“Good. Now for the larger ones. We’ll...” He frowned at Gruber, remembering. “Pardon, m’sieu, but you’d better go up and get dressed and packed. The ship won’t wait for us, you know.” He glanced about the room and then raised his shoulders. “And there’s little enough room to work in here as it is.”
Gruber seemed reluctant to leave. “What ship are we taking?”
“The Alcántara. Brazilian. Tonnage, ten thousand. With stops at Funchal, São Luis, Rosário, and so forth.” Huuygens made no attempt to disguise the sarcasm. “Which they will make whether we’re on board or not.”
Gruber stared at him a moment and then nodded. “All right.” He turned to his servant. “Hans. You will stay here and... ah... assist M’sieu Huuygens in any manner possible...” He watched for some sign of disappointment from Huuygens, but only encountered polite disinterest combined with a bit of impatience at the time that was passing; with a slight bob of his head he left the room.
Kek sighed and turned to the silent Hans. “All right. Finally! Let’s get to work. Help me down with this one, will you, please?”
They brought down the largest picture first, turned it face downward on the table, and bent back the four nails holding the stretcher frame in place. Kek lifted the raw wood rectangle with the canvas free of the frame, and nodded his head.
“Good. You pile the frames over there in the corner. And then get a pair of pliers from my bag.” He looked into the opaque eyes of the servant. “Here’s what we’ll do: you will pull the tacks that hold the canvas to the stretcher frames — and do it carefully, do you understand? Be sure every tack is removed, or we may inadvertently puncture one of these priceless works of art — and I’ll pack them in the case. Is that clear?”
Hans nodded, pleased his instructions were so succinct. He dug deep in the small bag and came up with the pliers, straightened up, and then paused. He flexed the tool several times and then shook his head, bringing them close to his eyes to examine them. “Japanese,” he said with disgust, and walked quickly from the room. Moments later he had returned with another pair. “German,” he said, and held them up. “We’ll use these.”
“Use what you want. Use your teeth, if they’ll do the job.” Kek held up a finger. “Just be careful.”
The two got to work. One by one the canvases were freed from their imprisoning frames, untacked from the stretchers, laid tenderly in the packing case, and covered with tissue paper. The job went quite fast; whoever stretched these canvases, Kek thought, apparently must have realized the type of artist to whom they would be sold, and wasted no excessive time on either pride of workmanship, or pains. Or nails. The case filled up with works of art, while the corner of the room piled ever higher with discarded frames and stretchers. Huuygens was settling the last canvas in place when Gruber appeared once again. He was dressed for travel; one pocket sagged a bit from the obvious presence of something heavy like a revolver. Kek was careful not to note it.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” The green eyes encompassed the case, and the pile of frames. “How are things going?”
“Fine. We’re just about finished.” Kek studied the case a moment, picked up the wrapped packet of miniatures and laid it on top of the canvases, and then folded the balance of his tissue paper and packed it about to fill the remaining space. “There. That’s the lot.” He reached for his airplane bag once again.
Gruber watched with interest as the cover was nailed into place. Huuygens nodded in satisfaction at the professional appearance of the job, and then brought out his marking ink and brush. With his arm supported by his other wrist, he carefully began to print an address neatly on the cover of the box.
“You certainly think of everything.” Gruber’s tone was of grudging admiration.
“That’s why I get the fees I do.” Kek didn’t bother to look up, but continued to ply the brush, painting in the letters of the address. Ostensibly, the case was being sent to the Ótica Maranhão in the Rua Paulo Freitas in Rosário, Brazil. When the final letter had been painted, Huuygens reached into his bag again, bringing out the gummed labels he had had printed. He wet them on his tongue and placed them about the top and sides of the case in conspicuous locations. They all read: PHOTOGRAPHIC PAPER — DO NOT OPEN IN DAYLIGHT.
For the first time the tall man smiled in true appreciation, his eyes congratulatory. “Very clever!”
“Only because the shipping documents and the bill of lading are quite genuine.” Huuygens was returning his materials to his bag. His voice was quite even. “Except, of course, for the address of the consignee...”
Gruber frowned at him. “And how were you able to arrange those?”
Huuygens zipped the bag shut and smiled coldly. “I’m afraid a complete exposition of my methods is not included in my fee, nor does it affect the end results.” He looked about. “And now, I think, we’re about finished, and still with ample time. If you will allow me...”
He began to pick up the awkward packing case; Hans hurried to help him. Between the two of them, they carried it through the dim hallway and down to the car, with Gruber following closely behind. Hans pulled the wrought-iron gate leaf back with one hand and then waited while Huuygens rested his end to unlock the trunk. The two men slid the packing case on top of the suitcase; Hans stood back while Huuygens slid the cord about the case, through the handles of the suitcase for further security, and then brought it out and looped it between the trunk lid and the bumper, knotting it tightly. He pushed down and felt the tautness of the rope; it would ride. He straightened up, glancing at his wristwatch.
“We’d better be going. If you would get your luggage...”
Gruber smiled gently. “Hans will bring my bags. I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind...”
“Not at all,” Huuygens said genially, and watched the servant return to the house. He glanced up; in the open doorway, standing back in the shadows, was Jadzia. She was staring at him with a rigidity that suggested an attempt to get across a message. He looked away, turning back to Gruber, forcing himself to remain calm, to concentrate on his plan.
“A lovely day,” he said, and smiled.
Gruber smiled in return, a relaxed smile; and Huuygens placed his hand on the thin man’s chest and shoved with all his tremendous strength, hooking the other’s heel with his foot. The German went over backward, too startled for the moment even to cry out, and in that moment Huuygens had the gate pulled shut and had sprung for the driver’s seat of his car. Behind him he heard the outraged screams of his victim, and then two answering cries from both Hans and Jadzia, and then he had the motor going and was roaring off down the street.
He did not think that Gruber would chance shooting when the paintings might suffer damage as a result, but that had been a chance he had recognized and been prepared to take. In any event, Gruber did not waste the time. In the rearview mirror as he shot down the shaded avenue he saw the gate being dragged open, and even as he swung wildly about the first corner of his studied route, Gruber’s car came tearing from the driveway, not even pausing for Hans to be taken aboard. Huuygens smiled grimly and settled into his driving.
The route he had chosen had been selected both for its isolation and for the fact that the long, straight runs would favor the more adaptable speed of his newer and more powerful car. He charged down the road he was on, glancing every second or two in the rearview mirror. The hood of the pursuing car had come into view around the corner and was roaring on. Huuygens tramped on the accelerator; Gruber’s ancient car was far faster than he had thought.