by John Blaine
THE DEADLY DUTCHMAN
A RICK BRANT
SCIENCE-ADVENTURE
STORY, No. 22
BY JOHN BLAINE
After attending the International Technological Youth Conference in Europe, Rick Brant’s pleasant expectations of a motor-scooter sightseeing tour across part of the Continent are shattered when he and his friend Don Scott find themselves abruptly involved in a deadly manhunt in Holland. For some unknown reason, Scotty is the prime target of a treacherous group headed by a deadly Dutchman. The dangerous chase rises to a smashing climax in the dark waters of a canal in Amsterdam .
In The Deadly Dutchman, John Blaine has written another thrilling Rick Brant adventure packed with high-voltage suspense and explosive excitement.
CHAPTER I
The Letter
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Rick Brant was suffering from an acute case of spring fever. Like other periodic plagues, including seventeen-year locusts, smog, and hoof-and-mouth disease, the fever varied in intensity from year to year. Rick’s case this year was a bad one.
The staff scientists of the famed Spindrift Scientific Foundation always observed Rick’s annual attack of spring fever with mixed interest and amusement. Dr. Hartson Brant, the Foundation Director and Rick’s dad, claimed that the onset of spring fever in his tall son was as certain a sign of spring as the vernal equinox, the budding of pussy willows, or the first flight of grosbeaks headed north.
Rick’s symptoms ranged from outbursts of energy to complete lethargy. This year, the energy peaks, which Dr. Brant called “Rick’s hyper-phase,” were fewer. The drowsinesses , which the scientist called
“Rick’s hypo-phase,” were longer and deeper.
A brief hyper-phase had set in when school let out today, and Rick had dissipated the burst of energy by walking home. He scrambled across the tidal flats that separated the island from theNew Jersey mainland-it was ebb tide-and reached the Brant front porch before the hypo-phase set in. There he collapsed into a comfortable chair.
Somewhere in the spring-drugged recesses of his mind, Rick was aware that Scotty and the girls should be arriving. Don Scott, with Rick’s sister Barby and Jan Miller, had chosen to return home in normal fashion, stopping at the Whiteside post office, then taking a motorboat from Whiteside Landing to the island.
Rick stared through half-closed eyes out across the lawn and sea wall to where breakers rolled in from theAtlantic . The rhythm of the waves had a hypnotic effect. He watched them drowsily, and tried to stir his lethargic mind to wakefulness. He had a problem, which Scotty shared. For the first time within memory, they had no summer plans. They had no jobs. They had no trips planned. There was no Spindrift expedition in prospect. In a few weeks, it would be vacation time, and they would be completely unprepared.
The boy yawned and rubbed a limp hand through his brown hair, as though trying to rub an idea into his sleepy head. Could they go surfing? Sure they could. Right in the Spindrift front yard.Great idea. Carry a board down to the sea wall and call it a vacation. Or maybe a hike up the Long Trail intoCanada would be fun. But the very thought of a hike exhausted Rick in his present weakened condition. He closed his eyes. It might be nice to sleep all summer. The scientists could write a paper about a new kind of teen-age phenomenon. “Spindrift youth reverses seasons; hibernates during summer.”
At Rick’s feet Dismal, the family pup, was curled into a shaggy little ball. Diz was suffering from spring fever, too. As Rick drowsed, the little dog caught a sound and lifted his head. One of the island motorboats was approaching. Normally, Diz would have hurried to meet it, but he was too sleepy. He thumped his tail in symbolic greeting and sighed deeply.
Both Rick and Diz were sound asleep by the time the motorboat occupants came around the house from the cove on the north side of the island. They were a big, husky, dark-haired boy and two slim pretty girls. The boy was Donald Scott, called Scotty, adopted son of the Brant family and Rick’s best friend.
The blond, blue-eyed girl was Barby Brant, a year Rick’s junior. The brown-haired, brown-eyed girl was Jan Miller, daughter of one of the staff scientists.
The trio stood at the bottom of the porch steps and smiled at the sight of Rick sprawled in the chair, his long legs outstretched, his hair mussed, and a look of complete peace on his face.
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Scotty chuckled. “I knew that burst of energy couldn’t last.”
“Let him sleep,” Jan Miller urged.
Barby Brant held a letter in her hand. “But this might be important. We’d better wake him. Anyway, it’s almost dinnertime.”
Mrs. Brant had heard the voices of the young people. She came through the front door in time to hear Barby’s last remark.“Dinner in fifteen minutes, Barb.” She smiled down at her sleeping son, then turned her attention to Jan. “You’re to eat with us, dear. Your folks called. They won’t be home until late.”
Jan smiled her thanks. Under a bird feeder on the front lawn she saw a bluejay’s feather. She picked it up, then went quietly up the steps and bent over Rick. She tickled his nose with the feather. Rick’s nose twitched-and at that moment Dismal sneezed.
Scotty, Barby, and Jan laughed. “You tickled Rick and made Dismal sneeze,” Barby said.
Rick struggled up out of the depths of slumber. He opened his eyes and looked at the lovely face laughing at him, and realized he had been caught drowsing. He said defensively, “I was just thinking with my eyes closed.”
“Of course you were,” Jan said soothingly. “Sleeping and thinking. With your eyes closed. What were you thinking, Rick?”
“I was thinking that if I became a hermit I’d get more sleep.”
“You’d make a great hermit,” Scotty agreed. “You could come out of your cave one month every year, and we could make a pilgrimage to see you.”
Barby held out the letter. “We could even make special pilgrimages to bring you your mail.”
Rick took the envelope and examined it. “Thanks, Sis.” The return address was that of the American Technological Society inWashington,D.C. “Probably a membership drive,” he said. He and Scotty received invitations to become student members of a dozen societies a year.
“Can hermits read letters without opening the envelope?” Jan asked.
“It takes more practice than I’ve had,” Rick replied. He tore the envelope open and scanned the letter quickly. His heart jumped into his throat. He read it more slowly, with rising excitement, then jumped to his feet and let out a wild yell that brought both his father and mother to the porch.
“Everybody!Listen to this!” He read aloud, his voice shaking a little.
“ ‘Dear Mr. Brant: For the past several years this Society has cooperated in an international conference on Technology and Youth. Members of the American delegation have been selected from young people who developed engineering projects of an advanced nature, and who, in the opinion of their elders, could represent this country ably.
“ ‘The U.S. Air Force supplied us with a copy of your final report on your ‘Personal Homemade Rocket Lift Device.’ It is a pleasure to inform you that our selection committee chose it as one of the five best Page 3
projects submitted. We took the liberty of consulting both your school principal and your Air Force project officer, both of whom recommended you very highly. It is therefore with great pleasure that we extend to you an invitation to be a member of the American delegation to this year’s conference, to be held inCopenhagen the last week of June.
“’If you are able to accept, you should plan to give a paper on your project, illustrated by slides, motion pictures, and-if possible-the project itself.
“ ‘After the conference we plan to send our delegates to other countries which
have requested such visits. We have a request from the Rocket Club of Leiden University in theNetherlands for a visit from an American delegate competent in some phase of rocketry. Your project fits the requirements admirably, and we would schedule you for theLeiden trip if you become a delegate.
“’Travel to the conference will be by chartered plane fromNew York . After the conference, individual delegates will travel to the various host countries separately, returning home at their own convenience.
Expenses while under our sponsorship will be covered fully, including the return trip, but if delegates wish to extend their stays inEurope for personal reasons, the extensions will be at their own expense.
“ ‘We think you will agree that this is an unusual opportunity, and we look forward to your acceptance.
Complete details will be sent on receipt of your favorable reply.’”
Rick finished reading and looked triumphantly at his family and friends. They all tried to congratulate him at once.
“Of course you’ll accept!” Barby exclaimed. “It’s just great, Rick!”
Scotty shook hands wordlessly.
Jan Miller was radiant with excitement. “First you save our lives with that terrific rocket belt, and now this! It’s wonderful!”
Rick looked expectantly at his parents. “May I accept?”
Dr. Brant said emphatically, “Of course! You can’t turn down an invitation like that, Rick. It’s a great honor.”
“We’ll talk about it over dinner,” Mrs. Brant said firmly. “Wash up, now.”
Rick’s project was a rocket belt he had made from easily obtained parts, except for a few that had to be machined from stainless steel in the Spindrift lab. He had completed the project under the direction of Captain Bob Aster atIndian Springs,Nevada . As Jan had said, the belt had saved the girls’ lives during some wild hours in theNevadamountains , a story related in Rocket Jumper. The belt could be taken toEurope , and demonstrated at the conference and atLeiden , if he could obtain hydrazine with which to fuel it. He was sure a fuel supply could be obtained.
He joined in the dinner talk with only part of his mind. The letter had been an instantaneous cure for spring fever, and his mental planning apparatus was in full gear again. By the time dessert was over, he had a plan to propose.
“Out with it,” Scotty demanded.
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“Out with what?” Rick asked innocently.
“Whatever you’ve been plotting.You buttered the same roll three times. That’s a sure sign of wheels turning in the Brant beezer .”
Jan chuckled. “He’s been plotting how to get you in on the trip, Scotty.”
Rick grinned at her. He hoped he’d never have to keep a secret from Jan. She could read him like a first-grade textbook. “She’s right as usual, Scotty. Okay, here’s the plan. You meet me inHolland when I’m through atLeiden . We’ll rent motor scooters and travel throughHolland,Belgium ,Luxembourg , andFrance by way of the back roads. We’ll stay in Youth Hostels and see the towns and villages that tourists never get to. Then we’ll fly home together fromParis .”
“Go, Scotty,” Barby urged.
“Why couldn’t I have been a boy?” Jan wailed in mock tragedy.
“We much prefer you as you are, even if you can’t go motor scootering acrossEurope ,” Mrs. Brant said with a smile. “But Scotty has our permission, if he wants to go.”
Scotty was grinning from ear to ear. “How can I say no to a deal like that?”
Rick waved the letter at Jan and Barby. “Now, if one of you beautiful but unfortunate girl-types will operate the typewriter for me, we can get a letter off right away. ‘Dear American Technological Society: I accept!’”
CHAPTER II
The Ransacked Room
Rick walked through the main lobby of the big, redbrickAmsterdam railroad station and through the doors that flapped back and forth to the rhythm of hurrying feet as homeward-bound Dutchmen rushed to catch streetcars to their homes on the outskirts of the city.
Because he was accustomed to the sprawling American countryside, Rick never ceased to be amazed at the short distances inEurope . On the fast, clean train fromThe Hague had been government workers, businessmen, university professors, and day studentswho commuted daily fromAmsterdam toThe Hague
. It was not very much different from taking the commuter trains fromNewark or Great Neck intoNew York -or from any suburban town into any metropolis.
Outside the station, he put his big suitcase down and looked around to get his bearings. The station loomed above him, a clean but not very attractive piece of Dutch Victorian architecture. Beyond the station doors were streetcar tracks, a grassy park, a road, more streetcar tracks, more grass, concrete walks, another road. The mixed transportation ways formed a huge plaza that ended where the streets began a few hundred yards away. He could see a hotel sign:Regina . The hotel faced a canal where glass-topped excursion boats were tied up.
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TheRegina was where he and Scotty were to stay. The Leiden Rocket Club president, who had accompanied Rick to the train, had said, “You can’t miss it.” In Rick’s experience, those words usually meant that you could and probably would miss it, but for once the phrase was accurate. He picked up his suitcase and began to make his way through the variety of traffic-streetcars, automobiles, pedestrians, and a thousand bicycles.
He couldn’t quite believe the conference was over, that his visit with the Leiden Club had come to an end, and from now on he was free to see the country. It had all happened too fast-although it hadn’t seemed fast at the time. It had seemed, simply, like marvelous fun. The days were jam-packed with events; then, too suddenly for him to grasp, it was all over.
Starting atNew York , the jet charter trip had been great. The American delegates had gathered atKennedyInternationalAirport , with the usual confusion of a mass departure. Not until the big jet was airborne was there opportunity to sort out faces and names. He clicked immediately with several boys and girls his own age from all overAmerica . Then, atCopenhagen , the group was thrown together with delegations from all overEurope and theMiddle East .
Rick had half expected the various nationalities to stick together. Instead, the great mixture of delegates had re-formed almost miraculously, it seemed, into groups with common interests.
Rick found himself a part of a loosely knit aerospace group that included a Swedish boy who had launched his own sounding rockets into the strange, noctilucent clouds above the Arctic Circle; a young Russian who had developed a highly efficient rocket engine using a solid fuel and a liquid oxidizer; a Pole who had created a solid-fuel rocket booster unit for his Italian-made sports car; an Italian boy who had designed and built a one-man sports helicopter with jet-propelled rotors, and a French girl whose project was a tiny, winged glider platform that enabled sports parachutists to soar in gradually-descending flight until it was time to open chutes for landing.
His paper on the rocket belt was enthusiastically received, and his demonstrations, using hydrazine procured by his Danish hosts, were a sensation. When several foreign delegates begged for a flight, the Danes had rigged apparatus for tethered flights and a number of delegates had flown the gadget. A few proved able to handle the belt so well that Rick had allowed them to try free flights. One of them was the French girl, and seeing her lithe, dark-haired figure ascending in the belt had made Rick homesick, because she reminded him of Jan Miller. He planned to keep up a correspondence with several young people he had met. All of them spoke, read, and wrote English to some extent, a reminder that Rick’s own language had become the principal means of scientific and technical communication throughout the world. A number of his new friends put him aboard a KLM jet when the conference ended, and he flew toRotterdam , the airport nearestLeiden , where the officers of the University Rocket Club met him.
Leidenhad been fun, too. Rick was awed by the extreme age of the great university, which had been famous even before the discovery ofAmerica . But the stu
dents were as modern as any comparable group at home. They were so enthusiastic about the rocket belt that he had left it with them, to be copied and flown for a few weeks, after which they would ship it to Spindrift.
Now it was over, and he and Scotty could pick up the next phase, which was motor scootering across part ofEurope . Rick stopped to let a streetcar pass, and for the first time wondered why Scotty hadn’t met him. He shrugged. As a traveler with rapidly growing experience, he realized that delays, missed connections, lost baggage, and other inconveniences were normal. Probably Scotty’s flight had been delayed.
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Rick reached theRegina , which was not imposing in any sense. It had definitely seen better days, probably about 1850, but it had been recommended as clean and inexpensive. He walked into the lobby and looked around. The decor reminded him of a parlor in a Victorian TV play. The clerk could have played the heroine’s father in the same drama. He even had Dutch-style whiskers-a rim of fuzz extending from his sideburns to under his jaw, with the chin and cheeks shaven clean.
Rick signed the register card and handed over his passport for police registration-standard procedure in many parts ofEurope -and inquired for Mr. Donald Scott.
“Yes, Mijnheer Brant. He has arrived.” The clerk took a quick look at the keyboard. “Apparently he has not gone out. I believe you will find him upstairs.”
An elderly bellman took Rick’s bag and led the way to the elevator. The sliding door clanged shut and the machine shuddered into reluctant life. On the third floor the bellman turned Rick over to a hall porter, who led the way down a long corridor, around a corner, down another corridor, around a corner, and three doors down to a room at the rear of the hotel.
The porter knocked. The two waited. Rick looked around at the faded hallway with its clean but threadbare rug, dim bulbs in which the filaments were visible as glowing wires, doors all alike in thick, oyster-white paint except for one with a glass panel and a blue light over it. Probably the fire escape, Rick thought.
