“Oh, those?” He smiled at me. “Well, of course, much as I wanted to destroy Gruber, I certainly never had the slightest intention of destroying that fabulous collection of miniatures. After all, they are extremely unique and their loss would be irreparable. And also, of course, I’m sure that the offer of a reward still exists. So, in my hotel room that morning...” He paused suddenly, then stared at me in wonder. “Good heavens! Do you realize it was only this morning? It seems like days ago!”
“Go on with the story,” I said brusquely.
He leaned back again. “Amazing! Yes, the story. Well, this morning, then, I carefully prepared a package the size and shape that the miniatures would occupy when I later wrapped them. The contents were nothing more than stationery from the hotel. I carried it in my inside jacket pocket, between the lining and my passport with the package of tissue paper held tightly against it when Hans made his search. In any event, he wasn’t interested in the feel of papers under his hand; he was looking for metal. Then, when I later packed the miniatures, I made sure that even the transparent sticking tape I used was placed in the same position as on the false package in my pocket.”
I nodded as the pieces fell into place. “And when you sent the servant out for the pair of pliers, you simply exchanged the two packages and slipped the miniatures into your pocket.”
He nodded, pleased by my intelligence.
I frowned. “But then, what did you do with them? The miniatures, I mean. After all, the customs search and everything...”
His smile broadened. “I told you before that you did me a far greater favor than you knew when you picked up my ticket for me at the Lisbon Airport. And, of course, I had to lure you to the sun deck where I would be alone when you so kindly returned to the lower level for the tickets.” He reached across my body and picked up my Speed Graphic. His smile became slightly rueful. “I’m afraid your film pack had to be dropped in a rubbish bin; it would have been difficult to explain at Customs. I hope it contained nothing more interesting than the pictures you usually take.”
I stared at him as he took the camera from its case and retrieved a small packet from the film-pack throat. He tapped it reflectively with a fingernail and finally slipped it into his pocket. Then, he returned the camera to its case.
“Do you mean,” I said slowly, “that you planned this whole thing so carefully, and then simply had the good fortune to run into me at the airport to get your miniatures out of Lisbon? What would you have done if I had not appeared?”
He looked slightly hurt, like a child unfairly accused. “Naturally, I had a plan. Not as good, I’ll admit, as the one that occurred to me the instant I saw you come marching across the airport concourse with your lovely camera and your lovely honest face. But still, not such a bad plan, either. I intended...” He paused, and the hurt look disappeared to be replaced by a grin that slowly widened. He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I shall not tell you. To begin with, you’ve had enough story for one day, and — more important — the more I think about it, the better I like the plan. I may some day want to use it.”