Shot on Location by Helen Nielsen Page B

quality and the price was so good I would have bought it on the spot but for Hussad’s insistence on a cash payment in West German currency. As I have said, the price was so good that I was happy to meet the demand. It’s not as unusual as you might think.”
    “And you knew the man to be a reliable broker?”
    “Oh, yes. I have corresponded with Mr. Hussad for many years. A most reliable firm.”
    Corresponded. Captain Koumaris’s alert mind caught the word and played it over in his mind. To Kolinos he said: “And so, after receiving a telephone message from Hussad at eight-fifteen last night, I suppose you went home, leaving the money in the office safe?”
    “What else could I do? Besides, the security guard was on duty.”
    “He saw no one, I presume. They never do.”
    “That’s right. He saw no one. Under the circumstances, no one can blame him for that.”
    “What circumstances?”
    “The explosion, captain. That horrible explosion that almost destroyed the building site next door. Do you know who was responsible? People are saying it was revolutionaries.”
    “People talk too much!” Koumaris retorted. “But let me understand you—” He leaned forward and fixed the broker with a menacing stare, usually reserved for the purpose of cowing suspects. “Are you telling me now, that this explosion took place next door to your office building?”
    “I can see the debris from my windows,” Kolinos declared. “I was lucky not to have been walking past the site when the disaster occurred. The newspapers say it was just before nine o’clock. The security guard, naturally, rushed outside to see what had happened. It was, I suppose, a compulsive act.”
    “Compulsive,” the captain agreed. He came suddenly to his feet. “Zervios!” he shouted, “have you completed that call?”
    The lieutenant came to the doorway.
    “A Mr. Hussad of Cairo was registered at the Grande Bretagne until eight-forty this morning,” he said. “At that time he had his luggage sent to the airport on the hotel bus and took a taxi to a business appointment.”
    “And never returned,” Koumaris concluded.
    “That’s right.”
    “So, why are you standing there in the doorway? Call the airport. See if he has departed for anywhere.”
    A devastated Mr. Kolinos stood before the captain’s desk, his face and balding pate dripping perspiration. He took a large white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the top of his head, as carefully as if he were drying a porcelain dish, and then patted the cloth against his forehead and sagging jowls. Koumaris watched this picture of desolation and began to revise his initial deduction. Unaware that he was being studied, the man betrayed no signs of a wily embezzler. He looked exactly what he claimed to be: a man who had been robbed of a quarter of a million dollars. It was beginning to look like an arrangement between the quickly departed Mr. Hussad and one of the staff—or even the security guard until he mentioned the explosion. Now there were more sinister possibilities—but no need to inform Kolinos of that.
    “Let me get everything straight now,” the captain said. “You say that you have dealt with this broker previously, but only by mail.”
    “Mail and telephone,” Kolinos said. “But he had full credentials—”
    “I’m sure he did.”
    “Do you think they were forged?”
    “We shall find out, if he’s still in Athens. Zervios—” The lieutenant had returned to the doorway. “—what is it?”
    “We are too late,” Zervios said. “Our man departed for Cairo twenty minutes ago.”
    “He was frightened by the robbery!” Kolinos shouted.
    It was possible. It was also natural for a man, who had been fooled, to refuse to acknowledge his lack of perception, whether it be a financial loss or the infidelity of a wife.
    “Time will tell,” Koumaris mused.
    “Captain,” Zervios added briskly, “there is a man here who says it is most important that he see