"If only we had a plane!" she said.
"It wouldn't do me any good," remarked Jackson. "I've never been in one—and I've promised my grandmother I won't fly until I'm twenty-one."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," offered Linda, with genuine sympathy. Life without flying seemed a dreary thing to her.
The only car which the boys had been able to hire was a dilapidated Ford that looked as if it would hardly last the trip. But it proved to be better than its appearance; over the lovely hard roads of Florida it traveled comparatively smoothly. To Linda's amazement, she found when they reached Jacksonville that she had slept most of the way.
The short rest had freshened her considerably, and she suddenly decided to go to the Police Headquarters that night. It was her duty to report the crash of her plane, and the death of that criminal. She wished that she had thought to ask Susie his real name—she was going to feel rather silly calling him "Slats."
With this purpose in mind, she asked Jackson what time it was.
"Half-past nine," was his reply. "Why?"
"Because I think I ought to report to the Police tonight about those thieves. I understand that it was a bank in Jacksonville that they robbed."
"Which bank?" demanded the boy, excitedly.