“He was taking an awful chance of having your secretary walk in and catch him,” Vicki suggested.
“That’s true. But he figured he was taking a worse one if he didn’t find out what we were up to. He saw the gold ship model on my desk, and he knew the jig was up. He hurried to his rooming house, which is just on the edge of the field, picked up some money that Eaton-Smith had given him in advance for emergencies, grabbed his raincoat and hat, then hurried over to make a quick deal with Roy to fly him to Cuba. When he saw you had followed him, he got panicky and pulled his gun. You know the rest of the story.”
The FBI man drained the last of his lemonade.
“It’s been quite a case,” he said.
“Just one other thing,” Mr. Curtin said. “How did you locate Duke and Eaton-Smith so fast?”
Quayle smiled. “When Lasher saw that we finally had him, he told us the whole story from the beginning, including where we could pick up Eaton-Smith, Duke, and old Mr. Tytell.”
“That poor old man,” Vicki said. “This whole thing has been terrible for him.”
“On the contrary,” Quayle said, “it probably will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“What?” Vicki could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“This Florida climate was just what he needed,” Quayle said. “Even with what he’s been through, his health has improved considerably in the few days he’s been down here. A man with his skill as a jeweler shouldn’t have any trouble finding work in Tampa. He can bring his grandson down, and start living a normal life again.”