The tears came to Linda’s eyes, in spite of her effort to hold them back. She felt dizzy and weak. It was all like a hideous nightmare, from which, try as she might, she could not awaken. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a stifled sob came. Then, with a hopeless gesture of powerlessness, she decided to do as she was told.
She turned about desperately and walked towards the elevator like a criminal going to the electric chair. Dot, still trying to think of some way to save the situation, waited, hesitating, breathing hard. It was a tense and horrible moment—until Linda walked right into the arms of her dear old friend, Mr. Eckert!
“Linda, I’m here!” he said, putting out his arms to catch her, for he could see that she was blinded by tears. “Dear child, you’re not going to faint?”
Linda looked up in a daze, too astonished to believe that he was true. Had her imagination conjured up his kindly presence? But no; Mr. Eckert’s hands were on her shoulders, supporting her, keeping her from falling. And beside him was a large, fine-looking man in a blue uniform.
“Oh!” she gasped, in joy and relief, clinging desperately to the elderly man’s hand.
“What are you doing to Miss Carlton?” demanded the stranger in uniform, of the policeman. “Hounding her with abuse?”
“This here young lady forged a name and passed a bum check,” he whimpered.
“What name?” asked the other man.
“Claims she’s Linda Carlton, with five thousand bucks in a bank, where she’s already overdrew her account.”
“She is Linda Carlton!” announced Mr. Eckert. “I can testify to that—your superior officer, James A. Brenan, can testify to my knowledge, for he knows me well. He is Chief of Police in St. Louis.”