Gruber stared up at him and shook his head. “M’sieu Huuygens, please be seated.”
“I thought—” Huuygens continued, as if he had not been interrupted, “—that you wished something substantial handled.”
“But I do!” Gruber contained himself with an effort. “Which is precisely why I asked you—”
“What the largest thing was that I ever brought through customs?” Huuygens smiled faintly in remembrance, studied his client’s face a moment, and then slowly reseated himself, picking up his glass of cognac. “Actually — although I trust m’sieu not to mention it widely — it was an elephant.”
“An elephant!” From the tightening of the lips and the cold look that appeared in Gruber’s eyes, it was evident he thought he was being made a fool of. “M’sieu, I am being serious!”
“And so am I,” Huuygens said equably, and smiled gently. “You see, M’sieu Echavarria, there are many ways to bring things through customs. One is, as you suggested, to hide it on one’s person.” His tone clearly indicated that he did not think much of this method. “Another, of course, is through the use of misdirection of one type or another. For example, to hide one object in a larger object, and in this way to...”
Gruber stared at him. “But what’s larger than an elephant?”
“A circus,” Huuygens said simply, and drained his glass. He placed it on the table next to him with an air of finality, tenting his fingers, watching his host.
Gruber seemed to be studying the answer, and then he smiled. He raised his glass, tossed off his drink, and also put his glass aside.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe we can do business.” He paused, as if to formulate his thoughts in words that would be least incriminating, took a deep breath, and then plunged directly to the heart of the matter. “Some years ago, m’sieu, I... well, I was fortunate enough to inherit certain paintings which, until now, I have been able to keep simply for my own pleasure.” He spread his hands in a gesture calculated to inspire sympathy and smiled sadly. “Now, unfortunately, conditions have changed, and I find myself forced to sell them...”
For a moment Huuygens experienced a sudden sense of unreality. The statement had been so exactly the one he had projected when he first thought of how to be invited to Lisbon, that he had the momentary feeling of living the moment a second time. He thrust the thought aside, forcing his mind to concentrate on Gruber’s words.
“Ah?”
“Yes. I—” Gruber paused, studied his guest’s face, and found only a look of polite interest “—yes. However, m’sieu, my problem is a bit complicated. To begin with, in Portugal at present, it is most difficult to find a proper customer. It’s a small country, and money is rather tight. However, in South America I have certain old friends who, I am convinced, could lead me to dealers or even wealthy collectors who would be willing to pay a decent price. My particular problem...” His voice trailed off; he watched Huuygens encouragingly.
Huuygens nodded. “Your particular problem,” he said evenly, “is to get these paintings into South America without being disturbed by customs.” His eyes were steady on Gruber’s face. “And my specialty, of course, is arranging just such accommodations. May I ask what country in South America you were considering?”
For a moment the tall, thin man hesitated; then he shrugged. It was obvious that the destination had to be revealed sooner or later. He took a deep breath. “Brazil.”
Huuygens nodded, as if pleased. “Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because Brazil is blessed with at least six ports of call other than the major ones of Rio and Santos.” His tone clearly indicated that he was revealing no secrets. “For anything as bulky as paintings, I would not care to use planes. They can fall down, or — even worse — arrive and be searched. Ships are much better, especially in a small port.” His voice was almost pedantic. “Venezuela is much more limited in ports, as are Uruguay and even Argentina...” He paused and looked at his host with curiosity a moment before continuing.
“However, Brazil is also blessed — if that is the proper word — with a customs service that is often venal. Bribable. So why...?” He spread his hands.
Gruber understood. “So why have I gone to the trouble of contacting M’sieu Huuygens?”
“Exactly.”
The thin German studied the strong face before him. This Huuygens was no fool, that was evident. But there was no reason why he should be taken into confidence on all things, or why he should be told that the bribing of customs officials had led to two cases of blackmail that he knew of, and to one case of arrest and extradition. And while he would have to be told that he, Gruber, expected to leave the country also, there was no reason for him to know the departure was one he intended to accomplish without the knowledge of his friends in the police or the government. Too many of those friends might resent the sudden loss of their extra income, might even get nasty about it.
“Because,” Gruber said smoothly, “I prefer it that way. In any event, I’m prepared to pay to have it done that way. Say I’m opposed to bribery on principal...” He smiled coldly. “The question is, are you interested in helping me solve my problem?”
Huuygens shrugged delicately. “M’sieu, for a price, one is always interested.”
“Ah! And the price would be?”
Kek looked at him evenly. “I would have to see the paintings first.”
Gruber shook his head. “I’m afraid that would not be possible, m’sieu. Once we have a deal, fine. Until then, no.”
Huuygens nodded slowly, as if recognizing the merit of the statement. His eyes came up. “In that case, m’sieu, my price will be ten thousand dollars.”
Gruber sat more erect. “Ten thousand—”
“Dollars, m’sieu. Not escudos, nor francs. United States dollars. Payable one half in advance, and the balance when the goods are delivered at destination.”
Gruber shook his head in grudging admiration. “You don’t work cheaply, do you?” He came to his feet, striding up and down the dim room, his hands clasped behind his back. He came back and stared down at the man on the divan. “Ten thousand when the paintings have been sold,” he said, and then conceded a point. “If you insist, one thousand as an advance now, and the balance when the paintings have been sold.”
Huuygens shook his head, but inside he was grinning almost ferociously. My dear Gruber, he said to himself, don’t be so worried. We’ll come to terms, but allow me to bargain first. It’s what you obviously expect. You would undoubtedly become suspicious if I accepted your ridiculous offer.
“M’sieu Echavarria, I know nothing of the value of your paintings, or — if you will pardon me — whether you can find a market for them once they are inside Brazil.” He shrugged. “You can scarcely expect me to take a chance that I might not be paid.”
“On the other hand,” Gruber pointed out, “I know nothing of your ability even to get the paintings out of Portugal.” He imitated Kek’s shrug exactly. “You can hardly hope for an advance that large without my seeing any evidence that you can succeed.”
Huuygens appeared to be giving some thought to the possible justice of Gruber’s point of view. His strong fingers drummed on the arms of the divan as he considered the problem, frowning. At last he looked up.
“Well, then, m’sieu, suppose we overlook the advance. Five thousand dollars when the paintings are safely out of Portugal, and the balance when they are safely inside Brazil.” He raised a finger. “But not dependent on their sale, merely their delivery.”
For several seconds Gruber considered him; there was something in the other’s attitude that seemed to say that bargaining was over. He nodded suddenly, and thrust out his hand.