“Oh, no!” Vicki groaned.
“Come on, Vicki,” Mr. Curtin said, and broke into a run. Vicki followed at his heels.
They came to the alley, but there was no one in sight. At its end was a small restaurant with dirty, fly-specked windows. Vicki peered inside. The man was hurrying through a back door into what must have been the kitchen.
“I’ll get him,” Mr. Curtin said, and stepped inside.
Looking through the dirty glass of the window, Vicki saw Mr. Curtin speaking earnestly to the man behind the counter. The man listened, then turned and spoke through the doorway. And then, to Vicki’s vast relief, the peddler appeared. Mr. Curtin spoke to him briefly, and the two came outside.
The Cuban took the little gold ship from his pocket and Vicki breathed a thankful sigh.
“Where did you get this?” Mr. Curtin asked, as he had done when the man had first approached them in the square.
Again the man shrugged.
“All right,” Mr. Curtin said. “Never mind. How much?”
“Solid gold,” the man repeated. “One hundred dollar.”