“Miss Carlton is supposed to fly away—be lost to sight now,” he informed them, calmly. “It isn’t likely she’ll come back and land here, for that finishes her part.”
“You mean we’re not to see her?” demanded Dot. “That looks suspicious to me!”
“Oh, yeah?” returned Sprague. “Well, don’t flatter yourselves that Miss Linda Carlton has time to waste on a couple of upstarts from Toonerville, or wherever it was you came from. She’s a busy girl!”
Linda sighed deeply as she watched the plane disappear entirely from view. There was nothing to do now; Sprague and Von Goss were both against her. She might as well go back to the hotel.
“Come to the hotel this afternoon for that check for bail,” she said to Chase. “I’ll have it ready.”
Then, with a nod of farewell, she and Dot left the lot and went into a restaurant at Culver City for their lunch. But this time they were not interested in seeing the stars. Their own problems were too pressing.
“If I could only get in touch with Daddy,” said Linda, as she nibbled at her salad. “But I don’t know where he is, and I should hate to alarm Aunt Emily by telling her that I am being held under bail. No ... I guess the best idea is to wire Mr. Eckert.”
“That’s the stuff!” approved Dot. “Why not go over to that telephone and do it now, while I order something for dessert?”
Linda took the suggestion, and fifteen minutes later the girls started back for their hotel in Los Angeles. They felt like prisoners, unable to come and go at will. As a matter of fact, Dot was still as free as air, but she had no thought of deserting Linda.
They bought the afternoon paper on their way back to the hotel, and when they reached their room, Dot spread it out on her bed to read. But the first item that met her eye made her stare in horror. It was Linda’s picture, right on the front page, with the caption “Miss Sallie Slocum, impersonating Linda Carlton,” and underneath it, the whole dishonest story.