Whitter and Dilon were practically on his heels.
A look inside showed that the Director was not quite correct: the
capsule wasn't absolutely empty. Inside there was a single sheet of
paper; printed on one side was the following message:
_Gentlemen_:
_I'm sure that the late R. Philipp Dachboden appreciates the
trouble you have gone to. If it wasn't successful, don't blame
yourselves; you tried._
_As for the statue and various other_ objets d'art, _I'm afraid
they are now_
_Respectfully mine,
Leland Hale._
* * * * *
A short time previous to the flamboyant opening of the capsule in
Grosstat, and several hundred miles away, His Excellency, Hinrik
Fonshliezen, State Portfolio of Sudapfahl, sat nervously in his office.
If the I.P. men were sweating, Fonshliezen was absolutely soaked in his
own juices. He sat at his desk, looking from his watch to the telephone
and back again. He was expecting a call.
Even so, when the phone rang, he jumped. Then he grabbed the
instrument. "Hello! Fonshliezen here!" he barked hoarsely.
"Hinrik, old spirillum, I have your merchandise. You know where to meet
me. And--ah--remember what I told you."
"You got it? Where have you been? You've been gone for two days! What--"
"That's none of your business, Hinrik; just come on. And remember--none
of your clever foxiness."
"I'll remember," Hinrik said.
There was a click as the instrument was hung up.
Hinrik Fonshliezen frowned worriedly and glanced at the briefcase on
his desk that held half a million stellors in Interstellar Bank drafts.
How could he be sure that Hale actually had the carving? He glanced at
his watch again. The news should come through soon. Hale had told him
to wait for the news from Nordapfahl.
He was well prepared for any tricks on Hale's part. He had put a
special lock on the briefcase; if Hale just tried to take the money, it
would be too bad for Hale.
On the other hand, Hinrik Fonshliezen was well aware that he, himself
had better not try anything foolish. If Hale were killed or reported to
the police--in other words, if he didn't make a clean getaway--certain
audio-video recordings would go to the I.P., disclosing Hinrik's
complicity in the deal.
The whole thing had to be on the up-and-up.
The phone rang again. His Excellency picked it up and identified
himself. He listened. A broad, wolfish smile spread itself over his
face.
"So Hale actually did it?" he said. "Well, that's too bad, my dear
fellow. Of course, we must take the utmost precautions ourselves."
He hung up, and, whistling softly to himself, he picked up the
briefcase and left his office.
* * * * *
For all of half a day, there was great rejoicing in Sudapfahl when
it was discovered that the time capsule in Grunfelt had opened and
had disclosed a marvelous collection of two-century-old artifacts,
including a Dachboden original. His Excellency, the Portfolio of State,
was the man of the day.
But it didn't last more than half a day. When the art experts
pronounced the Dachboden a phony, the popularity of Hinrik dropped;
when it was proved that the whole time capsule, with contents, was
actually the one that belonged in Grosstat, Hinrik's popularity
collapsed completely. He was held by the I.P. for questioning and
confessed all.
By that time, Leland Hale was a good many parsecs away in his own
private ship.
An excerpt from the report filed by Captain Whitter contains some
enlightening information.
"What happened became obvious after the fact," the captain wrote. "The
whole buildup was a phony from beginning to end. Hale had heard of the
time capsule in Grosstat, so he went to Apfahl with a duplicate time
capsule, which contained his note. He tunneled underneath the Museum
and switched capsules. It was not until after he had made the switch
that he planted the forged Dachboden note for Dr. Mier to find.
"There never had been a Dachboden carving in the capsule; that was all
a figment of Leland Hale's imagination.
"Dr. Rudolf Mier couldn't understand why Hale had done it. 'Why did he
make me think there was a statue in there?' he kept asking me. 'Why did
he do this to me?'
"I think the answer is simple. The records show that Hale was on Kessin
IV three years ago, during the war there. I believe that he actually
was swindled himself; someone sold him a bogus Dachboden. Remember, the
art-swindler Fenslaw was killed at that time.
"Hale, therefore, had a phony Dachboden on his hands that he had to
unload to save his pride. More, he had to make a very big profit on it.
"He knew that he couldn't just try to sell it anywhere. Even if he
found a sucker who would accept it as real, there wouldn't be enough
money in it to make it worth Hale's time.
"He couldn't have sold it to Fonshliezen without the big buildup. If
he'd just produced the carving from nowhere, Fonshliezen would have
been suspicious. A few simple tests would have shown that the _dynak_
wood was less than ten years old.
"Obviously, Hale had to get Fonshliezen into a position where he would
accept the carving without testing it.
"Hale, therefore, planted an empty time capsule, with his note inside,
under the Museum and took the real capsule with him. By bombarding
the time lock with neutrons, he managed to increase the radioactivity
enough to keep the lock closed for an additional twenty-four hours, so
that he could palm the real capsule off on Fonshliezen as a phony which
he had presumably set himself.
"Then he arranged for Dr. Mier to discover the forged note which
Dachboden presumably wrote two centuries ago. He had no reason to
suspect a forgery, since there was no obvious way for anyone to profit
by such a thing.
"What followed from then on was as automatic as the clockwork in the
time capsules."
If the Captain was a little bitter, he had a right to be; he'd been
made a fool of, just like the others. But he was luckier or hardier
than they. He didn't blow his brain to bits with a handgun, as
Fonshliezen did; he didn't die, broken and disgraced, as Mier did.
On the other hand, he didn't get off scot-free with a half million
stellors to spend, as Leland Hale did.