There was sense in his remarks, for people on the platform were beginning to stop and stare at Meg with an interest she deeply resented. To enter the cab seemed the lesser evil, even if she must pay a visit to the police station. The inspector handed her in politely, and entering after, took the seat opposite, while the policeman mounted the box beside the driver.
"They seem desperately afraid of my escaping! I wonder they don't handcuff me!" thought Meg, waxing more and more angry at the indignity of the proceeding. The little drive only occupied a few minutes, and arrived at the police station, she was shown at once into the head inspector's office.
"I should like to know what charge you have against me," demanded Meg, determined to hold her own, and not to be frightened at her arrest.
"Withdrawing yourself from the hands of your lawful schoolmistress and present guardian," 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,
