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Clue of the Gold Coin

<h2>CHAPTER IX Skull and Crossbones</h2> <hr class="divider2" /> HEAVY STORMS, CARRYING SNOW, HAIL, FOG, AND winds of gale proportions had swirled down out of the northwest and enveloped the entire Atlantic seaboard from the Carolinas northward in the worst weather of the year. All flights out of New York had been canceled for twenty-four hours, and so now it was Thursday afternoon, instead of Wednesday, when Captain March touched down the tricycle landing gear of his big DC-6-B on the concrete strip at Tampa airport. The usually calm and placid air had been as rough as a rolling sea even at the plane’s normal “over weather” altitude for the first two hours of the flight; and since the ship was packed to capacity due to yesterday’s cancellations, Vicki and Cathy had their hands full. But here, over Florida’s west coast, the sun shone brightly. The blue waters of Tampa Bay caught a billion sunbeams and threw them back105 up into the sky like a shower of tiny diamonds. Below, the palm trees fluttered their long fronds in the lazy breeze. It had been just a week ago today, Vicki remembered, that their ship had carried the cargo of gold coins that had seemed to vanish so mysteriously into thin air. She wondered if Mr. Quayle had acted on the information she had given him after her adventures in Ybor City—or if there had been any new developments of any kind in the mystery of the stolen gold coins. Well, in any case, she’d soon find out. But right now she had better get a move on if she wanted to be in time for tonight’s big event. It was late by the time she arrived at the Curtin home. Mrs. Tucker, the housekeeper, met her at the door. “We heard about the bad weather in New York on the radio,” Mrs. Tucker said, “and weren’t sure whether you were going to make it today or not. The girls went on ahead to take their places on the float for the parade. They said to tell you to meet them for dinner about eight o’clock at the Spanish Park, the restaurant you all went to the other night.” Vicki saw that Mrs. Tucker was carrying a light coat over her arm, as though she had been just about to go out. The housekeeper added: “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Vicki, before I leave?” She smiled half-apologetically, as though a woman of her age and dignity should106 be aloof from such gala goings-on. “I thought I’d go and see the parade myself.” “You go right ahead,” Vicki said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about me. Maybe I’ll see you in Ybor City.” She hurried upstairs to her room, slipped out of her blue uniform, showered, and then wriggled into a sleeveless, red silk dress with a flaring skirt that she had bought especially for the occasion. With her silvery blond hair she might not look much like a Spanish señorita, but at least the bright crimson dress was a gesture. When her taxi set her down on the edge of the Latin Quarter, the old streets, with their archways extending out over the sidewalks, were teeming with people. Some wore the light-colored sports clothes that marked them as tourists and sight-seers. Most of the men and women, and practically all the children—of whom hundreds were running around laughing and shouting—were in costume. Some were dressed in Spanish clothes, others wore pirate outfits. Music poured from loud-speakers over the sidewalks and from distant bands. Vicki supposed the unseen bands must be on the floats which were probably forming up somewhere out of her sight for the parade. At the curbs the free bean-soup stands were doing a lively business. Red roses, geraniums, and varieties of other brilliant flowers spilled107 out of windows and strewed the sidewalks. Some of the younger people were dancing in the streets. Several groups were singing. Some people were already finding places along the street and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the coming parade. A gay spirit of carnival had Ybor City in its grasp, and Vicki joined in the laughter as she allowed herself to be carried along on the human tide of the huge crowd. She stopped at one sidewalk shop to buy a souvenir for her young sister Ginny. She chose one of the miniature imitation-gold pirate ships that seemed to be the Festival’s most popular souvenir, and slipped it into her handbag. She paused again to buy a red rose from an old woman who was selling flowers under an arcade. As she slipped it into her hair, two boys with a guitar stopped and serenaded her with a few rhythmic chords. Vicki couldn’t control the impulse to whirl gaily around in a Spanish dance step. She wound up against an iron grillwork gate and paused to catch her breath. She looked up and a familiar sign caught her eye: F. R. Eaton-Smith—Travel Agency. Underneath it was a hastily lettered cardboard placard: Welcome to the Gasparilla Festival. Open House—Refreshments. Inside, the house was a blaze of light. People108 were going in and out in a steady parade. On impulse, Vicki walked up the three steps to the entryway and entered the hall. At a long table against one wall, two señoritas were serving cakes and fruit punch. Vicki accepted a cake from a tray and a glass of punch. “Is Mr. Eaton-Smith around?” Vicki asked one of the serving girls. She thought it would be polite, and in the spirit of the evening, to thank her host for his hospitality. The girl laughed gaily, and waved a hand aimlessly in the direction of the several rooms that led off the center hall. “He’s around somewhere. Anywhere.” “What a wonderful old house,” Vicki thought as she looked around. “It must be at least a hundred years old. Maybe more.” The broad doorways were hung with heavy brocade drapes, and huge oil paintings, so dark with age that she could hardly make out the subject matter, decorated the walls. She wandered aimlessly into the next room. At the doorway she stepped aside to avoid a man and woman who were coming out. As she did so, her toe struck an object on the floor that was half hidden behind an ornate screen. It was a violin case, scuffed, battered, and gray with age. There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about it; then, suddenly, she remembered the case that Mr. Tytell had carried so lovingly on the plane. She looked at it more closely. Yes, the leather109 had worn away on the handle to expose the metal clasp, in the same way the old man’s case had been worn when she sat beside him in the plane. She bent down and lifted the lid gently. Inside was a fiddle that appeared to be as old and time-worn as the case. She looked for initials or some identifying mark on the inside of the lid, but there were none. Oh, well, Vicki thought, there must be a thousand old violins in a place as music-minded as Ybor City. She went on into the room. On the shelves of a long built-in cabinet that lined one wall were dozens of the little metal ships and swords and pirate figurines that were being hawked by peddlers all over the city. Or were these real works of art and Mr. Eaton-Smith a collector? She picked up one of the ships to look at it more closely. No, it was just like the one she had bought a few moments ago for Ginny—just a cheap little gold-colored metal figure. Odd, though, that Mr. Eaton-Smith should have so many of them. Maybe he gave them to prospective customers to advertise the Pirate Festival. Strolling casually around the room, admiring the paintings and the antique Spanish furniture, she came presently to a door that opened into a dimly lighted room not much larger than a storage closet. Three men stood inside, talking in low half-whispers. Facing her was Mr. F. R. Eaton-Smith, looking as dignified as usual in the polished110 rimless glasses that gave his eyes such a shiny look. His face was slightly averted as he talked earnestly with a tall, dark-haired man who was dressed in a bullfighter’s costume. A third man, stocky and heavy-set, stood with his back to the door. He was wrapped in a heavy black cloak and wore a big pirate’s hat. Vicki could see that he was wearing a black mask over his eyes. This was no time to interrupt, even to say “Thank you,” and she was about to leave when the bullfighter turned his head. When Vicki saw Raymond Duke’s long, deeply tanned face with its thin black mustache, she involuntary gasped. At the sound Mr. Eaton-Smith looked up, a look of surprise on his face. “Who’s there?” he said sharply, and stepped toward the door. “The airline stewardess!” he exclaimed. “Miss Barr!” “Hello, Mr. Eaton-Smith,” Vicki said, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “I—I was just looking for you to pay my respects.” “So I see,” the travel agent said coldly, staring at her intently through his shiny spectacles. Raymond Duke stepped forward and made her a slight bow, a broad white-toothed smile gleaming in his dark face. “Ah! The lovely lady of the restaurant! Welcome to our fiesta!” The third man had seemed to stiffen at Mr. 111 112Eaton-Smith’s mention of her name. He remained frozen in his tracks, his broad back turned to the doorway. <div class="figcenter width400"> <ANTIMG src="images/p111.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="632" alt="" /> <div class="caption">The men were talking in low whispers</div> </div> “There are refreshments in the hallway, Miss Barr,” Eaton-Smith said. “Please enjoy yourself. I will join you in a moment.” Vicki turned away, relieved to be free of the awkward situation, but with a hundred thoughts tumbling over and over in her head in wild confusion, each one seeming to cry out for recognition. So there was some sort of connection between Duke and Eaton-Smith! She had found old Mr. Tytell half frightened out of his wits leaving Duke’s house. He had cried: “I have to talk to you!” And now the old man’s violin case in Eaton-Smith’s house! She was sure of that now! If Mr. Tytell was also working as Eaton-Smith’s errand boy, was he as frightened of him as he had been of Duke? And did all these things have any bearing on Duke’s strange proposition to Joey? And to the fact that Joey had been the only suspect up to now, at least so far as she knew, of the theft of the pirate gold? And who was the third man who had stood with his back to her? Was there something familiar about that stocky figure? She had obviously surprised them while they were talking about something they didn’t want overheard. If not, why Mr. Eaton-Smith’s brusque manner after his politeness of the other113 day, and the open hospitality of his house tonight? All these thoughts flashed through Vicki’s mind in the short time it took her to walk across the room. As she was entering the hallway, a heavy black figure brushed past her, bulled its way through the people who had entered in response to Mr. Eaton-Smith’s welcome sign, and bolted through the door into the street. As he flashed past her, Vicki caught a glimpse of a white skull-and-crossbones design on the front of his hat. He might be the key to the mystery! She had to find out! She started after him. Somewhere behind her she heard the lisping, accented voice of Raymond Duke saying urgently: “Keep her here a few minutes! Don’t let her go now!” As she dashed through the doorway she heard a muttered oath. <hr class="divider" /> 114</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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