THE SWAP WAS APPROVED, and one Friday evening in October Vicki found herself on the plane going to Memphis.
She thought the fates must be amusing themselves at her expense—for here on her plane tonight sat a man with an ostrich-hide briefcase. A tall, thin, gray-haired man whom she had never seen before. The manifest said: John Neff; destination, Memphis; no luggage. But he did have luggage— locked and bulky, held guardedly on his lap, and giving off that faint, powdery, Oriental fragrance.
Vicki was so flustered she could hardly go about her duties. It was all she could do to drive herself into the buffet and start the routine of dinner trays. Her hands trembled so, in her excitement, that she was awkward and slow with the work. She served all too few trays before the plane came down at
