philip_k_dick_-_the_man_in_the_high_castle

The man had been right. The Colt .44 was a fake.
It did not make sense.
Perhaps the man was a speculator; he had been trying to corner the market in Civil War period
side arms. An expert. And he had recognized the fake; he was the professional of professionals.
It would take a professional to know. Someone in the business. Not a mere collector.
Childan felt a tiny measure of relief. Then few others would detect. Perhaps no one else. Secret
safe.
Let matter drop?
He considered. No. Must investigate. First of all, get back investment; get reimbursement from
Ray Calvin. And — must have all other artifacts in stock examined by University lab.
But — suppose many of them are non-authentic?
Difficult matter.
Only way is this, he decided. He felt grim, even desperate. Go to Ray Calvin. Confront him.
Insist that he pursue matter back to source. Maybe he is innocent, too. Maybe not. In any case, tell
him no more fakes or I will not buy through him ever again.
He will have to absorb the loss, Childan decided. Not I. If he will not, then I will approach other
retail dealers, tell them; ruin his reputation. Why should I be ruined alone? Pass it on to those
responsible, hand hot potato back along line.
But it must be done with utmost secrecy. Keep matter strictly between ourselves.
5
The telephone call from Ray Calvin puzzled Wyndam-Matson. He could not make sense out of
it, partly because of Calvin's rapid manner of speech and partly because at the moment the call
came — eleven-thirty in the evening — Wyndam-Matson was entertaining a lady visitor in his
apartment at the Muromachi Hotel.
Calvin said, 'Look here, my friend, we're sending back that whole last shipment from you people.
And I'd send back stuff before that, but we've paid for everything except the last shipment. Your
billing date May eighteenth.'
Naturally, Wyndam-Matson wanted to know why.
'They're lousy fakes,' Calvin said.
'But you knew that.' He was dumbfounded. 'I mean, Ray, you've always been aware of the
situation.' He glanced around; the girl was off somewhere, probably in the powder room.
Calvin said, 'I knew they were fakes. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the lousy part.
Look, I'm really not concerned whether some gun you send us really was used in the Civil War or
not; all I care about is that it's a satisfactory Colt .44, item whatever-it-is in your catalog: It has to
meet standards. Look, do you know who Robert Childan is?'
'Yes.' He had a vague memory, although at the moment he could not quite pin the name down.
Somebody important.
'He was in here today. To my office. I'm calling from my office, not home; we're still going over
it. Anyhow, he came in and rattled off some long account. He was mad as hell. Really agitated.
Well, evidently some big customer of his, some Jap admiral, came in or had his man come in.
Childan talked about a twenty-thousand-dollar order, but that's probably an exaggeration. Anyhow,
what did happen — I have no cause to doubt this part — is that the Japanese came in, wanted to