He gave her a nickel and showed her where the telephone booth was located.

“Can you dial the numbers yourself?” he asked.

Connie nodded. The telephone directory hung on a hook, and on the front cover in large print were the instructions:

“In case of Emergency Dial Police—Adams 1234.” The number was an easy one to remember.

A light flashed on as Connie stepped into the booth. She dropped the nickel into the coin box and waited for the clear dial tone. When she heard it, she carefully whirled the numbers.

21 Almost at once a gruff voice barked in her ear:

21

“Police station!”

Connie was a trifle nervous, for she never before had talked to anyone at the police station. However, she forced herself to speak slowly and relate exactly what had happened.

“Please come as fast as you can,” she urged. “Veve McGuire and I were coasting at Kelly’s Hill. She hooked a ride with her sled on an automobile—and was carried away.”

The police sergeant seemed to grasp the situation instantly. He barked: “Did you get the car license number?”

“No-o,” Connie admitted, trying hard to remember. “The first two letters were EB—the same as Edith Bailey’s initials. But I can’t remember the numbers. It was a large gray sedan.”

“Going what direction?”

“West.” Of this Connie was certain. “It was headed up the hill and went on toward the country.”

“Highway 20,” said the police sergeant, making notes on his pad. “The girl’s name is Veve McGuire. Address?”

“2179 Kingston Drive.”

“Right-o. And your name?”

22 Connie gave that too and then asked the sergeant if he thought Veve could be found. The officer promised to do his very best. He told her the information would be broadcast over the police shortwave radio system and picked up by all cruising police cars.

22

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