_The French Sand_
Vicki had a restless night. This was unusual, because her healthy young
body ordinarily enabled her to drop off into restful slumber almost as
soon as she turned off the light. But last night she had been disturbed
by fitful dreams of big old houses with murky rooms, ghostly pirate
figures chasing her, and strange creatures lurking in wait for her
around dark corners. The face of old Mr. Tytell floated through her
dreams, frightened and pleading, and that of Raymond Duke with his
leering, white-toothed smile.
Once she woke up and lay awake for a long time, thinking about the
skull and crossbones and the threatening note. It couldn’t be a prank!
She was obviously getting close to something--and those involved were
trying to scare her off. It could be nobody else but the masked pirate,
Raymond Duke, and, she was sure of it, Mr. Eaton-Smith. Although until
she had surprised him in his home last night, it had never crossed her
mind that the mild-mannered travel agent might be mixed up in any kind
of shady dealings.
The note also implied that one of the three knew a great deal more
about her than she had suspected--specifically where she was staying in
Tampa. She didn’t think Duke or Eaton-Smith could possibly have found
out during the short time between the parade and her return with the
Curtins. Maybe the third man then--the pirate--!
She got up and dressed early, and was having orange juice and coffee by
herself in the dining room when Louise and Nina came downstairs.
“Well, well!” Nina laughed. “We thought you were the late sleeper of
the household! Was the excitement of last night too much for you?”
“_You don’t know the half of it!_” Vicki thought to herself, but she
smiled and said: “I never had so much fun in my life.”
“Then get ready for some more fun,” Louise said. “I believe you said
your vacation starts today?”
“Change of plan,” Vicki told her. “I didn’t have a chance to mention it
last night. I’m to make one more trip. Leave here tomorrow, return on
Sunday. Then I have a whole week to soak up that Florida sun and get
the tan Nina was teasing me about.”
“Wonderful! That fits right into the plan!”
“What plan is this?” Vicki wanted to know.
Louise’s eyes twinkled. “Daddy’s promised us all a trip to Havana. He
says that after Festival Week he needs a rest, and he’s sure we do too.
He had planned for us to fly over on Monday--we can get there from here
in a couple of hours. Then we’ll spend two or three days seeing the
sights, shopping in their wonderful markets for laces, jewelry--”
“They have some of the most wonderful combs and brooches and things
made of tortoise shell and coral!” Nina interrupted excitedly.
“... and taking in some shows and night clubs,” Louise went on, “and
just having a high old time.”
“That sounds perfectly wonderful,” Vicki said enthusiastically. “I’ve
never been to Havana and it’s one place I’ve always wanted to visit!”
“Then get yourself ready, Vic. We’ll have the time of our lives!”
After breakfast, Nina excused herself to go to the shop. She _did_ have
a job, she assured Vicki with a big smile, even though she managed to
find plenty of time to enjoy herself. “And since today and tomorrow
are the last two days of the Festival, we’ll probably be swamped with
tourist business.”
“I have to go down to the Welfare Agency this morning,” Louise said,
getting up. “Can you find plenty to do by yourself, Vic?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Vicki assured her. “I have some shopping to do
to get myself ready for Havana.”
After the girls had departed, Vicki telephoned Mr. Quayle’s office and
made an appointment to see him in half an hour.
In the taxi going to the airport, she fell to wondering about the
identity of the third man, the masked pirate in the black cloak. He
had known that she was staying at the Curtins’. The only people in
Tampa who knew that were Mr. Quayle and the Federal Airlines personnel.
Could the pirate be connected in some way with the airline? Well, she
decided, the riddle was too much for her now. But she was going to do
her best to find the answer!
When she entered the FBI investigator’s office--he had now taken
up more or less permanent quarters in the airport’s administration
building until the gold coin case was solved--his secretary looked up.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Barr,” she said. “You had no sooner hung up than
Mr. Quayle called to say that he was detained. I told him about your
call and he asked if you could see him at ten.” She looked at her
watch. “It’s only nine-fifteen now. I’m terribly sorry if this holds
you up.”
“No indeed.” Vicki smiled. “I’ll go sit in the passenger lounge and
watch the planes land and take off.”
The secretary grinned. “Isn’t that sort of a busman’s holiday, Miss
Barr?”
Vicki strolled through the terminal waiting room, then decided to go
outside and stand in the sun. She still couldn’t get over the wonderful
fragrance of the perfume-laden Florida air. She couldn’t seem to get
enough of it. “I guess I’m just a hick from Illinois,” she chided
herself.
As she sauntered along the walk outside, breathing in refreshing
lungfuls of the scented breeze, a familiar voice hailed her:
“Hi there, Miss Vicki! Wait up!”
It was the irrepressible Joey Watson, his usual broad grin splitting
his freckled face.
“What are you doing out of uniform? Aren’t you flying today?”
“I’m like an old firehorse who can’t resist the sound of alarm bells.”
Vicki smiled. “Only in my case it’s the sound of airplane motors.”
“I know what you mean,” Joey said. “I feel the same way.” He fell into
step beside her. “Look, Steve is taking me up for a lesson in a few
minutes. Have you got time to come over and take a look at his ship?
It’s a peachy two-engined Beech.”
“Are you sure the field people won’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Joey said. He opened the heavy wire gate that led out
onto the concrete apron. “Come on.”
Steve Miller was standing at the step that led into the little cabin
of his charter plane. He wore light-brown slacks and a gabardine
flying jacket. He wheeled around and smiled broadly when he saw Vicki
approaching at Joey’s side.
“Oh, hello, Miss Barr,” he said. “Did you come to take me up on that
spin?”
“Not this morning, Steve,” Vicki said. “I’ve got things to do. But I
may some other day real soon.”
“You do that, Vicki--Miss Barr,” Steve said.
“I will,” Vicki promised. She looked at the trim little plane, and
nodded her head approvingly. “Nice airplane you have here.”
“We like it,” Steve said, evidently pleased. “It may seem like a lot of
airplane to be giving our young friend his first flying lessons in, but
she handles just like an automobile.”
“I know,” Vicki said. “I’ve flown in Beeches before.”
“Good deal,” Steve said.
Just at that moment a blond-haired young man strode toward them from a
twin-engine Cessna that was parked farther up on the concrete apron. He
gave Steve a semimilitary salute and said, “Hello!”
“Come over here, Roy,” Steve called. “I want you to meet a friend of
mine.”
The blond young pilot looked at Vicki as he said, “I’ve met your
student, Steve, but ...”
“This is Miss Vicki Barr,” Steve told him. “Licensed pilot and Federal
Airlines hostess. Vicki, this is Roy Olsen. He’s a charter pilot out
of Saint Pete. He comes over the Bay occasionally to take the bread out
of our mouths.”
Roy Olsen grinned. “Don’t you believe it, Miss Barr. I just fly over
here now and then to help relieve the load on the Tampa boys.”
He had an infectious grin, and Vicki liked him immediately.
“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.
“I started out with the cold, hard fact that a shipment of gold coins
had been stolen in some mysterious way. You, on the other hand, started
out with the warm, human fact that an old man was unhappy and a young
boy seemed headed for trouble. I concentrated on trying to find the
thieves. You concentrated on trying to help the old man and the boy.”
He paused again and smiled.
“Does this sound like a lecture?”
“Why--no, sir,” Vicki said politely.
“Well, it should sound like one--because it is. A lecture to myself.”
He picked up the telephone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll
take a little closer look at a certain importer and a certain travel
agent.”
Vicki got up from her chair.
“And one more thing,” John Quayle said. “The next time you see
something that doesn’t feel right to your woman’s intuition, come and
tell me about it.”
Vicki took an airport bus back to Tampa and got off in midtown. Her
head was spinning as she tried to puzzle out the tangled events of the
past week and put them together in some logical order. But the sun was
too bright and the air was too sweet and clean for gloomy thoughts. Her
mind leaped ahead to the fun she’d have in Havana.
She sauntered along the street aimlessly, looking into shopwindows. She
stopped in front of an art supply store and was casually examining some
pictures that were on display when a familiar figure inside the shop
caught her eye. It was the old violinist, Mr. Tytell!
She entered the store just as the old man was saying to the clerk in
his quavering voice:
“... and five pounds of French sand, please.”
“I’m afraid you’ve almost bought us out of French sand these past few
days, sir,” the clerk said. “Not very much demand for it here. But we
should have some left. I’ll see.” He turned to go.
Vicki looked around the store. Mr. Tytell seemed to be alone. This was
her chance to talk with him. She walked up to the counter and said,
“Why, hello, Mr. Tytell.”
At the sound of her voice the old man turned and a smile broke over his
lined face.
“Why--why, it’s Miss Barr.”
“You were in such a hurry the last time we met that I didn’t have much
opportunity to say hello.”
She remembered the old man’s frantic plea: “I have to talk to you!” If
he really did have something important to tell her, now was the time to
draw it out.
“Mr. Duke said that you were working for him. He seems like a pleasant
man.”
At the mention of Duke’s name the old man’s eyes again took on a
frightened look. He nodded his head and for a second his eyes fell.
“Y-yes.”
“Do you also work for Mr. Eaton-Smith?” Vicki asked casually.
As he had on the street in Ybor City, the old man grasped her hand and
stammered, “M-Miss Barr--I feel that you’re my friend--the--the only
friend I have--” His eyes were pleading in his ashen face.
At that moment the clerk reappeared with Mr. Tytell’s package. The old
man fumbled nervously in his pocket to get the money to pay for it.
So the old man really is in trouble, Vicki thought. But how could he
possibly be connected with Duke and Eaton-Smith--and the man in the
pirate cloak?
“Mr. Tytell, did you leave a message in the plane that day for me? A
travel folder?”
“Y-yes. And you found it!” For a second his eyes lost their frightened
look. “Miss Barr--I--I need help. I have to talk with you.”
“Then let’s find a quiet place and talk,” Vicki said soothingly.
“No, no. Not now.” He looked furtively out into the street. “Mr.--Mr.
Duke is waiting for me. In his car down at the corner.”
The old man lowered his voice to a whisper. “When do you fly again to
New York, Miss Barr?”
“Tomorrow,” Vicki answered, surprised at this question. “Tomorrow at
three-forty-five. Federal Flight Seventeen.”
“I’ll be on that plane, Miss Barr.” Tytell’s voice was so low that even
standing beside him, Vicki could hardly make out the words. “They won’t
stop me! I’ll be on that plane.”
He turned quickly and went out the door.