Shot on Location by Helen Nielsen Page A

Mr. Kolinos almost hysterical and barely coherent.
    “Last night this man Kolinos had an appointment with an Egyptian cotton broker, a Mr. Hussad, for the purpose of completing the purchase of a cotton shipment. Kolinos deals in big orders supplying many mills. This order was for cash only—in Deutschmarks. The money market being what it is—”
    “I know what the money market is,” Captain Koumaris said impatiently. “Continue.”
    “Due to the Egyptian’s busy schedule, the meeting was set for eight-thirty—after banking hours.”
    The captain brushed his moustache with one hand. “Convenient,” he mused. “The appointment, of course, was cancelled.”
    “How did you know?”
    “Because an excuse was needed to have so large a sum of money in the office safe overnight. Where is this Hussad now?”
    “I don’t know, sir.”
    “You don’t
know
! You come to me with this story and you haven’t even checked on the whereabouts of this alleged cotton merchant? Was he on the premises when you examined the safe?”
    “I didn’t see him. And the safe wasn’t empty. The envelope that once contained the money was in place. It had been stuffed with paper.”
    “Never mind that! Find Hussad—if he exists. I would also suggest that the company examine the books. In cases of this sort it’s nearly always an inside job—embezzlement. Kolinos himself, very likely. I suppose you do know where to locate him.”
    “Oh, yes, sir. He’s in the outer office.”
    The captain lost his bluster. He seemed puzzled. “He came here with you?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Then why are you wasting my time, in telling me at second hand what I could learn from Kolinos first hand? Show him in.”
    The lieutenant went to the door and called for Mr. Kolinos. He entered quickly, his somewhat puffy face reddened with excitement, his eyes large and troubled behind magnified lenses. He was not a disciplined man, the captain noted in one disdainful glance. Too much stomach. Too much flab. And now, hat in hand, too much humility. As briefly as possible, in the face of pending apoplexy, the broker repeated the lieutenant’s story. On the previous evening, he related, he had gone out for an early supper and returned to his office to wait for Hussad alone.
    “You were alone in the office all evening?” Koumaris asked.
    “I was quite safe. We have a security officer.”
    “Still, with so much money on the premises I think you might have wanted someone with you.”
    Kolinos smiled nervously. “On the contrary, captain. With so much money, safety lies in secrecy.”
    “Then no one in your office knew that you were meeting the Egyptian?”
    “I didn’t say that. My secretary knew, of course. It was he who arranged the appointment. What he didn’t know was that the transaction involved exchanging cash. I placed the money in the safe myself, and I am the only one in the organization who has the combination.”
    “To your knowledge.”
    Kolinos seemed to pale. “To my knowledge,” he repeated.
    “Very well. Continue.”
    “I returned to the office alone,” Kolinos repeated, “and remained there until eight-fifteen. That was when the Egyptian called and changed the appointment to nine o’clock this morning. He said this was because he had been detained at another business conference.”
    “Did he keep this morning’s appointment?”
    “He was waiting in the adjoining office when I arrived.”
    “Did you actually see him?”
    “Not until after I discovered the theft.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “He returned to his hotel—the Grand Bretagne.”
    Koumaris nodded to the lieutenant. It was a signal to try to reach Hussad at the hotel. Zervios left the room.
    “Mr. Kolinos,” the captain said when they were alone, “had you met this man prior to this morning?”
    Kolinos nodded vigorously. “Indeed, yes, captain. We lunched together yesterday and then went together to the docks to inspect the cotton shipment. It was a very fine