As Vicki told her story, the FBI agent listened in attentive silence. Vicki repeated her experience with Mr. Tytell on the plane; how Mr. Eaton-Smith had helped to keep the old man calm; how Mr. Tytell had been so anxious to talk at first, but had lapsed into silence after she had served his lunch; and how she had found the travel folder that seemed to direct her to the Granada Restaurant in Ybor City. She told the story in more detail than she had on Friday, so that Mr. Quayle would get all the background that led up to her present vague suspicions and feeling of unrest.
Then she told about overhearing Raymond Duke’s conversation with Joey Watson in the snack bar and her surprise when Duke directed the taxi driver to take him to the same restaurant that was named on the travel folder Mr. Tytell had left in his seat.
“And so this afternoon, after the pirate crew had landed, I decided to go out to Ybor City and see this restaurant for myself. I thought that maybe Mr. Tytell might be playing his violin in the orchestra.”
Mr. Quayle remained silent, puffing on an old smoke-blackened briar pipe and nodding now and then and muttering “Yes. ... Yes. ... Uh-huh. ... I see.”
Vicki went on with her story. She told about seeing Mr. Eaton-Smith again at his office; of seeing Raymond Duke at the Granada; and finally, of finding old Mr. Tytell apparently working as an errand boy for Duke.
“He seemed frightened half to death, Mr. Quayle,” she continued. “He clutched my hand like a little boy and kept saying, ‘I have to talk to you.’ I don’t know what it all adds up to, if anything. But I can’t help having a strange feeling about it.”
“Yes,” Mr. Quayle said, “I can see what you mean.”
“In the first place,” Vicki said, “if Mr. Tytell is so poor that he hadn’t eaten the day I saw him on the plane, and if he has to make a living by running errands, why was he flying to Florida on a luxury airplane? Why didn’t he come by bus, or at least on an economy coach flight?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Mr. Quayle agreed.
“Maybe I’m imagining things, Mr. Quayle. But it was Raymond Duke who made that strange proposition to Joey. It was Joey’s flashlight that was found at the scene of the robbery. It was old Mr. Tytell who tried to direct me to Ybor City—and who I found today at Raymond Duke’s house so scared he could hardly talk. All of these odd coincidences, somehow, seem to tie together. Anyway, I thought it was time to talk to you.”