latter still mortified at having been bamboozled by Mrs. Ada Quonsett while she was in his charge.
The gate agent had come to the office a few minutes ago in response to Coakley's telephoned warning, to all Trans America gate positions, about the elusive Mrs. Quonsett.
"It just didn't occur to me there was anything wrong," the gate agent said. "We let other visitors aboard tonight; they came off." He added defensively, "Anyway, I'd been under pressure all evening. We were short staffed, and apart from the time you were there helping, I was doing the work of two people. You know that."
"Yes," Tanya said, "I know." She had no intention of passing out blame. If anyone was responsible for what had happened, it was Tanya herself.
"It was just after you left, Mrs. Livingston. The old lady said something about her son, I think it was, leaving his wallet. She even showed it to me. It had money in it, she said, which was why I didn't take it."
"She'd already figured that. It's one of her regular gags."
"I didn't know it, so I let her go aboard. From then until a few minutes ago when I got the phone call, I never gave her another thought."
"She fools you," Peter Coakley said. He gave a sideways glance at Tanya. "She sure fooled me."
The agent shook his head. "If I didn't have to believe it, I wouldn't, even now. But she's aboard, all right." He described the discrepancy between the tourist section head count and the ticket tally, then afterward, the ramp supervisor's decision to let the aircraft go, rather than incur further delay.
Tanya said quickly, "I suppose there's no doubt Flight Two's already taken off."
"Yes, they have. I checked on my way here. Even if they hadn't, I doubt they'd bring the aircraft back in, especially tonight."
"No they wouldn't." Nor was there the slightest chance, Tanya knew, of The Golden Argosy changing course and returning for a landing, merely because of Ada Quonsett. The time and cost to disembark one stowaway would run to thousands of dollars---far more than to take Mrs. Quonsett to Rome and bring her back.
"Is there a refueling stop?" Sometimes, Tanya knew, Europe-bound flights made non-scheduled stops for fuel at Montreal or Newfoundland. If so, there would be a chance to pull Mrs. Quonsett off, robbing her of the satisfaction of getting all the way to Italy.
"I asked Operations about that," the agent answered. "The flight plan shows they're going right through. No stops."
Tanya exclaimed, "Damn that old woman!"
So Ada Quonsett was going to get her ride to Italy and back, with probably a night's lodging in between, and with meals supplied---all at airline expense, Tanya thought angrily: she had underestimated the old lady's determination not to be sent back to the West Coast; she had erred also in assuming that Mrs. Quonsett would head only for New York.
Barely fifteen minutes earlier Tanya had thought of the developing contest between herself and Ada Quonsett as a battle of wits. If it was, without doubt the little old lady from San Diego had won.
With uncharacteristic savageness, Tanya wished that the airline would make an exception and prosecute Mrs. Quonsett. But she knew they wouldn't.
Young Peter Coakley started to say something.
Tanya snapped, "Oh, shut up!"
The District Transportation Manager returned to his office a few minutes after Coakley and the gate agent left. The D.T.M., Bert Weatherby, was a hard-working, hard-driving executive in his late forties, who had come up the hard way, beginning as a ramp baggage handler. Normally considerate, and with a sense of humor, tonight he was tired and testy from three days of continuous strain. He listened impatiently to Tanya's report in which she accepted the main responsibility herself, mentioning Peter Coakley only incidentally.
Running a hand through his sparse graying bair, the D.T.M. observed, "I like to check that there's still some left up there, It's things like this that are making the rest of it fall out." He considered, then rasped, "You got us into this mess; you'd better do the salvaging. Talk to Flight Dispatch; ask them to call the captain of Flight Two on company radio and fill him in on what happened. I don't know what he can do. Personally, I'd like to throw the old hag out at thirty thousand feet, but that'll be up to him. By the way, who is the captain?"
"Captain Demerest."
The D.T.M. groaned. "It would be. He'll probably think it's all a great joke because management boobed. Anyway, advise