Respectfully mine,
Leland Hale.
A short time previous to the flamboyant opening of the capsule in Grosstat, and several hundred miles away, His Excellency, Hinrik Fonshliezen, State Portfolio of Sudapfahl, sat nervously in his office. If the I.P. men were sweating, Fonshliezen was absolutely soaked in his own juices. He sat at his desk, looking from his watch to the telephone and back again. He was expecting a call.
Even so, when the phone rang, he jumped. Then he grabbed the instrument. "Hello! Fonshliezen here!" he barked hoarsely.
"Hinrik, old spirillum, I have your merchandise. You know where to meet me. And—ah—remember what I told you."
"You got it? Where have you been? You've been gone for two days! What—"
"That's none of your business, Hinrik; just come on. And remember—none of your clever foxiness."
"I'll remember," Hinrik said.
There was a click as the instrument was hung up.
Hinrik Fonshliezen frowned worriedly and glanced at the briefcase on his desk that held half a million stellors in Interstellar Bank drafts. How could he be sure that Hale actually had the carving? He glanced at his watch again. The news should come through soon. Hale had told him to wait for the news from Nordapfahl.