“Oh, Dave!” faltered Miss Anabelle, one hand fluttering to her throat.
In a stride the little radio cop was beside her. He blinked, then caught up her hands and looked intently into her face.
“Holy pup!” he breathed, awed. “How’d you do it, honey? What happened?”
Now she was laughing and crying on his shoulder. “I—I don’t know, Dave. I just had to s-say something when I knew he was going to shoot.”
Officer Cates of the wave-length squad didn’t understand, but he was grateful, so grateful that he was inarticulate. The marvel of it was that the glow of reverence upon his freckled face made him almost handsome.
“Gee!” he said softly. “Gee!”
He didn’t quite know what to do. But the green light was still on, and from force of habit he moved nearer the microphone, holding Anabelle Talbot tightly in his arms. Deliriously happy, he knew not what words he spoke.
Consequently, for the next half hour, the cops in a dozen different sub-stations tore their hair and raved over a message they couldn’t fathom:
“Aw, say, honey! Don’t take on like that or I’ll be bawling, too! Honest, now, I love you like the dickens.”
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 15, 1929 issue of “Top-Notch” magazine.