uardian," replied the inspector pompously.

"But I was only on my way home!"

The official, however, was busy reading something from a notebook.

"'Surname Latimer, Christian name Gipsy. Height, 5 feet 1 inch. Eyes
brown, complexion dark, hair brown. Dressed in navy-blue alpaca frock
over white delaine blouse top, and probably wearing sailor hat with
blue-and-white striped band, and a pair of tennis shoes.' The whole
tallies exactly," he murmured, surveying Meg from head to foot, to see
that he had not omitted any of the items.

"You're making a mistake. My name's Margaret Gordon, not Gipsy Latimer!
I live at The Gables, near Willowburn. My father is a solicitor in the
town. His office is at 15 Wells Street."

"We'll soon see about that. I think I must trouble you for your
pocket-handkerchief, Missy, please."

Considerably mystified, Meg felt in her pocket and handed over the
article in question. The inspector examined it closely, then shook his
head.

"It has 'G. Latimer' marked in the corner. That doesn't look much like
Margaret Gordon, does it?"

Meg was furious at her own stupidity. She and Gipsy had never thought of
exchanging the contents of their pockets.

"Look here! Send for my father!" she begged. "He'll soon tell you who I
am, and explain the whole matter."

"We don't need to send for anybody," returned the official. "Miss
Poppleton's quite enough for us. We've got her description of you, and
our instructions are to take you straight back to the school. You'll
find you've not gained much by running away."

There was only one consolation for Meg, the remembrance that her capture
would possibly enable Gipsy to escape in safety.

"They must have been looking out for her at the railway station," she
thought, "but they wouldn't recognize her in my dress. I'd like to know
what Poppie'll say when I turn up instead!"

There was undoubtedly a humorous side to the situation, and Meg laughed
as she pictured the discomfiture of the officials when they discovered
their mistake. It seemed of no further use to try to prove her identity
at present, so she allowed herself to be once more escorted to the cab
and driven off, this time in the direction of Briarcroft.

"I wonder what sort of a scrape I'm in for," she thought, as they drew
up at the front door, and the constable in charge solemnly marched her
into the house. Miss Poppleton came hurrying out of the library into the
hall, followed by Miss Edith.