In that moment, Dorothy knew what she must do. A shiver ran over her slender frame and she blinked as though partly awakened by the flash of lights. Then, with eyes wide open and staring straight ahead, she slowly walked toward Martin Lawson and the open doorway.

“Stop!”

The command, though low, was uttered in a tone of deadly menace, and Dorothy saw the blue-black muzzle of an automatic revolver pointed at her heart. She stopped on the instant, but continued to stare straight ahead without change of expression. She noted that he wore a soft felt hat pulled over his eyes and a heavy ulster with its broad collar turned up half hiding the lower part of his face. His high arctics bore traces of melting snow.

“Sleepwalking, eh! Well, I don’t believe it.” His sharp eyes took in the open door of the safe. “Snap out of that playacting and tell me what you are doing here!”

Dorothy did not move a muscle.

Without warning, he grasped her wrist and jerked her savagely toward him. She screamed and went limp in his arms. Lawson clapped a hand over her mouth.

“So you’re up to your old tricks again, Martin!”

Mrs. Lawson, fully dressed, and wearing a three-quarters mink coat and brown felt cloche, appeared in the open doorway. “So our little sleepwalker interrupted a very pretty piece of double-crossing!” She pointed toward the safe.

Lawson flung the weeping girl into an arm chair where she lay apparently half stunned and shaking in every limb.

“Double-cross, nothing!” he snapped at his wife. “How do you get that way, Laura? I came in here just now and found Janet in the room.”

“Was she at the safe?”

“No, she wasn’t. She was standing in the middle of the floor. Making her getaway without a doubt when I turned on the lights.”

“Why do you pretend Janet opened the safe? The Doctor, you and I are the only ones who know the combination. Laugh that off if you can, my dear!”

They were both fast losing their tempers.

“Combination or no combination, the safe was open when I got here,” he snarled. “She was after the formula, of course. That father of hers is in back of it. That Irishman is the double-crosser – and how! Figured on working Winnite into his racket without coughing up a cent for it, either. Call me a sucker if you like, Laura. I qualify, and so do you, for that matter. The other stuff’s the bunk.”

Dorothy stopped her pretended crying and lay back as though utterly exhausted. She knew Tunbridge must be up and about. What in the world could the man be doing?

Mrs. Lawson who seemed to be weighing matters, slowly unbuttoned her coat. “If you are so blameless,” she said coldly to her husband, “How do you happen to be here at all? Your part of the job was to bring up the car – or the plane, if it had stopped snowing.”

“Well, it’s no longer snowing, my dear, and the plane is just where it should be. I got tired of waiting, that’s why. Thought there must be a slip-up. You were due out there half an hour ago.”

“And I would have been,” said Laura Lawson evenly, “if that secret service fool hadn’t been snooping outside my door.”

“Tunbridge?”

“Who else!”

“What did you do – croak him?”

“No, I didn’t. He’s not worth burning for.”

As they talked, the two dropped their artificial cloaks of refinement as if they had never been.

“It’s hanging in this state,” sneered Martin.

“What’s the difference! I rang for him, instead. When he knocked on the door, I opened up and beaned him with the poker. He’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache, but I dragged him into my room and tied him up, just to make sure.”

Dorothy’s heart sank to the very soles of her bare feet.

“Atta girl!” cheered Lawson. “That’s the way! And look here, Laura. Just to prove I’m on the straight with you – go over and frisk that kid yourself. She’s got the paper.”

“Thanks – I intended to.” Mrs. Lawson threw a grim smile at her husband and turned to Dorothy. “Pass it over, Janet.”

“But, really, Mrs. Lawson! I don’t know what you’re talking about – ”

The woman cut her short. “Stand up and come here!”

Dorothy reluctantly obeyed. “I haven’t any paper,” she protested. “All I know is that I woke up just now and found Mr. Lawson – ”

“Hold your tongue!” snapped Mrs. Lawson, and after exploring Dorothy’s empty pockets, ran her fingers over the quilted gown and the girl’s pajamas. In the midst of her search, Professor, still playful, bounded into the room and stood watching them expectantly.

Mrs. Lawson stepped back. “She hasn’t got it, Martin.” Her tone was acid. “What a hard-boiled liar you are, anyway!”

“Hard-boiled, if you like – but no liar.” He strode to the safe and thrust his hand inside. “Here it is,” he called, and held up the paper. “I must have got here before she could nab it.”

Laura Lawson eyed him appraisingly. “Didn’t you say Janet was in the middle of the room when you switched on the light?”

“Sure – she heard me coming, of course.”

“If Janet heard you coming, why didn’t she swing the door shut? Don’t try to pull that stuff on me, Martin. Even if the girl knows the combination she couldn’t open that safe in the dark. Why lie about the business? I know you opened it yourself – and what’s more, while I’ve been wasting time arguing with you and searching Janet, the formula was in your pocket the whole time – that is, until you pretended to take it out of the safe, just now!”

Martin Lawson’s hard and cruel mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “The world is full of liars,” he said equably, “but your husband doesn’t play that kind of a racket, Laura – anyway, not to you.”

“Then prove it by giving me that paper!” his wife held out her hand.

“Nothing doing, Sweetheart. The formula will be perfectly safe with me.”

He started to put it in an inside pocket, when Laura Lawson sprang for the paper. She grasped his wrist. There was a tussle and the folded sheet fell to the floor. Professor, seated on his haunches and very interested in these exciting proceedings, dove forward and snapped it up. For half a moment he shook the paper as though he took it for a new species of rat. Then as they went for him, he darted between Martin’s legs and scampered out of the room.

“You big goop!” flared his wife. “Why didn’t you pot the cur!”

She rushed out of the room after Professor while Martin stared rather stupidly at the gun in his hand. Suddenly his eyes took on a particularly hard glint and he swung round on Dorothy.

“This,” he rasped, “is the second time you’ve got me in wrong with my wife, Miss Janet Jordan. And there just ain’t going to be no third time, kid!”

“Wha – what are you going to do, Mr. Lawson?” She was still playing the terrified, innocent Janet, but she no longer feared the man. During the Lawsons’ struggle, she had prepared herself for something like this. She had also shifted her position and was standing near the open door, now several yards away.

“You’re going to answer my questions, Janet – and answer them truthfully, or you’ll do your sleepwalking in another world after this.” He menaced her with the automatic, “It’s the bunk, isn’t it? The sleepwalking, I mean.”

“It sure is, Mr. du Val!” drawled Dorothy with a sweet smile.

Lawson was thoroughly surprised and looked it. “Yes – it naturally would be, seeing you know who I really am.”

“And all about you.”

“Oh, you do, eh? You were awake, of course, at the meeting?”

“Not me – Janet Jordan.”

“What do you mean – not you – Janet Jordan?”

“I mean that certain people have been making fools of you and your wife, Mr. du Val.”

“Is that so! In what way, may I ask?”

“Why, you see, I’m not Janet Jordan.”

“Not Janet Jordan!”

“I wish,” said Dorothy, “you wouldn’t echo my words. No, I am not – most decidedly, not Janet Jordan, although even you have guessed by this time that I look like her. We changed places on you, big boy! Night before last, just before you came into Janet’s room with her father, Janet was climbing out the window when you knocked the first time. It was rather embarrassing.”

“It’s going to be even more embarrassing for you in a moment or two, Miss Not Janet Jordan! You know too much to live. Who in thunderation are you – a government dick?”

“That’s right, big boy. I also happen to be Janet’s double cousin.”

“You’re her double, I’ll voucher that,” agreed du Val alias Lawson. “And all this high-hat cockiness ain’t going to do you one little bit of good. What’s the moniker, kid? Make it snappy, I’m pressed for time.”

“Dorothy Dixon’s my name. And – meet Flash!” Her right hand gave a quick twist and Martin Lawson dropped the exploding automatic with a scream of mingled rage and pain. She sprang for the revolver, covered the man and retrieved the knife from the floor just behind him. “Sit down over there!” She pointed to a chair. “You’re not really hurt, you know. Flash only skinned your knuckles. Better tie them up in your handkerchief though. You’re ruining the rug.”

Gretchen’s blond head peered round the door frame. “Oh, Dorothy!” she shrilled, and rushed into the room. “Are you hurt? Did he wound you?” She flung herself on her friend in a frenzy of fright and hysterics.

From the hall came Laura Lawson’s voice. “Martin!” she called. “They’re out in front of the house. They’ve got the car! Hurry!”

Lawson wasted no time. While Dorothy struggled with the excited Gretchen, he nipped out of the room and was gone.

“That tears it!” cried Miss Dixon, freeing herself from the little maid’s embrace, and she dove into the passage.

Under the gallery she stopped short. There was nobody in sight, but from the staircase came two sharp detonations of a revolver which were answered by two more from the dining room. Then as she moved warily forward, Bill Bolton ran into the hall with Ashton Sanborn close at his heels. Dorothy saw them disappear up the stairs and ran after them.

At the top of the stairs she spied them standing outside a bedroom door. She hurried to join them. “Hello! Gone to cover?”

“You’re a great guesser, kid.” Bill grinned and nodded.

“Where’s Tunbridge?” asked Mr. Sanborn.

Dorothy motioned toward the door. “In there. He’s got a broken head and he’s tied up into the bargain. Laura Lawson did it. That’s her room.”

“We’ve got to get the door down,” said Bill, and he stepped back for a rush.

“Just a sec, Bill!” Dorothy fired three shots from Lawson’s automatic into the lock.

“Smart girl!” Ashton Sanborn opened the door to disclose the detective-butler bound and unconscious, lying on the floor. Otherwise the room was empty of occupants. “I thought as much,” muttered the secret service man, while Dorothy ran to Tunbridge and began to cut his bonds. “They have beat it, all right!”

“Secret passage?” This from Bill.

“Yes, the walls are honeycombed with them. But Tunbridge never learned the secret of this room, poor fellow.”

“Doctor Winn would know,” said Dorothy. “His suite is right at the end of this corridor. He must surely be awake with all this racket going on.”

“I’ll get him.” Mr. Sanborn was half way to the door. “Look after Tunbridge, you two. Better phone for a doctor.” He was gone.

Dorothy and Bill lifted the unconscious man on to Mrs. Lawson’s bed. Then while young Bolton undressed him, Dorothy telephoned. She then gave Bill a hasty account of the night’s happenings.

“If Gretchen had only stayed put in her room, I’d have caught Martin Lawson, anyway,” she lamented.

“Mr. Jordan and the bunch outside will take care of that pair,” promised Bill. “Fetch a wet towel from the bathroom. This bird is breathing pretty hard.”

Dorothy sped to obey, talking the while. “Not Uncle Michael!” she called back in astonishment.

“Yep. Uncle Michael showed up in Sanborn’s New York office this morning, all on his own.”

“What was he doing – wanting to turn state’s evidence and peach on his pals?” She brought in the wet towel and laid it on Tunbridge’s hot forehead.

“Nothing like that, kid.” Bill was grinning. “Give another guess.”

“Then he wasn’t really a member of that gang with the numbers?”

“Sure he was – in good standing, too.”

“Oh, spill it, Bill! What do you think I’m made of, anyway?”

“Snips and snails and puppy dog’s tails,” said Bill promptly.

“Huh! The story book says ‘little boys’ belong in that category. Come, Bill, out with it!”

“Well, then, cutie pie, – Uncle Michael is a secret service man.”

“And Ashton Sanborn didn’t know it! Don’t talk rot, Bill!”

“I’m not talking rot, Dorothy. Uncle Michael happens to be in the British Secret Service, that’s why!”

“Ain’t that the nerts!” exploded Miss Dixon.

“You said it, kid! He got on to The Nameless Ones – that’s what they call themselves – over on the other side, in Europe, you know – worked his way into their confidence and joined up. Of course, with his government’s sanction.”

“And what were they up to?”

“Out to blow up the world with Winnite, I reckon. The Lawsons were to get two million plunks for the formula. Martie-boy was Number 1, by the way. The whole thing was financed by the Reds.”

“Nice people! What’s being done about it?”

“Plenty,” returned Bill. “Mr. Jordan brought in the goods – letters, confidential papers of the organization, and that kind of thing. All the ringleaders, both in this country and abroad, have been apprehended and jailed by this time.”

“Except,” she suggested, “the du Vals, alias Lawson.”

“That’s right! Let’s go downstairs and find out about them. Nothing more can be done for Tunbridge until that doctor shows up. He’s had hard luck all the way round this evening. The Lawsons fooled him nicely about the time – and then this crack on the nut into the bargain!”

“What do you mean – about the time?”

“Why, he overheard the fair Laura telling her hubby that they would vamoose at two this morning, and that she would nab the formula just before leaving. That’s why Tunbridge specified midnight. He thought that two hours leeway would have been plenty of time for you.”

“I ’spose they suspected him then, and were just giving him the razz?”

Bill nodded. “Q.E.D., old girl. You’re learning, aren’t you?”

Dorothy made a face at him and pushed him out of the room. “By the way,” continued Bill, as they entered the corridor, “I wonder if Mrs. Lawson got the paper away from Professor?”

“She did not!” declared Dorothy. “Look!”

They paused on the stairs to view the scene below in the entrance hall. Groups of frightened servants whispered among themselves and here and there a strange man was posted, with somewhat of an air of grim watchfulness. Crouched on the hearth and chewing up the last shreds of some white substance was the puppy.

“The end of a perfect formula,” declared Bill. “You’d better call the pup Winnite. He’s full of it by this time. Lucky you made the copy, Dorothy.”

“It certainly is!” A voice spoke behind them and they turned to see Ashton Sanborn descending the broad stair. “Doctor Winn tells me the passageway from the Lawson woman’s room comes out into the sunken gardens a quarter of a mile from the house. And I distinctly heard the whirr of an airplane just now from his open window. They’ve made their getaway in fine style by this time.”

“Well – ” Dorothy breathed a deep sigh. “I can’t help being glad of it.”

Bill stared at her. “Well!” he mimicked. “I must say you have astonishing reactions!”

“What’s the matter, my dear?” asked Mr. Sanborn. “You’ve done brilliant work on this case, and then, you know, you’ve saved Winnite.”

Dorothy was not impressed. “That’s just it,” she retorted. “If I wasn’t a government servant for the time being, I’d destroy the copy of that terrible formula myself. As it is, I’ve got to turn it over to you!”

Ashton Sanborn laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Fortunes of war, Dorothy. Sorry, but you must, you know.”

“Oh, I know!” She took the sheet of paper from her slipper and handed it to him. “And that,” she announced grimly, “spoils all the fun on this racket.”

Chapter XVIII
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Christmas eve was, as Dorothy had predicted, a starry night of frost and blanketing snow. Red candles twinkled in every holly-wreathed window of the Dixon home, and a large fir tree before the house glittered with colored Christmas lights.

If old Saint Nick had peeped into the dining room windows, he would have seen a merry company standing round the dinner table, gay with the crimson-berried holly and waxy mistletoe. At the head of the table stood Dorothy, appropriately and becomingly dressed in ruby-red velvet. On her right there was an empty place, and beyond it, old Doctor Winn, a boutonniere of holly in the lapel of his dinner coat; Mr. Bolton, Bill’s father, was next down the table, and just beyond stood Ashton Sanborn. Facing Dorothy at the other end, her father chatted with a bright-eyed Gretchen, who had Bill on her right. Next to Bill came Doctor Winn’s ex-butler, John Tunbridge, looking none the worse for his part in the mixup of the fatal night. Beyond Tunbridge stood Dorothy’s Uncle Michael, and then another empty chair.

“Just a moment, Dorothy,” said her father as she was about to sit down. “We’ve a surprise for you.”

“Oh, are there more people coming?” She indicated the extra places to her right and left. “I thought our party was as nearly complete as possible. Of course it would have been swell if Janet and Howard could have been with us.”

“Dum – dum – de dum!” hummed Bill, beating time with his hand like an orchestra conductor. From the drawing room a piano crashed into the opening chords of Wagner’s beautiful wedding march.

“Here Comes the Bride …” sang the guests at table, and Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat.

Through the curtained doorway, walked a blushing girl, leaning on the arm of a tall young man. She wore a bridal gown of white satin, and her smiling face, below the draped tulle veil, was the exact counterpart of the astonished girl at the head of the table.

“Janet! Howard!” Dorothy ran to them and was caught in her cousin’s arms. “Where under the sun did you come from? I thought you sailed for South America last week!”

“That,” said Howard, grinning broadly, “is a surprise that Mr. Sanborn sprang on us the day after we were married. He persuaded me to give up the South American job and got me a much better one with Mr. Bolton.”

“Meet Mr. Howard Bright, the new manager of my Bridgeport plant,” cried Bill’s father, and everyone clapped.

“Why, that’s marvelous!” exclaimed Dorothy. “It’s only an hour’s drive over there from New Canaan. We’ll be able to see a lot of each other, Janet.”

Then Uncle Michael, looking very happy and proud, kissed his daughter and led her to the chair between his place and Dorothy’s.

“Daddy gave me the wedding dress,” whispered Janet. “It’s a little bit late for it, but he insisted.”

“You look simply darling,” began her cousin, then stopped. Doctor Winn, who had pushed in her chair, was addressing the company.

“Ladies, and gentlemen,” he said, “before we start on the Christmas cheer which our little hostess and her father have so graciously provided, I would like to propose a toast or two, and may I ask you to stand again while you drink them with me?” He held up his glass of golden cider. “First, let us drink long life and great happiness to our charming bride, Mrs. Howard Bright, and her gallant husband!”

The company drank the toast enthusiastically. Then Uncle Abe, the Dixon’s darkey butler, better known to some of Dorothy’s friends as “Ol’ Man River,” grinning from one black ear to the other, laid small leather jewel cases before Janet and Howard.

“Just a little Christmas gift, my children,” explained Doctor Winn.

“Oh, may we open them now?” asked Janet eagerly.

“You most certainly may, my dear.”

They snapped open the lids and the company leaned forward to get a better view of the contents.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Doctor Winn,” began Howard, fingering his handsome gold repeater and chain.

“Nor I – why – my goodness! I never thought I’d have a string of real pearls. They are simply too exquisite for words!”

Doctor Winn laughed and held up a protesting hand. “I’m sure I’m glad you like them, but guests are requested not to embarrass the speaker. Now, I have another toast to propose; and this time we will drink a very Merry Christmas, long life and great happiness to Miss Margaret Schmidt, my new companion-housekeeper!”

Gretchen was overwhelmed and blushed furiously. Uncle Abe placed another jewel case before her, which she opened and found therein a pearl necklace, the counterpart of Janet’s. All she could do was to sit and gaze at it with her wide open china-blue eyes. Mr. Dixon raised the necklace, slipped it over the embarrassed girl’s head, and nodded to the old gentleman.

Doctor Winn took the hint and turned the attention of the table guests to himself. “Third and last, but not in any way the least,” he said, “we will drink to the heroine of the already famous case of the Double Cousins. Ladies and gentlemen, I pledge you Dorothy Dixon – whose bravery and loyalty to her country gained the nation’s thanks through its mouthpiece, our President in Washington this week. A very Merry Christmas, my dear, long life and great happiness to you and to our friend Professor, alias Winnite! By the way, where is the pup? I have a little remembrance for him, too.”

“He’s right here beside me, asleep in his basket, Doctor Winn.” Dorothy picked up the yawning pup and sat him on her lap.

The old gentleman took a slightly larger morocco case out of his pocket, this time, and laid it on the white cloth before her. With a smile of thanks, she pressed the spring and disclosed, lying on a velvet pad, a double string of gleaming pink pearls. She looked at him, speechless with pleasure, then down again at the necklace. As she did so, she started, for beneath the pearls lay an envelope.

She picked it up and drew forth a paper – “Why! why, it’s my copy of the Winnite formula!” she cried.

“The only existing copy, my dear, which I hereby present to your puppy.”

“But, Doctor Winn, I don’t understand!”

“My terms to the government were that Winnite should be used for national defense alone,” he said solemnly. “Washington would not agree. Therefore I wish the formula destroyed.”

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Dorothy leaned over and kissed him. “But let’s not give it to Professor this time, please. The last one made him horribly sick.”

She held the paper over a lighted candle and watched Winnite burn to charred ash. “I certainly am the happiest girl in the world tonight – but there is just one more toast I’d like to propose before we commence dinner. Here’s a long life and a Merry Christmas to Mr. and Mrs. Martin Lawson – if it hadn’t been for them, think of all the fun we’d have missed!”