Now why was that name so familiar? Suddenly she remembered. Of course! That was the name of the man on the plane the other day—the day the gold was stolen—the man who had told her he was a world traveler and lecturer and operated a travel agency in Tampa. It struck her as a little odd that he should have his office out here in the Latin Quarter instead of downtown Tampa. The windows were filled with attractive travel posters from all over the world.
She halted momentarily to look at them, and at that moment a truck pulled up to the curb and stopped. The driver stepped up to Mr. Eaton-Smith’s door and rang the bell while two other men wrestled a large crate out of the back of the truck and deposited it on the sidewalk. The crate was marked Air Express in large letters, and Vicki noticed casually that it was securely wrapped around with metal bands.
Just then Mr. Eaton-Smith answered the bell and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Crate for you, sir,” the truckman said.
“Just carry it into the front hallway, boys,” he said.
His glance went to Vicki, whose progress along the sidewalk had been momentarily blocked by the truckmen and their burden. As he stared at her, he looked exactly as he had on the plane when he had given her a hand with old Mr. Tytell—dignified, slightly portly, slightly bald, and with his eyes scarcely visible behind the highly polished, rimless glasses.
He smiled, stepped up to Vicki, and offered his hand.
“Well, well,” he said, “aren’t you the little hostess from the airplane the other day?”
“Hello, Mr. Eaton-Smith,” Vicki said, accepting his hand. “It isn’t often that I run into my passengers after they have left the plane.”
“And it’s a real pleasure to see you again, Miss—”