The agricultural problems of Europe at that time, as I’m sure you are aware, were extremely pressing, and import licenses for the type of equipment we were discussing were the easiest of all types to obtain. Particularly from the United States — which would eventually pay for it anyway, in one manner or another. I shall always remember the day we mailed out the final contracts. It was just under four months since we had put the scheme into operation — and they had been four busy months, believe me! Elsa was now free, so I gave her money for another trip to her mother. Besides, I wanted her to keep an eye on Klees and make sure that nothing went wrong at this point.
The purchase contracts we mailed were standard in every way, as were our terms; irrevocable letters of credit in the amount of twenty per cent of the order, deposited in escrow in a reliable New York bank selected by the seller, the balance to be paid by a further letter of credit upon delivery of the merchandise to the buyer’s agent on the dock in New York.
The cancellation clauses were also standard; forfeiture of the deposit should the purchaser refuse shipment or fail to deposit his final letters of credit before a certain date...
I see a gleam in your eye; you are beginning to comprehend. Yes, we had sold to Klees Imports a total of twenty-five million dollars’ worth of equipment between our impressive companies, and twenty per cent was five million dollars.
Well, during those days when we were waiting for the initial letters of credit to be issued by the Banque National de Bruxelles, there were, of course, some anxious hours. The orders might be denied; political consideration might lead the Banque to prefer that the orders be placed in France or Italy, although this possibility was slim. Oddly enough, I had no fear that the Banque would investigate our companies; the responsibility always lies with the importer who, after all, is the one whose money is at stake.
But the letters of credit were issued quite routinely. Within three weeks, I found in my postal boxes the first of the bank notices advising me that the escrow deposit had been made, and the other five soon followed. Now it was simply a matter of waiting until our forfeiture date rolled around. Elsa returned from her visit and advised me that Klees would further ease the problem by furnishing us with letters regretting the withdrawal of his principals, and stating that the balance could not be deposited — and indeed, these letters arrived a few days after her return. Three weeks later, the forfeiture date rolled around.
I admit I was nervous as I entered the first bank that morning, but I need not have been. The necessary papers were prepared and signed in far less time than I had anticipated, and I walked out with our bank balance enlarged by some nine hundred thousand dollars. The transactions at the other banks proved equally uncomplicated.
Even today, it seems hard to believe. One dreams up a scheme and puts it into operation; obviously, one avoids all pitfalls one can imagine, but at the moment of fruition, it is still difficult to accept success. But there it was: the scheme had actually worked! All that remained was to drain the accounts, and that was simply a matter of exercise. Klees was taking a boat over; that gave me a week to gather the money and lock it in our safe.
He docked at six in the morning and called me directly from the steamer. His voice, believe me, was nervous. He actually sounded surprised when I answered. I told him everything was all right, and suggested that he check into a hotel, and then begin to arrange safety-deposit boxes for his share. I could almost hear the indecision of his thoughts over the telephone; whether to follow my advice or to come up immediately before I could skip. And even while I was waiting for him to answer, he hung up and — I imagine — dashed from the booth.
He arrived at one in the afternoon, holding the largest brief case I have ever seen, and we opened the safe.
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen five million dollars in cash, but if you have, you can imagine Klees’ reaction. He turned pale. At first, I thought he was going to faint. In all fairness, I must admit that I had had the advantage of having become more or less used to it.
In any event, once he had at least partially recovered, we spread the money out on the floor and began dividing it. I laid aside the borrowed amount plus the interest, made a second pile covering the expenses (with the substantiating receipts), counted my share into a third pile, and pushed the balance over to him. He immediately began counting it, although he would pause every now and then to stare fixedly at my share. Looking at him over that huge pile of money, and seeing the expression in his eyes, I was suddenly happy that I wouldn’t have to have any more dealings with him. And when he finally went off, believe me, I was happy to lock the door behind him.
(Huuygens paused; I began to lift my arm for the waiter, but he shook his head sadly. The telling of the story seemed to have drained something from him. And then a touch of the old Kek Huuygens appeared; a sardonic smile touched the edges of his eyes.)
I note your poor attempt (he said) to avoid staring at my frayed cuffs, and I thank you. Do not worry; I shall satisfy your curiosity.
Well, I repaid the loan and the interest, and Elsa and I settled into a comfortable routine. One evening, about a week later, we were at home studying a series of travel folders when the doorbell suddenly rang. My eyebrows raised. In my circle, it was customary to telephone before calling. But I answered it, and there was Klees. I led him in, Elsa got him a drink, and he sat down heavily opposite us.
“What’s the trouble?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment, frowning. “I’ve been thinking,” he said in a worried tone. “Some of the hidden dangers in what we did are just now beginning to register.”
I stared at him in irritation. “What dangers?” I asked. “You are completely in the clear. Everything you did was legal. Even the Banque National can’t touch you unless they can prove collusion, and” — I could not help adding — “they won’t be able to do that if you keep away from here.”
“I’m not thinking of myself,” he said significantly. “I’m thinking of you. However minor the infractions of inventing names or addresses, the fact is that you are liable for income tax on the forfeited funds, and I understand that the United States Government follows those things like a bloodhound.”
“It’s very nice of you to worry,” I said, “but really, the problem is mine.”
“Not quite,” he said. He frowned at me over tented fingers. “I doubt if you would keep quiet if you saw the fruits of your scheme going up the chimney while I remained free and in good shape. To be blunt, in such a case, I can foresee the possibility of blackmail applied to me for your silence. I am not happy about it.”
I stared at him. In all honesty, the idea had not occurred to me, but I could see his point. From his standpoint, it was a legitimate concern, and one which I am sure I would have thought of had the shoe been on the other foot.
I nodded. “What do you suggest?”
“I have no suggestions. I only have worries.” He shrugged. “I thought it only proper to advise you of them. Possibly you can find a solution.”
Well, after he left, I sat in deep thought. Elsa wanted to know what it was all about, but I shipped her off to bed and remained sitting and staring at the safe, picturing my money inside. The point raised by Klees was completely justifiable; I attempted to think of some means to protect us both against any contingency.
Safe-deposit boxes? But there were court orders. False names? I shook my head. There were too many false names as it was, and it would be no protection, in any event. Swiss banks? Not half as easy as people believe. And how would I transfer the funds? I certainly couldn’t picture myself taking a boat there with a million dollars in a paper bag. Brazil? Running away would degrade the beauty of the scheme; I might as well have held up a man with a gun and robbed him.