He was well prepared for any tricks on Hale's part. He had put a special lock on the briefcase; if Hale just tried to take the money, it would be too bad for Hale.
On the other hand, Hinrik Fonshliezen was well aware that he, himself had better not try anything foolish. If Hale were killed or reported to the police—in other words, if he didn't make a clean getaway—certain audio-video recordings would go to the I.P., disclosing Hinrik's complicity in the deal.
The whole thing had to be on the up-and-up.
The phone rang again. His Excellency picked it up and identified himself. He listened. A broad, wolfish smile spread itself over his face.
"So Hale actually did it?" he said. "Well, that's too bad, my dear fellow. Of course, we must take the utmost precautions ourselves."
He hung up, and, whistling softly to himself, he picked up the briefcase and left his office.
For all of half a day, there was great rejoicing in Sudapfahl when it was discovered that the time capsule in Grunfelt had opened and had disclosed a marvelous collection of two-century-old artifacts, including a Dachboden original. His Excellency, the Portfolio of State, was the man of the day.
But it didn't last more than half a day. When the art experts pronounced the Dachboden a phony, the popularity of Hinrik dropped; when it was proved that the whole time capsule, with contents, was actually the one that belonged in Grosstat, Hinrik's popularity collapsed completely. He was held by the I.P. for questioning and confessed all.
By that time, Leland Hale was a good many parsecs away in his own private ship.