes happen to be favorites of my own, too. Now get that brain of yours working, Dorothy. When I’ve finished with the head waiter, I want you to tell us all you know about your uncle and cousin. Before we can go further I must have every possible detail of the case at my fingers’ ends.”

He took up a phone from a small table near the window, and Dorothy turned toward Howard.

“You probably know more about the Jordans than I do,” she said. “I have a picture of Janet that she sent me a couple of years ago. We always exchange presents at Christmas – but we’ve never seen each other.”

“I really know very little about the Jordans, myself,” protested Howard. “You see, Janet and I saw each other for the first time just five weeks ago. It was on a Sunday afternoon, I’d been taking a walk in Central Park, when one of those equinoctial downpours came on very suddenly. Janet was right ahead of me, so naturally, I offered her my umbrella. She’s – well, rather shy and retiring, and at first she wasn’t so keen on accepting – ”

“So there is a difference between the cousins!” Bill winked at Howard. “If it had been Dorothy, she’d have taken your overcoat and rubbers as well. Nothing shy or retiring about Janet’s double!”

“Is that so, Mr. Smarty! It’s a good thing Howard met her that rainy Sunday. If it had been you, Bill, the poor girl would certainly have got a soaking!”

“You mean she wouldn’t have accepted my umbrella?”

“I mean you never would have offered it!”

“You win – one up, Dorothy,” said Ashton Sanborn when the laughter at this sally had subsided. “What happened after you and Janet got under your umbrella, Bright?”

“Oh, nothing much. We walked over to Central Park West but there were no taxis to be had for love or money. So then I suggested taking her home and we found we lived in the same apartment house. I asked if I might call, but she said that was impossible – that Mr. Jordan permitted no callers.”

“Well,” said Dorothy, “that didn’t seem to stop you. I mean you are a pretty fast worker, Howard, to get engaged with a tyrant father guarding the doorstep and all that.”

“Cut it out, Dot,” broke in Bill, who had been waiting patiently for a chance to get even. “You can’t be in the center of the stage all the time, and your remarks are out of order, anyway.”

“I’ll dot you one, if you take my name in vain, young man!”

“Silence, woman! Go ahead, Howard, and speak your piece, or she’ll jump in with both feet next time.”

Dorothy said nothing but the glance she shot Bill Bolton was a promise of dire things to come.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” grinned Howard, and Dorothy immediately put him down as a good sport. “Well, to go on with it – we used to meet in the lobby, go for walks and bus rides, sometimes to the movies or a matinee. Two weeks ago, Janet, who is just eighteen, by the way, said she would marry me. She seemed to have no friends in New York. I’ve seen her father, but never met him. Except for this horrible business, which came up a few days ago, all that I know about Janet is that her mother died when she was five, her father parked her at a boarding-school near Chicago, and she stayed there until last June when she graduated. Her summer holidays were spent at a girls’ camp in Wisconsin. She was never allowed to visit the homes of the other girls, so Christmas and Easter holidays she stayed in the school. During her entire schooling, she saw her father only five times. Last summer he took her abroad with him. They travelled in Germany and in Russia, I believe.”

“Gosh, what a life for a girl!” exploded Bill.

“I should say so!” Dorothy made no attempt to hide her disgust. “The more I hear about Uncle Michael, the less I care about him.”

“Tell us what you do know about him,” prompted Sanborn. “I want to get all the background possible before Bright explains the girl’s present predicament. I know a good deal about Dr. Winn and his secretary. If those men are threatening her, there must be something very serious brewing. Go ahead, Dorothy – luncheon will be up here any minute, now.”

“All right, but I warn you it isn’t much. My mother, who as you know died when I was a little girl, had one sister, my Aunt Edith, who was her twin. They looked so much alike that their own father and mother had trouble in telling them apart. Aunt Edith fell in love with a young Irishman named Michael Jordan, whom she met at a dance. He seemed prosperous, and my grandfather gave his consent to their engagement. Then he learned that Michael Jordan made his money by selling arms and ammunition to South and Central American revolutionists. Grandpa, from all accounts, hit the ceiling. He was a deacon of the church, very sedate and all that, and he said he wouldn’t allow his daughter to marry a gun-runner. And that was that. To make a long story short, Aunt Edith ran away with Michael Jordan. They were married in New York, sent Grandpa a copy of the marriage certificate, and then sailed for South America. For several years there was no word from them at all. My mother, whose name was Janet, by the way, loved Aunt Edith as only a twin can love the other. But she couldn’t write to her because the eloping couple had left no address. Six years later, mother had a letter from Uncle Michael. He was in Chicago then, and he wrote that Aunt Edith had died, and that he had placed little Janet at the Pence School in Evanston. Mother and Daddy went right out to Chicago, to see Uncle Michael. They tried to get him to let them take Janet home with them, and bring her up with me. I was only three at the time, so naturally I don’t remember anything about it. But what I’m telling you Daddy told to me years later. Well, their trip to Chicago was all for nothing – Uncle Michael refused to let them have Janet. It almost broke my mother’s heart. Well, and that is the reason Janet and I have always given each other presents at Christmas and on our birthdays, although we’ve never even met. Two years ago, she sent me her photograph, and both Daddy and I were astounded to see the resemblance to me. Twice, since then, I’ve been taken for Janet by girls who were at school with her at Evanston. Perhaps, if we were seen together, you’d be able to tell us apart – I don’t know.”

“I do, though,” declared Howard, “you may be slightly broader across the shoulders, Dorothy, but otherwise you might be Janet, sitting there. You’ve the same brown hair, grey eyes, your features are alike – ”

“How about our voices?”

“Exactly the same. You have a more forceful way of speaking, that’s all. I keep wanting to call you ‘Janet’ all the time.” Howard turned his head away, and Dorothy could see the emotion that again overtook him as he thought of his helpless little fiancee, a prisoner in the hands of unscrupulous men.

She glanced at Bill, and shook her head in sympathy. Just then there came a knock on the sitting room door.

“Ah! lunch at last!” Ashton Sanborn rose and put his hand on Howard’s shoulder. “Come, no more of this now. The subject of the double cousins is taboo until we’ve all done justice to this excellent meal!”

1. See Bill Bolton and The Winged Cartwheels.