I Confess (17 page)

"Please sit down."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I was only asking," I said. I had the distinct feeling that somebody else was in the apartment. I couldn't put my finger on why I felt this, but it didn't leave me. It wasn't an uneasy feeling but rather one that gave me a certain dreary satisfaction. There was somebody else in the apartment. I knew it. But he said there wasn't, so what could I do about it?

Mordstein offered me cigarettes, cognac. I accepted both. Then he sat down beside me. "So you want papers."

I nodded.

"Didn't I say the first time we met that you'd be coming to me?"

"Yes. I've thought about that. How did you know?"

"I have a sort of sixth sense," he said. "Are the papers for yourself or for someone else as well?" He asked the question with a strangely sharp look.

"Just for me."

"You're married, aren't you?" he asked politely.

"That has nothing to do with it," I repUed curtly.

At that moment I heard a door close. I jumped to my feet and looked at him, startled. "What was that?"

"A door closing. Why?" He remained seated.

"You said you were alone."

"That's right."

"But the door "

"It was the door to the next apartment." He took a sip of his drink but didn't move. I ran quickly into the foyer. It was empty. I opened the front door. There was no one in the hall. I listened but could hear no steps. As I walked back to Mordstein, slowly and a little ashamed, I felt the dreary satisfaction grow stronger. When I got back to the room, I was shivering.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I'm nervous."

"That's all right. So what do you need?"

"A passport, a birth certificate and a certificate of domicile."

"American?"

"No."

"German?"

"Austrian."

He looked at me, astonished. Now he was smiling a little. "Forgive my amusement, Mr. Chandler, but isn't that a rather pecuUar request?"

"I have given it a lot of thought," I said. "And by the way—^if I hear from any quarter whatsoever that you haven't treated this conversation with absolute discretion, I shall deny it. You have no witnesses."

He shook his head. "Come, come, Mr. Chandler, what do you take me for? After all, this is my profession. I'm not going to put myself in jail. You have certainly never been here, even if it should occur to you to say you have."

"Don't you want to know why I need the papers?"

"No," he said. "But if you want Austrian papers, then we must also get you an ID card or you won't get across the demarcation line into the Russian Zone."

"All right."

"And what is the name to be?"

I recalled my visit to the wigmaker. "Walter Frank," I said.

"Very well." He emptied his glass. "Married?"

"No."

"Children?"

"No."

"Profession?"

"Whatever you like. But nothing to do with the arts."

"Residence?"

"I thmk Vienna would be best."

"Bom?"

"Also in Vienna."

"Age."

"Middle forties."

He nodded again. "All right, Mr. Chandler."

"Aren't you going to write anything down?"

"Never," he said.

"May I have a cognac?"

He handed me the bottle. "Parents, profession, etc. at my discretion. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Did you bring passport pictures?"

"Yes." I gave them to him. He looked at them sharply, then stuck them in his pocket.

"By the way, how did your examination turn out?" he asked abruptly.

"Thank you. Very well," I said, surprised.

"I'm glad to hear that. So you're in good health?"

"Perfect."

"Very good," he said in a disinterested tone and smiled politely.

I don't know why I told him, but it was bom of the dreariness which had held me in its grip ever since I had come to him. "Listen, Mr. Mordstein," I said softly. "I am not well. I have a terminal illness and in a year I will be dead."

"I'm sorry about that," he said in the same disinterested tone. He cleared his throat. "What do you want to give me as a down payment?"

"What will the documents cost?"

"I can't say yet."

"Approximately,"

"Approximately six thousand," he said curtly. I had counted on eight thousand.

"Good," I said. "Then I'll give you two thousand now."

He counted the bills, then pocketed them.

"When can I have the papers?"

"In five days."

"On Saturday, then?" I said.

"On Saturday."

"Can I rely on that? I've got to know."

"You can rely on it if you bring the money."

I nodded.

"Yes» the money," I repeated, and looked him in the

eye. ^Would you be interested in another business transaction, Mordstein?"

"I am always interested in business transactions," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Money."

"What money?"

"Money that belongs to me," I said. "German marks. A large amount."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"You could help me exchange them for Austrian schillings."

He looked at me curiously but didn't say anything. Instead he smiled broadly.

"WeU?"

"How much money is involved?"

"How much could you handle?"

"That depends. At what rate of exchange?"

"Six," I said.

"Five," he said.

After some back and forth we settled for five point eight.

"How do I get the money in Austria? You can't transfer it legally."

"I shall give you the address of a friend. You will pay the money here, into an account I shall designate, and when you get to Austria you will show him the receipt and get your schillings."

"And where does your friend live?"

"There are several."

"Does one of them live in Vienna?"

"Yes."

*Then let's use hun."

"Very weU."

"One moment." I raised my hand. '"What guarantee do I have that I'll get the money in Vienna after I've paid you the amount here?"

"You have me."

"I know."

"And that doesn't suffice?"

"No," I said. "I'd like to suggest the following: I put the amount, in marks, in a package, and leave it in the checking office in the station. I take the ticket with me to Vienna. When I have the schillings, your friend gets the ticket."

He thought for a moment, then grinned. "That's all right with me. It's a nice idea."

"I thought about it all night."

"And what is the amount?"

"Forty thousand marks."

He sat still and smiled. Then he looked at the cognac glass he was holding in his hand and twisted it. "You're an interesting person, Mr. Chandler," he said finally.

"Is it too much?"

"Forty thousand marks. That's more than two hundred thousand schillings." He shook his head. "No, it's not too much. But my friend may have to give you the money in two payments."

"AU right," I said. "So I'll prepare two packages." I rose and held out my hand. He grasped it and smiled, his lips harrowed. I got the feeling that he was trying to control great excitement.

"Mr. Chandler," he said softly, "do you really have that much money?"

"If I didn't have it, I wouldn't have come to you.'*

Actually, on that Monday all I had in my checking account was ten thousand marks. But on Saturday, at twelve noon, I had two hundred thousand.

The whole plan was complicated, and since I must take for granted that the German police are still working on the cas^e, I shall try to make as comprehensive a report as possible of the events that put me into possession of such a large sum.

I was given the idea for this fraudulent action by some-thini^ I had experienced with Joe Clayton during my first week in Germany. It was an insignificant event and I only thought of it much later. It happened on the day I signed

my contract, which took place in the company office in the Theatinerstrasse. The first installment was due on signing, and Joe excused himself because he didn't have the amount in the office. We'd have to go over to the bank where he'd cash a few checks. I could come right along with him if I liked.

The bank was nearby and we went there together. On the way Joe explained a peculiarity of his company. "Here in Munich, we're really just a branch. The main office is in Frankfurt. And that's where the money is, in the Rhine-Bank. Once a week the cashier comes to Munich by air and brings cash or checks. This time he brought checks."

"Aha," I said.

I wasn't really listening. I wasn't at all interested in how I got my money, only when. We walked into the big, modem building together and Joe went straight up to a jolly looking young teller whom he seemed to know. The two men greeted each other heartily.

''Tag, Herr Kleinschmid'' said Joe in his ridiculous German. "Are the trout biting?"

It turned out that KJeinschmid, like Joe, was a passionate fisherman. They had become friends over the hobby. After a brief conversation on the fine points of trout fishing, Qayton handed over his checks. In spite of his youth, Kleinschmid evidently had a fairly important position. He was a sympathetic fellow. When he smiled, he revealed two rows of perfectly white teeth.

He was smiling now. "I'm terribly sony, Mr. Clayton," he said, "but I can't cash these checks."

Joe's face reddened. "You can't cash them?" he cried in English. "What's wrong v^th them?"

Kleinschmid replied in Enghsh. "They're bank checks, Mr. Qayton, and therefore non-negotiable. Didn't you notice?"

Clayton looked at the checks. "Damn it!" he said. "So they are. No, I didn't notice."

I was interested and stepped closer. After all, my first

installment was at stake. "What does that mean—^non-negotiable?" I asked.

Kleinschmid warmed up to the question. "A non-negotiable check," he explained, "is a check with which you can transfer money only from one bank account to another."

"So?"

"When you give us a non-neeotiable check, the only thing we can do is mail it to the Rhine-Bank in Frankfurt. All you get is a receipt. The Rhine-Bank verifies that the check is in order and sends it back to us with their okay. As soon as we get it back, you get your money. It's an ar-raneement that gives us a certain amount of protection and helps with the bookkeeping."

"I see," I said.

"Mr. Chandler, Mr. Kleinschmid." Joe introduced us a little belatedly. "Mr. Chandler is our writer."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chandler," said Kleinschmid.

Joe was annoyed. "So what happens now? We need the money."

"Why don't you phon^ Frankfurt," said Kleinschmid, "and ask them to wire you the amount you need right now? It would be here in two hours."

"All right. And what do we do with the checks?"

"You leave them here."

"And how long wiU it take to cash them?"

"Two or three days," said Kleinschmid. "We send them off today; tomorrow they're in Frankfurt, and the day after tomorrow we get them back."

"Not quicker?"

"Hardly, Mr. Clayton."

"You can't make an exception, huh?"

"Personally I'd be glad to, but we have our orders. And besides, Mr. Clayton, it's a lot of money. A hundred and fifty thousand marks."

"Yes, yes," said Joe. He understood, still it annoyed him.

"Just a minute," I said. "There is a way of hastening the procedure, I think."

"How?"

"By mailing the checks to Frankfurt express, at our expense, and asking the Rhine-Bank to let you know by wire whether they're in order or not. Naturally also at our expense."

"Yes," said Kleinschmid. "That would be possible."

"How long would that take?"

"It's two o'clock," Kleinschmid said thoughtfully. "The afternoon train leaves at five and is in Frankfurt at five a.m. The letter would go out with the first mail and reach the bank at eight... we could have the answer by nine or ten, if they wired right away."

"You see," I cried triumphantly. "That way we save two days."

"Would you like to try it?" asked Kleinschmid amiably.

I was a little annoyed with Joe when he grumbled, "No thanks. Another time perhaps. Fd rather ask them to wire the money. Let the checks go through the normal channels."

As I have just said, I was a little annoyed. I thou8:ht Fd had such a neat idea, but Joe preferred the conventional procedure. He phoned. With success. Three hours later the money was there and I had my first installment.

32

During the following weeks I accompanied Joe to the bank several times and made friends with Peter Kleinschmid. He was a helpful fellow. At his suggestion I opened an account at the bank. The company nearly always paid

US by check and in due course I became familiar with tbe names of the two officers in Frankfurt who signed our checks. "Liddleton" and "Hill". Liddleton signed only his name; Hill preceded his with the initials "K.M."

I took my checks to Peter Kleinschmid every week, and chatted with him if there was time. I soon forgot the incident that had taken place at our first meeting. However, on the evening of September 28, when we left the theatre at the end of the performance, I stumbled, and as I stumbled, I recalled the whole thing. And something more. I lay awake all night mulling over this additional recollection. By daybreak, my plans were laid.

The day I went to see Mordstein and discussed all preliminaries with him was a Monday. On Tuesday I drove to the Theatinerstrasse, to Joe's office. I still had some money coming to me and therefore a le^timate reason for goinj^ to see him. He was as friendly as ever; in fact, everybody at the office was exceptionally friendly. They knew I had been fired and that I had been hospitalized and were ostentatiously sympathetic in a way I found irri-tatin,^.

"On Thursday we start shooting, Jimmy," said Joe as he ushered me into his office. "At last!"

"Congratulations."

"Thanks, Jimmy." He spoke fast, so as to give me no chance to say anything. "On location. Chiemsee and in the mountains. Everybody's going. We're planning to shut down the office for two weeks. And out there in Griinwald you can have yourselves a time—^you and Margaret."