The Case of the One-Penny Orange: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Two) by Howard Fast

Jerusalem. I would want to see his guilt made public. His sentence is a matter of indifference to me. But I am sure you did not come here to ask me whether I killed Gaycheck any more than to discuss Israelis and Japanese.”
    â€œNo. I came to talk about Buchenwald — if it doesn’t distress you too much?”
    â€œWhatever I can tell you. I have not treasured the memories, so they are somewhat vague.”
    â€œHow long were you there?”
    â€œAbout two years.”
    â€œI am interested in a German publisher who was sent to Buchenwald and who died there. His name was Wolf Bernie Kramer. Do you by any chance remember him?”
    Kolan thought about it for a while, then shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
    â€œWere many men executed in the manner you described — by a firing squad?”
    â€œThey preferred the gas chamber. The firing squad was special, a visible thing. To show — to make an example.”
    â€œWas Schwartzman always in command of the firing squad — during the time you were there?”
    â€œI’m not sure. I have not been of much help, have I?”
    The telephone rang. Kolan answered it. “For you,” he said to Masuto, handing him the phone. “You can take it in the next room if you wish privacy.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” Masuto took the phone. It was Beckman.
    â€œDid it occur to you, Masao,” he said, “that it is now nine o’clock in England?”
    â€œI’m afraid not.”
    â€œWell, I lucked out. They have an answering service that was impressed with the fact that a Beverly Hills cop was calling London, and they put me through to one of the directors. He gave me the number of an old gentleman who has been with the firm for forty years — get that? Forty years. Feller by the name of Brisham, only you don’t spell it that way. Anyway, I hit the jackpot. Are you listening?”
    â€œI’m here,” Masuto said.
    â€œWell, stop being so goddamn silent. It seems there was a guy back in the thirties, name of Lord Skeffington, and it seems that lots of these British lords, they don’t have the money for a pair of shoes. So this Skeffington inherits a stamp collection from his father, and what do you think is a part of it? Guess.”
    â€œThe One-Penny Orange.”
    â€œJackpot. The original cover. So he turns it over to Gibbons, they should be the agents and sell it for him, and they let the word out that they got it and it’s up for grabs. It turns out they got a very good connection on the Continent, this same Wolf Kramer who publishes their catalog in German.” Beckman paused to let it sink in.
    â€œGo on,” Masuto said.
    â€œSo Kramer comes up with a buyer, and the price is eight thousand pounds, and the pound was five dollars then, so that makes it forty thousand smackeroos, which ain’t hay even back in those days.”
    â€œWho was the buyer?”
    â€œThat, my boy, is something they never found out. Kramer acted as the agent. But this old Brisham character, he tells me that it’s his suspicion that Kramer himself was the buyer.”
    â€œWhat happened to the cover? Does he know?”
    â€œNobody knows. According to Brisham, it disappeared from the face of the earth. He claims that it could not have been sold or offered at auction anywhere without Gibbons knowing about it.”
    â€œGood. Sy, that’s good — very good. Now get on the horn to Germany.”
    â€œWait a moment — Masao, for Christ’s sake, it’s after ten P.M. in Germany.”
    â€œPolice stations don’t close.”
    â€œI didn’t make one call. I made three calls. One to the answering service, one to the director, and one to Brisham. I asked for charges — one hundred and seventy-five bucks. Do you know what it’s going to cost when I start tracking around Germany? Anyway …”
    â€œDo it! Do you have Guttman