_Havana_
When Vicki arrived back in Tampa the next day, she went directly to
John Quayle’s office to see if he had any news of Amos Tytell. The
office was closed. She found a taxi and drove to the Curtins’.
Nina and Louise were in a flurry of packing for their Havana trip,
trying to decide which dresses they would need for the various things
they planned to do.
They both burst out in a torrent of excited babble when Vicki entered
the room.
“Look, Vic. Which evening dress do you think looks better? The green or
the white?”
“Just look at this lovely new bathing suit I bought at the shop today!”
“You’d better start your own packing, Vic. Daddy plans on leaving
bright and early in the morning.”
Vicki had to smile at their enthusiasm, but her pleasure in the
projected trip to Cuba was dampened by her worry of what had happened
to elderly Mr. Tytell.
“Wait until I change,” she said. “Then I’ll help you pack and you can
help me.”
In her room, Vicki threw her bag on the bed and took the telephone book
from the table. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder whether Mr. Quayle
lived in Tampa. If he didn’t, she’d have to ask Mr. Curtin where she
could find him. He’d certainly know. But she didn’t want to worry him
with her own involvement in the case unless she had to.
She was in luck. John Quayle’s name was in the book. She dialed his
number and waited. In a moment his familiar voice answered the phone.
“Mr. Quayle? ... This is Vicki Barr. I hope you don’t mind my calling
you at home like this on a Sunday afternoon, but I was worried about
Mr. Tytell. Did you find out anything about him?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Barr,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.
“As soon as I got your note yesterday, I put one of my men on the
job of tracking him down. But so far, no luck. We found that he had
been living in a cheap boardinghouse in the Quarter, but his landlady
apparently hasn’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Oh, dear!” Vicki said.
“Don’t worry, Miss Barr. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”
“I won’t be home for a few days, Mr. Quayle. The Curtins are taking me
to Havana. But if I can be of any help by staying ...”
“Now see here, young lady. You just go on to Havana and enjoy yourself.
The FBI will find him, don’t you worry.”
Vicki thanked him and started to hang up, then she thought of something
else.
“Did you find out anything about Mr. Duke and Mr. Eaton-Smith?”
“It appears that both of them are out of town ...”
“_Gone?_” Vicki almost shouted the word. “Maybe they forced Mr. Tytell
to go with them! Maybe they ...”
Mr. Quayle’s good-natured laugh came over the wire. “Better not jump to
conclusions, Miss Barr. Mr. Duke told some friends that he was going
out of town on business. He didn’t say where. And Mr. Eaton-Smith’s
office said that he had flown to Nassau. We’re making a check, of
course, on the basis of the reports you made to me. But you have to
remember that both men are respected businessmen here in Tampa and that
the nature of their businesses compels them to travel a good deal. We
can’t barge in with charges we have no way of proving. But again, don’t
worry. If they’ve done anything unlawful, we’ll find out. Now you run
along to Havana and have a good time.”
Vicki thanked him and hung up.
* * * * *
Early the next morning Mr. Curtin and the girls boarded a Federal
Airlines plane for Havana. It was fun, she thought, as she leaned back
in the reclining seat, to travel as a passenger. Both the stewardesses
on the flight were old friends with whom she had flown many times.
They made a point of waiting on her with mock pomp and ceremony, and
referred to her, sometimes two and three times in one sentence, as
“Madame.”
“Is Madame comfortable?” “Would Madame care for one or two lumps of
sugar in Madame’s coffee?” “Is Madame sure she won’t get airsick?” “Has
Madame ever flown before?”
Nina and Louise giggled at the joke and played up to it. Everyone was
having fun. This, Vicki thought, is the way a vacation should be! All
the fears and uncertainties that had crowded her mind for the past week
vanished like magic.
The plane landed briefly at Miami, and then took off again for the
short hop over the Keys and across the blue Straits of Florida to
Havana.
They checked into a luxurious hotel, surrounded by vast green lawns and
towering palm trees. Then quickly they unpacked their clothes and set
out to see the sights.
For the next two days, Mr. Curtin escorted the three girls on a
whirlwind round of fun and good times. He knew the old city thoroughly,
but for Vicki and the Curtin girls it was a round of wonderful
discoveries.
They went to the race track, the beaches, the historic old forts and
the fascinating museums during the mornings and afternoons, and in
the evenings to the theater and afterward to a night club where the
orchestra played Spanish music and the dancers whirled and stamped
their feet in all manner of Latin fandangos.
On the third morning--or maybe it was the fourth, Vicki had lost track
of time in the wonderful world of Havana--Mr. Curtin said at breakfast:
“Today we’re going to see something that you’ve never seen before, a
real Spanish-American market place down in the Old City.”
“What’s so special about it?” Nina asked.
“Some people call it the Thieves’ Market,” Mr. Curtin explained. “In
the old days the pirates and freebooters went there to sell the loot
they had taken from captured ships. And even today, it’s a place where
stolen goods are sold.”
“Oh-h!” Nina said. “A Thieves’ Market! I can’t wait to buy something!”
“Not so fast, Missy!” Mr. Curtin laughed. “I said we were going to
look, not to buy. It’s still a crime to receive stolen goods.”
“But if it’s all right for the thieves to sell things,” Nina
persisted, “it should be all right for me to buy them.”
“Not on your life! The authorities down here occasionally shut one
eye to certain practices that help make a tourist attraction. But _I_
don’t!”
“Then I’ll do it when you’re not looking,” Nina teased.
“And you’re not too big to be spanked if I catch you.”
The girls giggled at this exchange, and then Mr. Curtin went on:
“Seriously though, this market is a strange combination of fine
legitimate shops and black-market operators. What say we go out to
Veradero Beach this morning for a swim, and then take in the market
this afternoon?”
The Thieves’ Market was a cobblestoned square, with an ancient stone
fountain in the middle and shops and outdoor cafés on all four sides.
A few men, most of them dressed in nondescript clothes, lounged in the
doorways. Two or three small parties of American tourists sat at the
café tables.
“Let’s sit down and order limeades,” Mr. Curtin suggested, “and see
what happens.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A tall individual, dressed in a soiled
seersucker suit and a Panama hat that had seen better days, sauntered
up to their table. From his coat pocket he extracted a bottle of
perfume that Vicki recognized as a famous French brand.
“For the young ladies,” the man said in broken English. “Five dollars.”
Vicki knew the perfume cost three times that in New York or Tampa.
Mr. Curtin pretended to think it over. Then he handed the bottle back
to the man and shook his head. The peddler returned the bottle to his
coat pocket and walked away as casually as he had approached.
In a few moments a second man strolled up to their table, an old
suitcase in his hand. Without a word, he put the case on the tabletop
and opened it. Inside was some of the most beautiful lace Vicki had
ever seen. She couldn’t repress an exclamation of admiration.
“Ah,” the man said, revealing broken yellow teeth in a wide grin. “The
señorita knows fine lace. Direct from Spain, señor! A great bargain.”
Again Mr. Curtin pretended to be trying to make up his mind. And again
he shook his head no.
“My goodness, Daddy!” Louise exclaimed when the man had gone. “That’s
the dreamiest lace I ever saw in my life. Can’t we buy just one teeny
little piece? It would look wonderful with my new white evening dress!
What do you say, Daddy?”
Mr. Curtin laughed. “Am I going to have to spank you too? That’s stolen
goods, honey. We look just for fun. But that’s all.”
A third man detached himself from a doorway and headed in their
direction.
“Here comes another one,” Nina said. “You must look like a rich
American, Daddy.”
When the man revealed the object he had for sale, everyone gasped. It
was one of the tiny souvenir ships from the Gasparilla Festival in
Tampa. But instead of being cheap brass, this one gleamed like pure
gold.
Mr. Curtin’s eyes flashed. “Where did you get this?”
The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Solid gold, señor. I sell cheap.”
“Solid _gold_?” Vicki repeated incredulously.
“_Sí_, señorita. Solid gold.”
Mr. Curtin laughed. “We’re from Tampa, fellow. We could buy all of
those we wanted last week for a quarter. I must say you’ve done a nice
polishing job. But go and find yourself another sucker.”
He waved the man away.
“Well, girls,” he said, “have you seen enough?”
“I’d like to buy something for Mother and Ginny before I leave,” Vicki
said. “But I certainly wouldn’t want to buy stolen goods.”
“As I told you this morning, Vicki,” Mr. Curtin said, “this market is a
curious mixture of thieves, smugglers, and honest men. Just across the
square is Manuel Rodriguez’s jewelry shop. He specializes in Spanish
antiques, and he’s thoroughly respectable. Maybe we can find something
there.”
Mr. Curtin paid for their limeades, and they strolled across the
cobbled square.
Manuel Rodriguez’s jewelry shop was completely unlike the Thieves’
Market that existed just outside its windows. The interior was plain
and dignified, and glass display cases along its walls held beautiful
pieces of finely wrought silver and gold.
A small man, wearing a trim swallowtail coat and a pince-nez, stepped
out to greet them.
“_Señor y señoritas_,” he said, rubbing his hands together as though he
was washing them in the air. “What may I do for you?”
“We’re just looking around,” Mr. Curtin explained.
“Please do,” the little man said. “If there is anything I can do--” He
smiled and shrugged.
The girls browsed among the display cases; Nina keeping up a running
chatter of “oh’s” and “ah’s.”
“Look here, Vicki,” Louise called from across the shop. “Come and see
this necklace. It’s really the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen!”
As Vicki stepped to her side, she pointed out a huge emerald, the size
and shape of a bluebird’s egg, suspended on a woven cord of spun gold.
But it was not the emerald that made Vicki gasp with astonishment when
she looked into the case. It was a heavy gold chain in the tray
beside it.
[Illustration: _The souvenir ship gleamed like pure gold_]
Hung on the end of the short gold chain was a large gold coin. It was
the exact duplicate of one of the stolen coins that had been pictured
in the Tampa newspaper. There was the profile of the queen wearing a
high crown, the laurel wreaths that encircled the head, and the ring of
stars around the rim.
Vicki was sure of it! Then she remembered the picture she had torn
from the paper. She put her handbag on the top of the case and began
to explore its contents. She finally found the clipping under a pile
of loose change, bobby pins, lipstick, nail file--and all the other
assorted odds and ends with which girls clutter up their handbags. She
unfolded the piece of paper and compared the picture with the coin in
the display case. There was no question about it. It was the same coin!
“Vicki,” Louise exclaimed, “what in the world are you doing?”
“Look at the coin on that heavy chain, Louise. Isn’t it the same one
that’s in this picture?”
Louise looked at the coin in the case and then studied the newspaper
clipping.
“Why, yes,” she gasped. “It certainly is. But where did you--”
“Sh-h-h!” Vicki cautioned.
The little jeweler had come up behind them.
“Yes?” he said expectantly.
Vicki pointed to the coin and chain.
“Can you tell me the price of that piece, sir?”
“The señorita has a good eye for antiques,” the jeweler said. “But I am
afraid that this particular piece is not for sale.”
Vicki raised her eyebrows. “Not for sale?”
“I regret to say it is not. We made the chain to order to accommodate
the coin.”
“Do--do you have any other antique coins like this one that you could
sell me?”
“I only wish I did,” the jeweler replied. “But again I must tell you
no. The coin belongs to a Señor Ramon Garcia who brought it to us.” He
tapped his pince-nez with a fat finger. “But wait! Señor Garcia is an
importer, and sometimes deals in antiques. It is possible that he has
other such coins.”
“Could you give me his address?”
“Certainly, señorita.” The jeweler talked as he wrote a name and
address on a piece of paper. “It is quite possible that _El Duque_ may
have something interesting ...”
Vicki’s heart leaped into her throat and for a moment almost choked her.
“Did you say _El Duque_?”
“_Sí_, señorita,” the jeweler said, giving her the piece of paper.
“Among his friends in _Habana_, Señor Garcia is known affectionately as
_El Duque_.”
_El Duque!_ The Duke! Vicki’s head was spinning.
“I--I wonder if Mr. Garcia--_El Duque_--is the same man we met at the
hotel last night, Louise. You remember he said he was an importer too.”
“Why, I don’t remember meeting ...” Louise began.
Vicki cut her short. “Is Mr. Garcia a short man,” she asked the
jeweler, “not quite as tall as you, with a bald head and a goatee?”
The jeweler laughed. “It is plain that you did not meet _El Duque_,
_señorita_. Señor Garcia is quite tall, quite thin, with dark hair and
a small mustache. No, no. That was not _El Duque_.”
Suddenly all the crazy notions that had been spinning around inside
Vicki’s head, like the flashing colors of a kaleidoscope wheel,
exploded into a great sunburst of light, and little bits and pieces
settled into place and put themselves together like the pieces of a
jigsaw puzzle.
The stolen gold coins! This coin in the display case certainly was one
of them!
The jeweler’s description of Ramon Garcia fitted Raymond Duke to a T.
_Ramon_ was Raymond in Spanish! And _El Duque_ was The Duke! Raymond
Duke had an import business with offices in both Tampa and Havana!
She remembered Mr. Curtin saying on the morning that the theft of the
gold coins had been discovered: “The thieves could never sell the
antique coins. It’s the gold itself they wanted!”
She remembered the row on row of souvenir ships on the shelves in
Eaton-Smith’s house.
She remembered what French sand was. It was used by metal casters to
make molds!
The ship the peddler had tried to sell them a few minutes ago! It
really had been solid gold!
It all sounded too crazy to make sense. She didn’t quite see how all
the pieces fitted together. But deep down in her bones she knew they
did!
That little ship that the peddler had offered them was made from gold
melted down from the coins that had been stolen from Flight 17!
She had to have that gold ship!
“Mr. Curtin,” she said, and her voice was so urgent that it trembled,
“please come outside.”
Mr. Curtin looked at her, puzzled. Then, when he saw the expression on
her face, he followed her out the door.
“Vicki,” he said anxiously, “are you ill?”
“Mr. Curtin--the man who offered us that Tampa souvenir--he said it
was solid gold--” Vicki stammered, not quite sure how to explain the
confused thoughts that were still spinning around in her head.
“Yes?” Mr. Curtin said. “Of course, it was just a fake.”
“Mr. Curtin,” Vicki blurted out, “I’ve got to buy that ship! Will you
lend me the money--and--and help me find that man?”
“But--but I don’t understand,” Mr. Curtin said.
“Please trust me, Mr. Curtin! Please believe me! It’s important! I’ve
just got to have that gold ship!”
Mr. Curtin didn’t understand. But he was conscious of the desperate
urgency in Vicki’s eyes, and in her voice. He knew she was a
level-headed girl, not one to be carried away by foolish notions. He
had found that out during the short time she had been his daughters’
house guest.
“Just a minute,” he said, and turned back into the shop.
“Louise,” he said. “Nina. You girls stay right here. Vicki and I will
be back in a moment.”
“But, Daddy ...”
“Look, Nina,” Mr. Curtin said sternly, “I haven’t time to explain.
Please stay here. It’s important.”
Then he went outside and joined Vicki again.
Vicki was looking wildly around the Thieves’ Market. The man who had
offered them the gold ship was not in sight.
“Let’s walk around,” Mr. Curtin said. “He’s bound to be in the square
some place.”
They saw the man who had tried to sell them the perfume, and then the
grinning, broken-toothed character who had shown them the lace. But of
the peddler with the gold ship there was no sign. They walked around
for ten minutes, peering into every doorway, but still with no success.
Then Vicki saw a familiar figure emerge from a doorway at the far end
of the square.
“There he is, Mr. Curtin! Stop him!”
Mr. Curtin raised an arm and waved it urgently. “Hey, there!” he
yelled, somewhat undignified for a staid American businessman. “Stop!
Wait a minute!”
The man glanced once over his shoulder, then ducked into an alley and
disappeared.
“Oh, no!” Vicki groaned.
“Come on, Vicki,” Mr. Curtin said, and broke into a run. Vicki followed
at his heels.
They came to the alley, but there was no one in sight. At its end was a
small restaurant with dirty, fly-specked windows. Vicki peered inside.
The man was hurrying through a back door into what must have been the
kitchen.
“I’ll get him,” Mr. Curtin said, and stepped inside.
Looking through the dirty glass of the window, Vicki saw Mr. Curtin
speaking earnestly to the man behind the counter. The man listened,
then turned and spoke through the doorway. And then, to Vicki’s vast
relief, the peddler appeared. Mr. Curtin spoke to him briefly, and the
two came outside.
The Cuban took the little gold ship from his pocket and Vicki breathed
a thankful sigh.
“Where did you get this?” Mr. Curtin asked, as he had done when the
man had first approached them in the square.
Again the man shrugged.
“All right,” Mr. Curtin said. “Never mind. How much?”
“Solid gold,” the man repeated. “One hundred dollar.”
Mr. Curtin took the ship from the man’s outstretched hand and passed
it over to Vicki. It was so unexpectedly heavy that she almost let it
drop. She looked at it carefully. It gleamed with the rich luster of
pure gold. More than ever, Vicki was convinced that her crazy notion
was right.
“Please buy it, Mr. Curtin.”
“Fifty dollars,” Mr. Curtin said.
The Cuban shook his head. “Eighty-five.”
“Seventy-five,” Mr. Curtin said, “and that’s my last offer.”
The man shrugged. “You drive a hard bargain, señor.” He held out his
hand. “Seventy-five.”
Mr. Curtin counted out the bills from his wallet and the man turned and
disappeared into the shabby restaurant.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Curtin. I’ll give you a check as soon as we get
back to the hotel.”
“Now, young lady,” Mr. Curtin said, “maybe you will explain what this
is all about.”
“I’ll explain later, Mr. Curtin. Please trust me. But where can we go
to find out if this really is solid gold?”
“The jeweler,” Mr. Curtin said, “in the shop where we left the girls.”
They retraced their steps to the shop of Manuel Rodriguez.
Nina and Louise were still in the shop. They both looked at Vicki and
their father curiously. When she saw the little ship in Vicki’s hand,
Louise gasped.
“The gold ship, Vicki! What in the world ...?”
“I’ll explain later,” she promised. Then she handed the ship to Mr.
Curtin who in turn gave it to the fat little jeweler.
“I just bought this,” he said. “I wish to know what it is made of. I
will gladly pay your usual fee.”
The jeweler looked at the ship closely.
“Are you interested in the figurine as an object of art, sir, or in the
gold it might contain?”
Mr. Curtin looked at Vicki inquiringly.
“In the gold, sir,” Vicki said.
“Very well. The exterior obviously is gold. The weight seems right.
Whether, under the surface, it is made of lead or some other base metal
we can tell only by boring into it. It will take only a few minutes.”
He bowed slightly to excuse himself and disappeared behind a heavy
curtain into the back of the shop.
Both Nina and Louise were bursting with curiosity.
“Vicki,” Louise said, “if you don’t tell us what all this mystery is
about, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Neither will I,” Nina said.
“At the hotel,” Vicki said. “I’ll tell you everything when we get back.
But not a word until then.”
In a moment the jeweler returned. His face was wreathed in a smile.
“Señor,” he said, “I am happy to tell you that this piece is of solid
gold. It is very valuable.”
* * * * *
“Now, Miss Mystery Girl,” Mr. Curtin said when they were once more in
their suite at the hotel. “Can you tell us what this is all about?”
Vicki’s mind was still in a whirl. Now she was sure she had the secret
of the stolen gold coins! She didn’t know how they had been stolen, or
by whom. But she was pretty sure she knew what had happened to them.
“Nina,” Vicki began, “I want you and Louise to promise me--cross your
heart and hope to die--that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.
If you do, all of us may be in terrible danger.”
Nina’s mouth popped open and she stared first at Louise and then back
to Vicki.
“Nina talks a lot.” Mr. Curtin smiled. “That’s her nature. But she can
keep quiet when she has to. Isn’t that right, honey?”
Both Nina and Louise nodded in silent, open-mouthed agreement.
“All right,” Vicki said. “I’ll start at the beginning.”
She told her story in detail, from the time she had first noticed the
sick old man on the plane straight through to her adventures on the
night of the torchlight parade and the mysterious disappearance of old
Mr. Tytell at the airport. She explained about her relationship with
Joey Watson and her reports to John Quayle.
She took the newspaper clipping from her handbag.
“Then I saw that gold coin this afternoon in the jeweler’s shop. It was
this one right here.” She gave the paper to Mr. Curtin.
“Then the jeweler’s description of Ramon Garcia--remember, he called
him _El Duque_?--couldn’t have been that of anyone but Raymond Duke.
And then I remembered the little Gasparilla ship the man tried to sell
us by saying it was solid gold. And all of a sudden all the pieces of
the puzzle fell into place. It was you, Mr. Curtin, who suggested that
the thieves didn’t want the gold coins themselves because they’d be too
hard to dispose of, but the gold they contained. If the gold figure the
man offered us in the Thieves’ Market today had been anything but a
copy of the Ybor City souvenirs, I probably never would have suspected
anything. But since it was, I knew there must be some connection with
Tampa.”
Mr. Curtin laughed. “The way you wormed that description of Ramon
Garcia out of the man in the jewelry shop would have done credit to
Sherlock Holmes.”
Vicki’s eyes sparkled. “Where do you think I got the idea?”
“What I don’t understand,” Louise said, “is how the peddler in the
Thieves’ Market got the gold ship model. Surely the people who took the
coins wouldn’t plan to dispose of the gold by offering it to American
tourists at ridiculously low prices.”
“That,” Mr. Curtin said seriously, “is something that I am sure the FBI
will be able to find out. And now, Vicki, I think you had better get on
that telephone and put in a person-to-person call for John Quayle in
Tampa.”