“Do I look like my pictures?” inquired Linda, demurely.
Mr. Von Goss surveyed her critically.
“Not so much as the other girl,” he replied, with a smile. “But of course you’re in evening dress, and the other girl always wears flying suits.”
“She would,” put in Dot, cryptically.
“And, as Mr. Sprague suggested,” added Mr. Von Goss, “there’s the possibility that the real Miss Carlton’s licenses were stolen—and that by you—or anyone else!”
“Oh, that Mr. Sprague!” exclaimed Dot, with the utmost disdain.
“There are two things to do,” announced Linda, who had already come to a definite conclusion. “Get the two of us together, and have some one who knows us in aviation pick out the real Linda Carlton—or—”
“But Mr. Sprague, and some fliers he knows, have already identified our Miss Carlton,” interrupted the director. “It was Sprague who looked her up, and brought her into the production.”
“Then we’ll have to resort to the only other suggestion I have, if you can’t decide on our license cards.... It so happens that I am the only woman in the United States to hold an airplane mechanic’s license.... Now, my cards could be stolen, but not my knowledge. So my idea is this: Have some good airplane mechanic give us both an examination, and only the real Linda Carlton will pass.”
The director smiled broadly at the suggestion. It was an ingenious plan, and it appealed to his sense of the dramatic.