“Yes,” he replied. “I’m a secret-service man, on the air force of the police.”
He looked right into Linda’s eyes, as if to tell her that his love of flying was another bond of sympathy between them.
“How did you happen to be called in—on an unimportant case like ours?”
“I’m here on something else. Connected with another case. And I know Mr. Von Goss personally, so he asked me to help him out.”
“I see.... I suppose I shouldn’t ask you for advice, Mr. Chase—but—I feel as if you would help me, if possible. What would you do if you were in my place?”
“Wire to somebody well known in aviation circles, who can come and identify you as the girl who flew the Atlantic alone. Because that is the important thing. That’s why Von Goss is paying the aviatrix thirty thousand dollars for a small part in one picture. Just because of that one fact!”
“Then friends wouldn’t help—in establishing my identity?”
“No. They ought to be people in aviation.”
Dot interrupted this conversation, by suddenly grasping Linda’s arm. “Look at Sprague!” she cried. “Look at the way he’s waving that hat of his to his girl-friend! Now what do you suppose the idea of that is?”
At the mention of his own name, the secretary turned to the girls.