a third stewardess appeared from the first class compartment forward, and the three of them were holding a hurried consultation.
The man on Mrs. Quonsett's left had opened his eyes. He was still gripping the case tightly. The little old lady from San Diego---an habitually curious soul---wondered what was inside.
WALKING BACK toward the Customs Hall---this time through the passenger section of the terminal---Inspector Harry Standish was still thinking about the man with the attache case. Standish could not have questioned the man; outside a Customs enclosure a Customs officer had no right to interrogate anyone, unless believing they had evaded Customs inspection. The man at the departure gate quite obviously had not.
What Standish could do, of course, was telegraph the man's description to Italian Customs, advising that he might be carrying contraband. But Standish doubted if he would. There was little cooperation between Customs departments internationally, only an intense professional rivalry. Even vith Canadian Customs, close at hand, the same thing was true; incidents were on record where U.S. Customs had been tipped of that illegal diamond shipments were being smuggled into Canada, but---as a matter of policy---Canadian authorities were never told. Instead, U.S. agents spotted the suspects on arrival in Canada and tailed them, only making an arrest if they crossed the United States border. The U.S. reasoning was: the country which seized that kind of contraband kept it all, and Customs departments were averse to sharing loot.
No, Inspector Standish decided, there would be no telegram to Italy. He would, however, tell Trans America Airlines of his doubts and leave a decision to them.
Ahead of him he had seen Mrs. Livingston, the passenger relations agent who had been at the Flight Two departure gate. She was talking with a Skycap and a group of passengers. Harry Standish waited until the Skycap and passengers had gone.
"Hullo, Mr. Standish," Tanya said. "I hope things are quieter in Customs than around here."
"They aren't," he told her, remembering Mrs. Harriet Du Barry Mossman, no doubt still being questioned in the Customs Hall.
As Tanya waited for him to speak again, Standish hesitated. Sometimes he wondered if he was becoming too much the super sleuth, too aware of the keenness of his instincts. Most times, though, his instincts proved right.
"I was watching your Flight Two load," Standish said. "There was something bothered me." He described the gaunt, spindly man and the suspicious way he had been clasping an attache case.
"Do you think he's smuggling something?"
Inspector Standish smiled. "If he were arriving from abroad, instead of leaving, I'd find out. All I can tell Von, Mrs. Livingston, is that there's something in that case which he'd prefer other people not to know about."
Tanya said thoughtfully, "I don't quite know what I can do." Even if the man was smuggling she was not convinced it was the airline's business.
"Probably there's nothing to do. But you people cooperate with us, so I thought I'd pass the information on."
"Thank you, Mr. Standish. I'll report it to our D.T.M., and perhaps he'll want to notify the captain."
As the Customs inspector left, Tanya glanced at the overhead terminal clock; it showed a minute to eleven. Heading for Trans America Administration on the executive mezzanine, she reasoned: it was too late now to catch Flight Two at the departure gate; if the flight had not yet left the gate, it certainly would within the next few moments. She wondered if the District Transportation Manager was in his office. If the D.T.M. thought the information important, he might notify Captain Demerest by radio while Flight Two was still on the ground and taxiing. Tanya hurried.
The D.T.M. was not in his office, but Peter Coakley was.
Tanya snapped, "What are you doing here?"
The Young Trans America agent, whom the little old lady from San Diego had eluded, described sheepishly what had happened.
Peter Coakley had already received one dressing down. The doctor, summoned to the women's washroom on a fool's errand, had been articulate and wrathful. Young Coakley clearly expected more of the same from Mrs. Livingston. He was not disappointed.
Tanya exploded, "Damn, damn, damn!" She remonstrated, "Didn't I warn you she had a barrelful of tricks?"
"Yes, you did, Mrs. Livingston. I guess I..."
"Never mind that now! Get on the phone to each of our gates. Warn them to be on the lookout for an old, innocent-looking woman in black---you know the description. She's trying for New York, but may go a roundabout way. If she's located, the gate agent is to detain her and call here.