Mrs. Quonsett smiled warmly. "Thank you, my dear; you may take mine. It was very nice."
The dour man on Mrs. Quonsett's left surrendered his tray without comment.
It was only then that the little old lady from San Diego became aware of the other stewardess standing in the aisle.
She was one whom Mrs. Quonsett had observed several times previously, and appeared to be in charge of the other girls. She had deep black hair, an attractive, high-cheekboned face, and strong dark eyes which at the moment were focused, directly and coolly, on Ada Quonsett.
"Pardon me, madam. May I see your ticket?"
"My ticket? Why, of course." Mrs. Quonsett affected surprise, though she guessed immediately what lay behind the request. Obviously her stowaway status was either suspected or known. But she had never given up easily, and even now her wits were working. A question was: how much did this girl know?
Mrs. Quonsett opened her purse and pretended to search among its papers. "I know I had it, my dear. It must be here somewhere." She glanced up, her expression innocent. "That is, unless the ticket man took it when I came aboard. Perhaps he kept it and I didn't notice."
"No," Gwen Meighen said, "he wouldn't have. If it was a round-trip ticket, you'd be holding a return flight coupon. And if it was one-way, you'd still have the ticket stub and boarding folder."
"Well, it certainly seems strange..." Mrs. Quonsett continued fumbling in her purse.
Gwen inquired coldly, "Shall I look?" From the beginning of their exchange, she had shown none of her customary friendliness. She added, "If there's a ticket in your purse, I'll find it. If there isn't, it will save us both wasting time."
"Certainly not," Mrs. Ouonsett said severely. Then, relenting: "I realize you mean no harm, my dear, but I have private papers here. You, being English, should respect privacy. You are English, aren't you?"
"Whether I am or not doesn't matter. At this moment we're talking about your ticket. That is, if you have one." Gwen's voice, pitched louder than usual, was audible several seats away. Heads of other passengers were turning.
"Oh, I have a ticket. It's just a question of where it is." Mrs. Quonsett smiled engagingly. "About your being English, though, I could tell you were from the very first moment you spoke. So many English people---people like you, my dear---make our language sound delightful. It's such a pity so few of us Americans can do the same. My late husband always used to say..."
"Never mind what he said. What about your ticket?"
It was hard for Gwen to be as rude and unpleasant as she was being. In the ordinary way she would have dealt with this old woman firmly, yet remained friendly and good-natured; Gwen also had a reluctance to bully someone more than twice her own age. But before she left the flight deck, Vernon had been explicit in his instructions.
Mrs. Ouonsett looked a little shocked. "I'm being patient with you, young lady. But when I do discover my ticket I shall certainly have something to say about your attitude..."
"Will you really, Mrs. Quonsett?" Gwen saw the old woman start at the use of her name, and for the first time there was a weakening behind the prim faqade. Gwen persisted, "You are Ada Quonsett, aren't you?"
The little old lady patted her lips with a lace handkerchief, then sighed. "Since you know I am, there's no point in denying it, is there?"
"No, because we know all about you. You've got quite a record, Mrs. Quonsett."
More passengers were watching and listening now; one or two had left their seats to move closer. Their expressions were sympathetic for the old lady, critical of Gwen. The man in the aisle seat, who had been talking with Mrs. Quonsett when Gwen arrived, shifted uncomfortably. "If there's some misunderstanding, perhaps I can help..."
"There's no misunderstanding," Gwen said. "Are you traveling with this lady?"
"No."
"Then there's nothing you need concern yourself about, sir."
So far, Gwen had not let herself look directly at the man seated farthest away, by the window, whom she knew to be Guerrero. Nor had he looked at her, though she could tell by the inclination of his head that he was listening intently to everything that was being said. Also without being obvious, she observed that he was still clasping the small attache case on his knees. At the thought of what the case might contain she experienced a sudden, icy fear. She felt herself