“Vicki, there’s a Miss L. Rowe aboard!” Jean said excitedly. “I just discovered it when I had to check tickets and passengers’ names!”

Vicki stopped her preparations for lunch and stepped outside the buffet into the aisle. “Where, Jean? Where is she?”

“’Way up forward. You can’t see her from here. A stunning girl. Brown suit, brown hair.”

“I can’t stop and go up there now.” Vicki craned to see down the length of the Electra cabin. “Has she a squarish face?”

“I’m not sure.” Some of the passengers noticed their excitement. The two stewardesses stepped back into the privacy of the buffet. “Vic, could she be your Lucy Rowe?”

“Hmm. It’s possible—”

Today was Tuesday. She had seen Lucy Rowe from the air on Saturday, in California. Since then Vicki had flown to Chicago, had a rest day in Chicago on Monday, and now was flying from Chicago to New York. The Electra had taken off from Chicago half an hour ago, at noon. With Jean she had greeted the boarding passengers but hadn’t seen anyone she could have imagined to be Lucy Rowe. Still, with sixty-eight passengers enplaning, she might not have noticed every face.

“Yes, it’s possible she’s my Lucy Rowe,” said Vicki. “I’m surprised, of course. Lucy must have left Pine Top rather suddenly—or at any rate, awfully soon after I was there. It seems like a strange coincidence.”

“One point,” Jean said. “Her ticket reads ‘Miss L. Rowe.’ It doesn’t read Lucy. Her first name might be Lillian, for all we know.”

“I’ll go forward and speak to her first chance I get,” said Vicki. Not that Gravy’s abstract portrait provided a sure means of identifying the girl, by any means. “Did she come on from California?”

“Her ticket doesn’t say, it just reads Chicago as point of origination. But she could have started from California, and changed planes in Chicago. That could involve two separate tickets.”

“That’s right. So her ticket doesn’t tell us anything. Gosh, I’m intrigued! It could very well be the right girl. Well, back to the coffeemaker.”

Captain Tom Jordan had been delayed several minutes in take-off and had notified the stewardesses he intended to make up the time during flight. That meant Vicki and Jean had even less than the usual two hours in which to take care of the needs of sixty-eight persons, and set up and serve sixty-eight hot luncheons. The stewardesses hadn’t a minute to spare. Vicki’s one chance to see Miss L. Rowe was when she brought her a lunch tray.

“Are you enjoying the flight, Miss Rowe?”

“Yes, it’s very smooth and pleasant.”

The girl glanced up as she spoke. She was in her early twenties and did rather resemble the girl in Gravy’s vague portrait, except that her hair was dark brown. Vicki had expected from the portrait that it would be light brown. As for the squarish face, Vicki could not decide whether Gravy had exaggerated its shape. Her large eyes and wide mouth resembled the portrait. Did this girl look like a topnotch secretary? She was trimly dressed, well groomed, and well made up. Did she look like an outdoors girl? That was harder to guess.

Vicki looked to see whether Miss L. Rowe wore the Bryant family’s silver ring; but she wore no rings at all. This, too, proved nothing. Most women wore little or no jewelry while traveling. Vicki longed to ask Miss Rowe her first name, but she had no right, no excuse, no time to do so. She smiled at the girl and went on with her tasks.

The trouble started shortly before they were due to land. The captain’s buzzer sounded on the stewardesses’ call board, and Vicki—wanting another glance at Miss L. Rowe—went forward to the cockpit, unlocking and then closing the steel door behind her.

In the bright light of the cockpit she saw that the faces of the two pilots and the navigator were strained but calm. Chuck Smith, the young navigator, had his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and there were grease stains on his shirt and arms.

Captain Jordan said: “Vicki, we’re having a little trouble. We discovered the nose wheel has not retracted properly.” Vicki knew it was not uncommon for nose wheels to get stuck like this.

“We’ve tried everything we can to repair it, but no luck,” Captain Jordan went on. “I’ve decided to make our scheduled landing, anyway. I think the shock of landing will jolt the wheel down into place. We have tricycle landing gear, so that this landing won’t be too risky. In fact, I expect it to be a success. However, if it doesn’t work, we’d better be prepared.”

Vicki was trained for emergencies. Her heart pounded but she listened calmly to the pilot.

“I want you and Jean to inform the passengers of our situation, and to use emergency landing procedures. Just in case.”

“Yes, sir. How soon?”

“Start right away. You have about twenty minutes to prepare.”

“Yes, Captain Jordan.” Twenty minutes was ample time.

Back in the cabin she found Jean and repeated the pilot’s message. Then each stewardess went to her half of the cabin and explained quietly to the passengers. Vicki stressed that the landing very probably would be a success, but because of the risk they must be prepared. The passengers took the announcement as calmly as it was made. Vicki realized that these sixty-eight people looked to her and Jean for leadership; they must keep cool and move fast and accurately.

First, they saw to it that every passenger had his seat belt fastened tightly, that all seats were in upright position, and that no one was smoking. Then Vicki selected four men who told her they had had military or aviation experience. Vicki quickly showed them how to operate the lounge-door exit, window exits, ropes, and evacuation slides when the plane landed. She and Jean were responsible for opening the main-entrance door and the buffet-service door. Jean, meanwhile, selected three passengers, showed them how to operate the three window exits, and seated them there. Next, the stewardesses briefed the passengers on locations of all the exits. They showed the passengers how to brace their feet and arms, how to press their heads against the seat in front of them in order to avoid being thrown forward and getting bloody noses. The stewardesses quickly distributed pillows and blankets for extra protection.

Jean showed the woman with the one baby aboard how to lock the baby in her arms. Some of the men passengers removed parcels from the overhead luggage racks and stowed them in the luggage and coat closets.

“Will you please remove all sharp objects,” Vicki said, walking along the plane aisle. “Please remove your glasses, all pens and pencils, brooches, belts with buckles, any sharp objects—” since these things could stab. “Will the men please loosen their ties.” Then she hurried to check the fire extinguishers, first-aid kit, all emergency equipment.

Sooner than Vicki expected, they were flying in over New York City. The captain’s buzzer sounded. He said, “We’re cleared and coming down any minute now.” Jean sat down in the forward cabin adjacent to the main-entrance door, Vicki sat down in an aisle seat across from the buffet-service door. They strapped themselves in.

Soaring down above the length of La Guardia Airport, everything below looked as usual as on any other winter afternoon—except that two emergency trucks for extinguishing fire came racing after them on the ground. Vicki said a little prayer. She spoke confidently to the passengers near her.

Dropping—dropping—now Vicki could see the faces of the men on the field as the Electra flew low past them. They stopped working to watch, and to help if necessary. Then the plane gave a terrific jolt, a jar which Vicki felt to the roots of her teeth. Men and women swayed and rolled in their seats, the baby cried, as the Electra touched ground. The plane shuddered all over and rolled on to a stop. Safe! No one thrown—nothing broken nor on fire—The nose wheel must have come down exactly as Captain Jordan planned.

“Praise be!” Vicki exclaimed. She unstrapped and jumped to her feet.

She and Jean ran to reassure the children and the elderly among their passengers. Everyone was shaken up, profoundly sobered, but relieved and grateful. The men were inclined to joke now that the danger was over. The two stewardesses made certain, and Captain Jordan came out to make certain, that each passenger was all right. Not one person showed panic or caused any trouble. Captain Jordan praised the stewardesses for their share in maintaining high morale.

The cabin was littered with passengers’ garments, handbags, eyeglasses, and pens. For several minutes Jean and Vicki were busy picking these up. Everyone helped them. Or almost everyone—Vicki noticed that Miss L. Rowe, like a few others, did not bother to help anyone but herself.

Something glistened on the plane’s carpet. Vicki picked it up: it was a gold charm off a woman’s bracelet, inscribed “Dorothy.” She held it high and asked: “Does anyone own a charm marked ‘Dorothy’?” Several women shook their heads. Vicki hastily consulted the manifest with its list of names. No woman passenger aboard had the name “Dorothy” or the initial “D.”

“Does anyone own this gold charm?” Vicki asked, carrying it conspicuously all through the cabin. It was a valuable piece of jewelry. No one claimed it. She knew it was unlikely that the charm had been left on the plane from a previous flight, since the cleaning crews at terminals did a thorough job. The owner was aboard this very minute. Why didn’t Dorothy—whoever she was—claim it?

The passengers began leaving the plane, the stewardesses managing an orderly evacuation. There went Miss L. Rowe! Vicki was seized by an irresistible curiosity to see whether the Bryants or Mr. Dorn would meet the girl. With a promise to Jean Cox and the passenger agent to come back, Vicki went down the plane stairs after Miss Rowe. She followed her at a short distance across the airfield, into the crowded terminal building, and out again at the front portico to the taxi stand. Vicki watched Miss L. Rowe get directly into a taxi by herself, without looking around to see whether anyone was waiting to meet her. Apparently she didn’t expect to be met.

“Well, I guess she isn’t the right L. Rowe,” Vicki thought. “If she were, the Bryants would at least have sent their car and chauffeur for her. Or is her arrival a surprise? Even if it were, Mr. Dorn probably would be on hand to escort her to the Bryants’ house,” Vicki reasoned. “Wrong girl. That’s that. Just a coincidence of names and brown hair.”

In all likelihood the Bryants’ granddaughter—the girl with the brown hair and green scarf which tallied with the portrait—was still at the hill house near Pine Top.

Vicki still had the gold charm clutched in her hand. The “Lost and Found” desk was only a few steps away. She went over and turned the charm in. It was odd, she thought, that no one on the plane had claimed it.

On her return to the Electra, she joined Jean in completing the final, routine picking up in the cabin and putting equipment back into place. After handing in their reports to the Flight Stewardess Supervisor, Vicki and Jean went to the stewardesses’ sleeping lounge to have a nap and tidy up. Now that the emergency was met and past, they admitted they felt tired.

“We were lucky,” Jean murmured from the other cot.

“Luck and skill and a well-engineered plane,” Vicki answered.

She lay there on the cot thinking about the landing preparations, the unclaimed charm, and Miss L. Rowe. Her thoughts drifted on to the Bryants. Suddenly she sat up, took a few coins from her purse, and walked next door to the stewardesses’ lounge.

“Where you going?” Jean called after her sleepily.

“I’m going to telephone Mrs. Bryant.”

She wanted to tell Lucy’s grandmother that although she had not yet been able to deliver her message, she had, to the best of her belief, located Lucy and actually seen her from the air.

A secretary answered. The Bryants were not at home. She evidently knew from Mrs. Bryant who Vicki was. Vicki decided not to relay her news of Lucy secondhand and asked the secretary for an appointment. Vicki said she expected to be in New York again, with free time, next Sunday and Monday. “I’m sure that Mrs. Bryant would be delighted to see you at lunch or tea,” said the secretary. “I’ve put you down for tea at four on Sunday, Miss Barr.”

“Thank you, that’s perfect. Until Sunday, then.”

Between that memorable Tuesday and the following Sunday, the first of March, Vicki flew three more Electra flights between New York and Chicago, with two days off in Chicago between flights. On one rest day her mother took the local train from Fairview up to Chicago, and they spent a happy day together.

On her other rest day, Vicki stayed at her Chicago hotel. Resting, she tried to plan exactly what she was going to tell Lucy’s grandmother when she visited the Bryants’ house on Sunday. What disturbed Vicki was the fact that she had learned some things about Lucy which Mr. Dorn, in San Francisco a month or so earlier, had not learned and possibly could have learned. Allowing that Mr. Dorn had missed meeting Lucy, as she herself had, and allowing that her own visit came a month later, still, either she or Mr. Dorn could be mistaken. And Vicki did not want to give Mrs. Bryant any wrong information, or raise any false hopes.

“I’m going to ask Mrs. Bryant the exact dates when Mr. Dorn was in San Francisco,” Vicki thought. “Because if he was there during the time Lucy became involved with Mrs. Heath, it’s strange he didn’t find out about that. Unless”—an odd idea struck her—“Mrs. Heath dodged Mr. Dorn’s inquiries and managed to keep him from learning of Lucy’s new job? Mrs. Heath avoided meeting the minister, didn’t she? She managed things so that a good friend like Gravy never met her, didn’t she? Hmm.”

Reviewing the few facts she had learned about Lucy’s new job, Vicki had to admit they were sketchy and elusive. It even occurred to her, in a wave of skepticism, that the girl she had seen from the air might not necessarily be Lucy Rowe. A green scarf and light-brown hair were not conclusive proof.

“Oh, it’s likely that girl is Lucy Rowe,” Vicki thought, impatient with herself. “Why don’t I be sensible and see, on Sunday, what Mr. Dorn has learned in the meantime? Maybe what he’s discovered by then and what I’ve discovered will tally, after all.”

She daydreamed about Sunday, and the pleasure she hoped it would give Mrs. Bryant to hear her news of Lucy.

The minute Vicki entered the Bryant house on Sunday afternoon she sensed the excitement there. The whole household had changed its mood: every lamp and chandelier in every room was alight, bouquets of fresh-cut flowers bloomed everywhere, dance music came from a radio. The house seemed young! Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, when Vicki entered the room with the parakeets, looked as if they had waked up from a long sleep, refreshed and happy. They both were beaming. Mr. Bryant had a flower in his buttonhole, and Mrs. Bryant was as flushed as a girl in her rustling taffeta dress. Vicki had never seen them in such festive spirits. Around the tea service were trays of tiny, fancy sandwiches and cakes, ready for a party. Vicki, trying not to look inquisitive, said good afternoon.

“Vicki, how nice to see you!” Mrs. Bryant took her hand and drew her into the room. “You’re right on time. Our other guests are coming at five, but I especially wanted you here early. You’ll see why.”

“I’m so glad to see you again,” said Vicki. “I hope you’re both well.”

“We’re feeling exceedingly well,” said Mr. Bryant. “Mrs. Bryant has a surprise which she thinks you’ll enjoy.”

“Now, Marshall, you mustn’t spoil my surprise. First I want to ask Vicki where she’s been flying recently, and all about the fascinating people on her plane—”

“I think I hear her coming downstairs,” Marshall Bryant interrupted.

Mrs. Bryant looked flustered. Vicki, to help her, said her last few trips were probably not as special as Mrs. Bryant’s surprise. The elderly lady smiled at her delightedly.

“Well, my dear, it is a most wonderful surprise for Mr. Bryant and me. Just wait—one more moment, now—” Vicki heard someone’s light, quick footsteps. “Vicki, Mr. Dorn has found our granddaughter. Ah, here she is!”

A slender dark-haired girl, taller than Vicki, came into the room. She was the Miss L. Rowe who had been on Vicki’s plane. She lightly kissed both elderly people, and smiled politely when Mrs. Bryant said:

“Lucy, this is Vicki Barr who is about your age. She’s the one who was so helpful to your grandfather on our airplane trip.”

“How do you do, Miss Barr?” If the girl recognized her, she gave not the slightest sign.

“I remember you on my plane earlier this week,” Vicki said pleasantly. She started to say how excited she’d been on finding a Miss L. Rowe aboard, but caught herself just in time. Mrs. Bryant had requested her not to mention her own search to anyone. It was likely that Mrs. Bryant had not told even Lucy this secret. Then Vicki noticed that Lucy Rowe was staring at her blankly, as if she had never seen the flight stewardess before.

“You remember, Miss Rowe,” Vicki said, “the day we nearly had to make an emergency landing.”

Lucy Rowe gave her a forced smile and turned away. Vicki was astonished.

“Why, Lucy,” her grandmother said, “you didn’t tell us about any difficulty in landing!” “It was nothing. I didn’t want to alarm you,” the girl said. “May I have a cup of that nice, hot tea? I’m not used to your cold weather in New York—but I expect I’ll love it here. Who else is coming today? I’m so eager to be presented to your friends.... No, I won’t mind a bit that they’re all older people.”

Lucy chattered on. Although Mrs. Bryant was eager for the two girls to be friendly, it seemed to Vicki that Lucy avoided conversing with her. Particularly it seemed that Lucy did not want last Tuesday’s flight mentioned again. Evidently it embarrassed her in some way.

“I wonder why?” Vicki thought. She would not be so tactless as to raise the subject again, of course. “But why does Lucy Rowe act as if she’s never seen me before?”

Vicki felt embarrassed and disappointed. She’d anticipated a lively, warmhearted, approachable girl—from the several descriptions of Lucy Rowe—not someone so very charming and sophisticated. Lucy was affectionate toward the Bryants, and they were already devoted to their new-found granddaughter. Vicki saw the lacelike silver ring that Lucy wore. She recognized it as the Bryant family’s ring, no doubt about that. Vicki said, hoping to prompt her to talk:

“What a lovely and unusual ring you’re wearing, Miss Rowe.”

“Thank you.” Lucy held out her hand for Vicki to inspect the ring, and said, “I value this ring more than I can tell you, because it’s a family heirloom. Mother gave it to me, and I’ve worn it constantly ever since she died. It hasn’t ever been off my finger, not even once.”

Mrs. Bryant murmured appreciatively, even Marshall Bryant looked touched. But Vicki was thinking, “You didn’t wear the silver ring last Tuesday on my flight. I looked, I made sure—”

Why was Lucy lying? A lie about the ring—an evasion about having been on Vicki’s plane—what else would she lie about? Vicki was puzzled and troubled. She managed to conceal it, for if something was amiss here, she must not arouse the girl’s suspicions. She needed to gain more information.

“I think it’s wonderful that Mr. Dorn found your granddaughter so soon,” Vicki said to Mrs. Bryant, hoping she would talk.

“Yes, Mr. Dorn found her on his second trip to San Francisco,” Mrs. Bryant said, looking warmly at Lucy. “He flew out there just last week on Friday, and by the following Sunday—exactly a week ago today, I remember it was Washington’s Birthday, February twenty-second—he wired us that he had found our young lady.”

“Last Sunday,” Vicki thought. “And I saw the girl I took to be Lucy at Pine Top last Saturday.”

Lucy said, with a little laugh, “I was the most surprised girl in the world when Mr. Dorn appeared and told me that my grandparents wanted me. And the happiest girl.” Marshall Bryant lighted a fresh cigar and gave a grunt of approval. “Dorn is a good man.”

Vicki thought, “Have I made a mistake and traced the wrong Lucy? I don’t see how. Yet surely Mr. Dorn, who’s a lawyer, and who has time and money to work with, didn’t make any mistake?”

“Of course we wanted to meet our granddaughter instantly, the very next day after Mr. Dorn’s telegram,” Mrs. Bryant said with a smile. “He flew back to New York and came to tell us—Lucy, darling, you can’t imagine how absurdly disappointed your grandfather and I were when Mr. Dorn told us that you needed a little time to settle your affairs in San Francisco, and would fly east by yourself.”

“I could hardly wait, too,” Lucy said. “I practically ran, in San Francisco, doing all my good-bys and chores. Even so, the fastest I could get here to you was Thursday.”

“Thursday!” Vicki nearly exclaimed aloud. “Why, this Miss L. Rowe was on my plane on Tuesday. She left La Guardia Airport, alone, at three o’clock Tuesday afternoon—I saw her—but she didn’t meet her grandparents until Thursday! Where was she during that interval?”

Lucy leaned toward her grandparents. “And when Mr. Dorn met me at La Guardia Airport on Thursday afternoon I was terribly nervous about meeting you! He had to talk quietly to me for about half an hour before I’d even get in the car.” Another lie, Vicki thought angrily. Or had this girl returned to the airport two afternoons later and pretended to Mr. Dorn that she had just got off the plane? So this was why, Vicki realized, Lucy Rowe did not want any mention of her having been on the New York-bound plane on Tuesday afternoon. Vicki said guardedly:

“New York is a wonderful place but so is your city, Miss Rowe. I’m just getting to know San Francisco on occasional visits. It’s a fascinating place. In what part of the city did you live?”

“For a while I lived on Telegraph Hill, wonderful views from there. Then three other girls and I took a beach house one summer. It was fun, but such a lot of commuting to my job.”

No mention of the women’s hotel, Hotel Alcott. No mention of sharing an apartment with Mary Scott and her mother. That did not tally with what Vicki had learned. Lucy had answered readily, even glibly. Vicki tried another tack.

“Some of the best views in New York,” she said, “are from high up in the office buildings. Is that true in San Francisco? Was it so on your job?”

Lucy looked amused. “I worked so hard at Whitney Decorators that there wasn’t much time to admire the views.”

“Poor darling,” said her grandmother.

“Oh, no, it was a perfectly nice job with nice people,” Lucy said. “But I was awfully happy to give it up and come to you.”

No mention of working for the Interstate Insurance Company. Was the interior-decorator job a fact or another lie? If a fact, when had Lucy worked for a decorator? And why didn’t she mention her job with Mrs. Heath? Lucy made it sound as if she had been employed in a San Francisco office building at the time when Mr. Dorn had found her a week ago. Vicki knew she had resigned from Interstate about a month earlier, and had gone to Pine Top a couple of weeks later. Why all these lies? If this girl was actually Lucy, she was trading on the love of her grandparents. Or if she was an impostor, she must be very clever to have fooled Mr. Dorn.

Vicki said to her, “I’m not sure, but I think that I met an acquaintance of yours while I was in San Francisco. Jill—I can’t remember her last name—” Vicki pretended.

“Was it Jill Baker?” said Lucy. “Such a nice girl.”

Vicki nodded and did not press the point.

Not Jill Baker—that name was Jill Joseph. Unless Baker had been Jill’s name before her marriage? Vicki decided to check the next time she was in San Francisco. She noticed that Lucy did not mention her old friend Jill’s living in her family’s former house, nor their having been in school together—in fact, nothing about Jill. Didn’t this girl know Jill Joseph? Lucy again chattered along, changing the subject. Or was the omission of no importance?

Just then Thurman Dorn came in.