the Police Praesidium. It’s the least we can do to make up for the inconvenience.”
“So you have the box back in your possession?” I said, ignoring his bleatings.
Stock looked awkward again.
“Perhaps I might see it for myself,” I said.
“Why?”
“Why?” I shrugged. “Because you reported it stolen, that’s why. And now you’re reporting that it has been found. The thing is, sir, I have to fill out a report, in triplicate. Proper procedures have to be followed. And if this Ming dynasty box can’t be produced, I don’t see how I can very well close the file on its disappearance. You see, sir, in a sense, the moment I type that it’s been found, I make myself responsible for it. I mean, that’s logical, isn’t it?”
“Well, the fact is—” He looked at his stenographer and twitched a couple of times, as if someone had a fishing line in him somewhere.
She stared at me with hat pins in her eyes.
“Perhaps you’d better come into my office, Herr—”
“Trettin. Criminal Commissar Trettin.”
I followed him into his office, and he closed the door behind me straightaway. But for the size and opulence of the room, I might have felt sorry for him. Everywhere there were Chinese artifacts and Japanese paintings, although it could just as easily have been Chinese paintings and Japanese artifacts. That year I was a little weak on my knowledge of Asiatic antiquities.
“Must be interesting, working in a place like this.”
“Are you interested in history, Commissar?”
“One thing I’ve learned is that if our history were a little less interesting, then we might be a lot better off. Now, what about that box?”
“Oh, dear,” he said. “How am I going to explain this without making it sound suspicious?”
“Don’t try to finesse it,” I told him. “Just tell it like it is. Just tell the truth.”
“I always endeavor to do that,” he said pompously.
“Sure you do,” I said, toughening on him now. “Look, stop wasting my time, Herr Doctor, have you got the box or not?”
“Please don’t rush me.”
“Naturally, I’ve got all day to waste on this case.”
“It’s a little complicated, you see.”
“Take my word for it, the truth is rarely complicated.”
I sat down in an armchair. He hadn’t asked me to. But that didn’t matter now. I wasn’t selling anything. And I wasn’t buying anything while I was still standing on my size large. I took out a notebook and tapped a pencil on my tongue. Taking notes of a conversation always puts people on their heels.
“Well, you see the museum falls under the control of the Ministry of the Interior. And while the collections remained at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the minister, Herr Frick, happened upon them and decided that a few of the objects might serve a more useful purpose as diplomatic gifts. Do you understand what I mean by that, Commissar Trettin?”
I smiled. “I think so, sir. It’s kind of like bribery. Only it’s legal.”
“I can assure you it’s perfectly normal practice in all foreign relations. The wheels of diplomacy often have to be oiled. Or so I’m told.”
“By Herr Frick.”
“No. Not by him. By one of his people. Herr Breitmeyer. Arno Breitmeyer.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I took note of the name.
“Naturally I’ll be speaking to him, as well,” I said. “But let me try to straighten this pretzel. Herr Breitmeyer removed an item from the Fischer collections—”
“Yes, yes. Adolph Fischer. A great collector of Asian artifacts. Now dead.”
“Namely one Chinese box. And gave it to a foreigner?”
“Not just one object. I believe there were several.”
“You believe.” I paused for more effect. “Am I right in thinking that all of this happened without your knowledge or approval?”
“That is correct. You see, it was thought at the ministry that the collections left at the original museum were not wanted for exhibition.” Stock colored with embarrassment. “That while being of great
“So you have the box back in your possession?” I said, ignoring his bleatings.
Stock looked awkward again.
“Perhaps I might see it for myself,” I said.
“Why?”
“Why?” I shrugged. “Because you reported it stolen, that’s why. And now you’re reporting that it has been found. The thing is, sir, I have to fill out a report, in triplicate. Proper procedures have to be followed. And if this Ming dynasty box can’t be produced, I don’t see how I can very well close the file on its disappearance. You see, sir, in a sense, the moment I type that it’s been found, I make myself responsible for it. I mean, that’s logical, isn’t it?”
“Well, the fact is—” He looked at his stenographer and twitched a couple of times, as if someone had a fishing line in him somewhere.
She stared at me with hat pins in her eyes.
“Perhaps you’d better come into my office, Herr—”
“Trettin. Criminal Commissar Trettin.”
I followed him into his office, and he closed the door behind me straightaway. But for the size and opulence of the room, I might have felt sorry for him. Everywhere there were Chinese artifacts and Japanese paintings, although it could just as easily have been Chinese paintings and Japanese artifacts. That year I was a little weak on my knowledge of Asiatic antiquities.
“Must be interesting, working in a place like this.”
“Are you interested in history, Commissar?”
“One thing I’ve learned is that if our history were a little less interesting, then we might be a lot better off. Now, what about that box?”
“Oh, dear,” he said. “How am I going to explain this without making it sound suspicious?”
“Don’t try to finesse it,” I told him. “Just tell it like it is. Just tell the truth.”
“I always endeavor to do that,” he said pompously.
“Sure you do,” I said, toughening on him now. “Look, stop wasting my time, Herr Doctor, have you got the box or not?”
“Please don’t rush me.”
“Naturally, I’ve got all day to waste on this case.”
“It’s a little complicated, you see.”
“Take my word for it, the truth is rarely complicated.”
I sat down in an armchair. He hadn’t asked me to. But that didn’t matter now. I wasn’t selling anything. And I wasn’t buying anything while I was still standing on my size large. I took out a notebook and tapped a pencil on my tongue. Taking notes of a conversation always puts people on their heels.
“Well, you see the museum falls under the control of the Ministry of the Interior. And while the collections remained at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the minister, Herr Frick, happened upon them and decided that a few of the objects might serve a more useful purpose as diplomatic gifts. Do you understand what I mean by that, Commissar Trettin?”
I smiled. “I think so, sir. It’s kind of like bribery. Only it’s legal.”
“I can assure you it’s perfectly normal practice in all foreign relations. The wheels of diplomacy often have to be oiled. Or so I’m told.”
“By Herr Frick.”
“No. Not by him. By one of his people. Herr Breitmeyer. Arno Breitmeyer.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I took note of the name.
“Naturally I’ll be speaking to him, as well,” I said. “But let me try to straighten this pretzel. Herr Breitmeyer removed an item from the Fischer collections—”
“Yes, yes. Adolph Fischer. A great collector of Asian artifacts. Now dead.”
“Namely one Chinese box. And gave it to a foreigner?”
“Not just one object. I believe there were several.”
“You believe.” I paused for more effect. “Am I right in thinking that all of this happened without your knowledge or approval?”
“That is correct. You see, it was thought at the ministry that the collections left at the original museum were not wanted for exhibition.” Stock colored with embarrassment. “That while being of great
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