The boy turned and picked it up.
“One of the porters found this old fiddle about an hour ago. Is it yours, miss?”
Vicki looked at the worn leather case, with the frayed handle that exposed the metal of the clasp. It was Mr. Tytell’s, no doubt of that. But now it bore fresh scratches and there was a dent in the side as if someone had stepped on it.
“Where was it found?” Vicki’s voice took on a strident note as a dark wave of dread swept over her.
“Outside somewhere. The porter didn’t say just where.”
Vicki turned and ran up the stairs to Mr. Quayle’s office on the second floor. When she burst through the door, the secretary looked up and shook her head.
“He hasn’t come back yet, Miss Barr. And I really don’t know when he’ll be in. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“May I leave him a note?”
“Certainly. You’ll find paper on that desk over there.”
Vicki hastily scribbled a message, telling the FBI investigator about her meeting with Amos Tytell yesterday; his checking in at the reservations desk; and her finding of the battered violin case that appeared to show marks of a struggle.