"I mean it; I'm serious."
"All right, I promise." After a while I said, "Harry, I just realized: Traben has to be involved, doesn't he? That whole ridiculous transportation scheme was his idea."
Harry looked over at me and smiled tiredly.
"No, listen," I said. "Let's assume the El Greco is a forgery. Isn't it possible Traben substituted it after making off with the original-which he could probably sell for thirty or forty thousand dollars-"
"I thought it was worth two million."
"It is, but stolen art's no different from stolen anything. You can't sell it for full value. Anyhow," I went on, growing more excited, "blowing up the truck would be a master stroke-it'd destroy the evidence, and it'd also kill me, the only guy around who'd be likely to know it for a fake. His worries would be over… Harry, are you laughing for any particular reason?"
"I think you've got a first-rate hypothesis there, Chris. Only one small problem."
"Which is?"
"Traben was planning to ride in the truck with you."
"Oh." I slouched moodily down into the uncomfortably upright chair. "The hell with it. I'm going to have a nap. Maybe everything will be clear when I've looked at the painting."
"Yeah," Harry said. "Sure."