“I hate to break this up,” Steve Miller said, “but if I’m to give Joey a lesson before the warehouse boss starts yelling for him, we’d better take off.” He climbed into the cabin and went forward to the cockpit. “Come on, kid,” he said over his shoulder. “Strap yourself in, and don’t touch that wheel until I tell you to.”
Joey touched his thumb to his forefinger in the time-honored airman’s salute to Vicki, and followed Steve into the plane.
Vicki watched as they taxied out onto the runway, and getting the go-ahead from the traffic tower, took off.
“I’ll see you again, Mr. Olsen,” she said to the flier from St. Petersburg.
Again the young man grinned and said, “Good deal!”
“Mr. Quayle,” Vicki asked, after she had told the latest of her adventures, “do you think I’m seeing bogeymen in the closet?”
John Quayle had listened attentively as Vicki recounted her experiences of last night—the visit to Eaton-Smith’s house; her discovery of the violin case; her unexpected stumbling upon the tourist agent, Duke, and the third man whispering together in the darkened room; Duke’s whispered “Don’t let her go yet! Keep her here!”; the masked man’s flight; her chase after him; Duke’s pursuit of her in the costumed crowd; receiving the threatening note on her return home.
“No, Miss Vicki Barr,” John Quayle said serious as he puffed on his old pipe, “I don’t think you’re seeing bogeymen at all. I think you’re teaching me a valuable lesson that they forgot to include in the FBI training course—never underestimate the feminine point of view.”
He blew a thick, blue smoke ring that drifted lazily toward the ceiling.