Mr. Von Goss was a stout man of past middle-age, heavy set, with a big jaw and a pair of keen blue eyes—obviously a man of power in his own field. Nevertheless, he looked thoroughly disturbed over the matter which had just been brought to his attention by his secretary.
“You claim to be Miss Carlton?” he inquired, as Linda came up to him in the hotel lobby.
“Yes,” replied Linda. “And this is my friend, Miss Crowley. Shall we go into one of those little parlors where we can talk?”
The director nodded, and Linda led the way into a small room that was unoccupied at the moment.
“Er—will you have a cigarette, Miss—er—Carlton?” he inquired.
“No, thank you,” answered Linda. “But you go ahead and smoke, Mr. Von Goss.”
The man lighted a cigar.
“This is bad business,” he said. “If what you claim is true, and we have signed up the wrong young lady.”
“You are satisfied with my proofs?” asked Linda, hoping that he had brought back her licenses.
“Can’t tell yet. The other girl certainly looks like all the newspaper pictures I’ve ever seen of the famous aviatrix. If she isn’t Linda Carlton, she certainly fooled me—and my secretary, too.”