F: Yes.
SZ: And in Constanta?
F:…
SZ: Didn't you?
F: Yes.
SZ: How did it happen? That you met in all those cities where none of you lived?
F: I travel a lot. It's my job. And he traveled a lot too. It turned out that we met there.
SZ: Why did you meet?
F: We just met. We were good friends.
SZ: Now you are saying that you've been meeting him over a year in at least five different cities because you are good friends. A moment ago you were saying that you knew him only slightly. Why didn't you want to admit that you knew him?
F: I was nervous from sitting here being questioned. And I'm awfully tired. And my leg hurts, too.
SZ: Oh yes. So you're very tired. Was Tetz Radeberger also with you when you met Alf Matsson at all these different places?
F: Yes, we work for the same agency and travel together.
SZ: How did it happen, do you think, that Radeberger didn't want to admit at once to knowing Alf Matsson either?
Was he awfully tired, too, perhaps?
F: I don't know anything about that.
SZ: Do you know where Alf Matsson is right now?
F: No, I have no idea.
SZ: Do you want me to tell you?
F: Yes.
SZ: I'm not going to do it, however. How long have you been employed at this Winkler's travel agency?
F: For six years.
SZ: I see in your passport here that you often travel to Turkey. You've been there seven times this year alone.
F: Winkler's arrange tours to Turkey. As a group guide I have to travel there quite often.
SZ: Yes, and it suits you very well, doesn't it? In Turkey hashish is fairly cheap and quite easy to get hold of. Isn't it, Mr. Frobe?
F:…
SZ: If you prefer to say nothing it will be the worse for you. We already have enough evidence, and in addition to that a witness.
F: The dirty skunk squealed after all!
SZ: Exactly.
F: That god-damned bastard Swede!
SZ: Perhaps you realize that it is serving no useful purpose to keep this up any longer. Start talking now, Frobe! I want to hear the whole thing, with all the facts you can remember, names, dates and figures. You can begin by telling me when you began smuggling narcotics.
Frobe closed his eyes and fell to one side off the chair. Martin Beck saw him put his hand out before he actually fell prostrate onto the floor.
Szluka rose and nodded to the stenographer, who closed the notebook and vanished out the door.
Szluka looked down at the man lying on the floor.
'He's bluffing,' said Martin Beck. 'He didn't faint.'
'I know,' said Szluka. 'But I'll let him rest for a while before I go on.'
He went up to Frobe and poked him with the tip of his shoe.
'Get up, Frobe.'
Frobe did not move, but his eyelids quivered. Szluka went over to the door, opened it and called out something into the corridor. A policeman came in and Szluka said something to him. The policeman took Frobe by the arm and Szluka said, 'Don't lie there cluttering up the place, Frobe. We'll get a bunk for you to lie on. It's much more comfortable.'
Frobe got up and looked offendedly at Szluka. Then he limped out behind the policeman. Martin Beck watched him go.
'How is his leg?'
'No danger,' said Szluka. 'Only a flesh wound. We don't often need to shoot, but when it's necessary, we shoot accurately.'
SZ: Is it a well-paid job?
F: Not especially. But I get everything free when I'm traveling. Food, keep and fares.
SZ: But the salary isn't high?
F: No. But I manage.
SZ: It seems so. You have enough so that you manage.
F: What do you mean by that?
SZ: You have in fact fifteen hundred dollars, eight hundred and thirty pounds and ten thousand marks. That's a lot of money. Where did you get it from?
F: That's nothing to do with you.
SZ: Answer my question and don't use that tone of voice.
F: It's not your business where I get my money from.
SZ: It's possible and also very likely that you haven't half the sense I thought you had, but even with the very slightest intelligence, you ought to be able to see that you would be wiser to answer my questions. Well, where did you get the money from?
F: I did extra jobs and earned it all over a long period.
SZ: What sort of jobs?
F: Different things.
Szluka looked at Frobe and opened a drawer in his desk. Out of the drawer he took a package wrapped up in plastic. The package was about eight inches long and four inches wide and fastened with adhesive tape. Szluka put the package down on the desk between himself and Frobe. All the while he was looking at Frobe, whose eyes wavered, trying to avoid looking at the package. Szluka looked straight at him and Frobe wiped away the sweat that had appeared in little beads around his nose. Then Szluka added, 'Uh-huh. Different things. As for example, smuggling and selling hashish. A profitable occupation, but not in the long run, Herr Frobe.'
F: I don't understand what you're talking about
SZ: No? And you don't recognize this little package either?
F: No, I don't Why should I?
SZ: And not the fifteen similar packages that were found hidden in the doors and upholstery of Radeberger's car, either?
F:…
SZ: There's quite a lot of hashish in just one little package like this. We're not accustomed to such things here, so I in fact don't know what price it would bring in today. By how much would you have increased your capital when you'd sold your little supply? F: I still don't understand what you're talking about
'So that's what he was up to. Hashish smuggling,' said Martin Beck. 'I wonder what they've done with him.'
'Alf Matsson? I expect we'll get it out of them. But it's best to wait until they've had a bit of rest. You must be tired yourself,' said Szluka, sitting down behind his desk.
Martin Beck felt very tired indeed. It was already morning. He felt bruised and battered.
'Go back to the hotel and sleep for a few hours,' said Szluka. 'I'll phone you later. Go down to the entrance and I'll get a car sent around for you.'
Martin Beck had no objections. He shook hands with Szluka and left him. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Szluka speaking into the telephone.
The car was already waiting for him when he got down to the street.
