VICKI SAID GOOD-BY TO CAPTAIN MARCH, JOHNNY, and Cathy and strolled leisurely through the air terminal waiting room, watching the milling crowds of people which always fascinated her. One could certainly pick out the “Yankees” who had just come in, she thought. Their northern winter pallor contrasted sharply with the deep sun-browned skins of the local residents. It suddenly struck Vicki that she was a “Yankee” herself. “I’ll have to go to the beach and start working on my own sun tan,” she thought, “the first time I have a day off.”

A rack of colorful picture post cards caught her eye. Gosh! Here it was her second trip to Florida and she hadn’t sent a single card! That was the first thing any respectable Florida visitor did!

She selected a dozen of the most exotic cards, those that depicted wide sandy beaches, palm-lined streets, the moonlight over Tampa Bay, and the JosÉ Gasparilla sailing up the Bay with hundreds of bright pennants flying from its masts and its deck crowded with Ye Mystic Krewe.

Leaning on the counter, she addressed one to her father, one to her mother, one to Ginny (who adored getting mail in her own name), one to Bill Avery, and one to each of the girls who shared her apartment in New York.

Then, just for fun, she addressed one to Mr. Curtin, to Nina and to Louise. On each of these last three, she wrote: “I’m so glad to be here. Love, Vicki.”

She bought stamps from a machine on the counter, mailed the cards in a postal drop nearby, and strolled on to the main door to hail a taxi.

On her way, she passed the terminal snack bar. An ice-cream soda, it suddenly occurred to her, would taste just about right on a hot day like this. She pushed open the swinging glass doors and entered the dim, air-conditioned room.

The first person she saw was Joey Watson, sitting in one of the booths. She started toward him, then checked herself when she saw that another man was sitting in the seat opposite him. Vicki decided not to intrude in what probably was “man talk.” She slipped into the next booth, with her back to the man who was sitting with Joey.

The man was speaking in a low voice, but it was deep-toned and resonant. The man spoke with a soft Spanish accent, and had a peculiar, almost indiscernible, lisp. Since he was separated from Vicki only by a thin plywood partition, she couldn’t help hearing every word he said. She paid no attention to the conversation, and ordered her soda from the waitress.

Then a sentence caught her ear.

“... and you’re such a nice kid, Joey, that I want to help you. You’re smart and ambitious, and I like to help boys like you.”

“But why should you want to help me?” Joey’s voice was puzzled. “You never saw me before. And— Why, I don’t even know your name.”

“Now that does surprise me a little, Joey. With all the business I do with Federal Airlines, I’m surprised you don’t know the name of Raymond Duke.”

“I—I think I have seen your name on cargo consignments,” Joey said hesitantly.

“Sure you have, kid,” the man said. “I’m one of the biggest importers in Tampa. And you can bet that I’ve heard about Joey Watson. Your boss, Van— Van— What’s his name—?”

“Van Lasher.”

“Sure. Van Lasher says you’re the smartest man he’s got. He tells me you’re saving up for flying lessons, and that you need money real bad. Well, I can fix that, kid. If you work for me, I can put a lot of money your way.” Vicki’s ears pricked up. This conversation was certainly taking a curious turn! Now she began listening intently, careful to catch every word. She felt responsible for Joey Watson, and the proposition this man seemed to be trying to make to him sounded mighty strange indeed!

“Now in my business,” the man went on, “I can always use a smart boy. Think you’d like to work for me? I pay mighty well.”

“Gee, Mr. Duke,” Joey said, “I’ve already got a good job. I like to work around airplanes, and I’m already starting to take flying lessons. Or I’ll be starting—any day now. No—thanks a lot—but I don’t think I’d like to leave the airline.”

“Who said anything about leaving the airline, kid? What I want you to do is work for me in your spare time—do odd jobs, run errands, things like that. Why, I’ve got a job coming up that will pay you— How does a hundred dollars sound?”

“A hundred dollars!” Joey almost shouted.

“Not so loud, boy! Not so loud!” the man cautioned. “I don’t go around offering good jobs to everybody I see. I don’t want every Tom, Dick, and Harry pestering me for work. This is confidential. Just between you and me.”

“Gee,” Joey said, “I—I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? A hundred smackers would sure pay for a lot of flying lessons, boy. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be an old man before you get your pilot’s license. Look, Joey, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You agree to work for me, and I’ll give you twenty-five bucks in advance.”

Vicki heard the man flip some crisp bills.

“Look at that, kid. That’s just to show I trust you. And there’s plenty more where that came from!”

“Gosh, Mr. Duke, I’ll have to think it over.”

“Nothing doing!” Vicki heard Mr. Duke say. “When I make a man as good a proposition as this, I expect him to say yes or no. Besides, I’ve got a job that needs to be done right away. Now what do you say, boy? That money looks pretty good, doesn’t it? I’ll bet you never saw that much before in your life. So what is it? Yes or no?”

“Gee, Mr. Duke!” Joey’s voice was wavering with indecision. “I— Honest, I’ll have to think it over.”

“Okay!” Mr. Duke’s voice rose slightly, and seemed to Vicki to have an angry, exasperated tone. “But look here, kid. You keep your lip buttoned about this. If the word got around about me having a good job open, every boy in Tampa would be after me. So not a word to anybody. Okay?”

“Okay,” Joey said. “I’ll let you know.”

“You do that. But remember what I said about keeping quiet.”

Mr. Duke got to his feet, picked his Panama hat off the hatrack by the booth, and started for the door. He was tall, thin, sleek, and slightly overdressed. The shoulders of his jacket were just a little too padded, Vicki thought, and the lapels a little too pointed. His hair was thick and black and curly, his long face was deeply tanned, and a hair-thin mustache spread across his upper lip.

On impulse, Vicki stood up and casually followed him out the door of the snack bar and across the terminal building. When he stepped out into the sunshine of the taxi loading ramp, she hung back as he whistled for a cab. A taxi pulled up, and before Mr. Duke got in, he said to the driver: “Granada Restaurant. Ybor City.”

Granada Restaurant! Ybor City! Vicki’s hand felt for the travel folder in her jacket pocket. Why, that was the restaurant old Mr.—what was his name?—Tytell had tried to call her attention to! If he really had been trying to call her attention to it by leaving the folder on his seat in such a peculiar way with the words “meeting place” underlined!

Vicki shook her head in bewilderment. It all seemed too curious to be a coincidence. The frightened old man on the plane—the travel folder—and now this odd-looking man making such a strange proposition to Joey—and then going to that very same restaurant!

It seemed too curious to be a coincidence, but for the life of her, Vicki couldn’t make any sense out of it. Maybe she’d better go back to the snack bar and have a talk with Joey.

When she entered the air-conditioned room again, the booth at which Joey and the strange man had been sitting was empty.

Vicki shrugged and smiled to herself. “Vicki Barr, with your imagination, you ought to write mystery stories! You see a deep, dark plot every time you look around! You could be spending your time better at the beach, getting that Florida sun tan!”

She thrust all suspicions from her mind and went out to find a taxi.