JOHN QUAYLE MET THEIR PLANE AT THE TAMPA airport the next morning. He took the little gold ship that Vicki had been carrying in her handbag.
“Better not let this go through Customs,” he said. “We don’t want anybody, even the Customs people, to know about it at this stage. If you will come with me, Miss Barr, I’m sure your friends won’t mind taking care of your luggage.”
When the two of them were alone in his office, Mr. Quayle looked at Vicki for a long moment with a big smile on his face.
“The last time you were here, Miss Barr, I said that you were a good detective. Now I want to repeat it—doubled. Of course you were lucky, too, when the peddler offered to sell you the gold ship and when you saw the coin in the jeweler’s shop. But a good detective is one who is smart enough to take ad
