“The curious thing to me,” Vicki said, “is how the coins were stolen in the first place. According to Mr. Curtin—you remember he was on the committee that arranged for the exhibition—the packing case didn’t show any signs of having been tampered with at all.”
“That puzzled me, too. But because it was so puzzling it gave me an idea that we’re working on.”
“An idea?”
Mr. Quayle smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it at the proper time. You’ve been our Number One operative on this case, and I’ll certainly tell you everything after I’ve found out whether or not I’m right.”
Mr. Quayle patted the gold ship which he had put on his desk.
“It’s amazing,” he said “what people will do to get this pretty yellow stuff. Now you go on and enjoy the rest of your vacation. I’ll call you if I need you.”
When Vicki went back downstairs to the main terminal waiting room, a light rain was falling outside, one of those sudden showers so peculiar to southern Florida that seem to come out of nowhere and stop as suddenly as they start. Since she didn’t have a raincoat, she decided to wait it out.
She strolled over to the big plate-glass observation window that looked out on the airfield. Then she saw something that made her heart pound, and a cold hand seemed to clutch her throat.
A short, stocky man, wearing a long black raincoat and a black hat, was striding across the concrete apron in the direction of the freight warehouse. He carried a valise in his hand. Vicki would have known that hurried walk anywhere, and the long black coat, and the fact that she was looking at his back, made it all the more recognizable.