by John Blaine
“I’m certain.”
“Humph. Neither of the two was the man you chased at the hotel earlier today?”
Scotty stared, then grinned.“No, sir. Was that affair reported to you?”
“It was. At first I dismissed it as a typical attempt at hotel robbery. I don’t mean we dropped the case; we are cross-checking the description with other cases at our Central Research Bureau. I mean only that I did not give it any unusual significance. But this incident tonight changes my mind. Obviously it was significant. The first man asked youWhere is it?’ The question is,Where is what?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what he was talking about,” Scotty stated.
“But he thought you did.”
The door opened and an officer came in with a tray. There was a pause in the conversation while the inspector poured strong tea into blueDelft mugs, then added milk and sugar.
Rick took his and tasted. It was hot, strong, and good. He settled back and sipped appreciatively.
Inspector Vandiveer addressed Scotty again. “Your wallet was intact when you found it. The money had obviously been pulled out, then stuffed back in again?”
“That’s right.”
“Nothing else was missing, even after the room was cleaned up and you checked?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Humph.” The inspector sipped tea. “So we must conclude that the man who searched your room didn’t find ‘It,’ and that resulted in tonight’s demand for It.’You agree?”
Scotty shrugged. “It sounds logical. Or, it would if I had any idea what ‘It* might be.”
“You brought no gifts, letters, or any objects intoHolland with you, perhaps as a favor to someone?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“If we searched carefully through your clothing and luggage, we would find nothing?”
“You’re welcome to search,” Scotty said a bit angrily. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“I don’t doubt it. But human memory is fallible, as we policemen well know. Obviously there are men here inAmsterdam whobelieve you have something they want. What could it be?”
Scotty shook his head.
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“Very well.Then let us seek an answer to another question. Why do these men believe you have something you do not have?”
“I don’t know.”
Rick had been listening with interest. The tea had cleared his head and he was thinking again. “Inspector, is there much smuggling inHolland ?”
“About as much as elsewhere.Why?”
“Could it be that someone due inAmsterdam today-maybe another American-was bringing something in, and didn’t deliver or didn’t arrive, and Scotty was assumed to be that person?”
The inspector tapped out his pipe with great care so as not to crack the delicate meerschaum. “You think, then, that we have here a case of mistaken identity?”
“Isn’t it possible?”
“Yes.Quite possible. You see, I eliminate as an assumption that you two are anything other than what you seem to be. They spoke quite highly of you atLeidenUniversity , Mr. Brant, and said they had also heard favorably of your friend Mr. Scott. So I do not assume that two young men from a distinguished scientific foundation are party to any plots. I also assume that you are intelligent and would not conceal any attempts to bring packages or letters into Holland-afterall, that is done every day, quite legally. So I am inclined to agree that we may have a case of mistaken identity.”
“What else could it be?” Scotty asked.
“I don’t know. Until we have a definite answer, I want you to keep in touch with me if anything unusual occurs. I will give you my card. Meanwhile, there is one more step we can take. We have on file photos-I believe you call them mug shots inAmerica -of most of our Dutch criminals. Would you be willing to go through them?”
The boys agreed that they would. The inspector summoned an officer, and dictated details as the boys agreed on size, probable weight, coloring, and other characteristics of the men who had accosted them.
Scotty repeated the description of the hotel prowler. The officer took his notes and departed.
“He will phone what we have to Central Research,” Inspector Vandiveer explained. “They will program our computer to eliminate all criminals who do not come close to the descriptions. By the time we arrive, only those who fit will be pulled out for your examination.”
The boys rode with the inspector to the Central Research Bureau, discussing their plans for a trip the next day, and asking his advice on routes and points of interest. The inspector was a gold mine of information. He even gave them the name of a place where motor scooters could be rented at minimum cost.
At the Central Bureau the computer had already done the sorting. Even so, there was a large stack of punched cards, each carrying the photo of a criminal. The boys went through them rapidly, hesitating over a few, but finally rejecting them all.
“Interesting,” the inspector commented. “Either we are dealing with amateurs, or some of those really clever criminals who avoid getting mugged. Either way, it makes the task more difficult.”
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As he drove them to their hotel, the officer said quietly, “Of course, if this is a case of mistaken identity, we have to accept that it is not yet cleared up. You may hear from these people again. They may even become insistent. Keep my telephone number with you. No matter where you may be inHolland , ask the local policeman to phone me. My section of the Ministry of Justice has jurisdiction throughout the country. And if you get any ideas, call me. Agreed?”
The boys agreed without hesitation. At the hotel they thanked Inspector Vandiveer and took the elevator to their floor. Piet was off duty, and the night man was drowsing at the desk. He handed them their key with a grunt.
Rick was tired, and his head ached. He slumped down on his bed and started to undress without a word. Scotty rummaged for pajamas, then stood up suddenly.
“Rick!”
“Huh?”
“They did a more careful job this time. They’re not giving up.”
Rick came fully awake suddenly. “You mean they’ve searched the room again?”
“Yes. My stuff is neat, but it isn’t exactly the way I left it.” Rick groaned. “Okay. Give Inspector Vandiveer ten minutes to get back, then call him. I’m going to bed and dream about ‘It.’”
Scotty grinned. “If you dream the answer, wake up and tell me.”
“That I will,” Rick promised.
CHAPTER V
Madurodam
The two Vespas buzzed along Route E-10, heading southwest fromAmsterdam toThe Hague , marked on Rick’s map as, “’s Gravenhage .” The day was bright, the superhighway uncrowded , and the countryside interesting. The strange events of yesterday afternoon and last night had taken on the aspects of an unpleasant dream.
Inspector Vandiveer had sent a fingerprint team, which had gone over the room with care, but he had not been hopeful that much would be turned up. Fingerprints of past occupants, the hotel staff, and the boys themselves would confuse things. But it was all he could do. He urged the boys to keep in touch, and to be careful.
In the morning they had checked out, leaving suitcases with Piet and taking only their knapsacks. They planned to spend a few days in southernHolland , seeing the great delta engineering project that reclaimed hundreds of square miles of land from the sea, and other sights of interest.The Hague was the Page 16
first stop, and especially the miniature town ofMadurodam , highly recommended by theLeiden students.
It wasn’t a long trip. FromAmsterdam toThe Hague was only fifty-four kilometers, about thirty-four miles. Little more than a half-hour after leaving the city of canals they turned from the main highway, and after some searching found the Youth Hostel run by theNetherlands government for traveling students. It was a comfortable old place, formerly one of the outbuildings of a great estate. They checked in and were assigned a tiny room with double-decker bunk
s. It was Spartan, but entirely adequate and clean.
Leaving their knapsacks at the hostel, the boys mounted their Vespas and followed a road called Waalsdorperweg , past the Haagse Golf and Country Club, past the great OostduinenPark with its bridle paths and bicycle paths, along other roads and eventually to Madurodam.
Rick paid their admission, and the two walked across the town walls encircling the miniature city and paused with the town at their feet.
Scotty exclaimed, “Shades of Gullivers TravelslIt’s Lilliput !”
“Looks like it,” Rick agreed. Madurodam wasHolland itself, scaled down so that a five-story building was about waist high. He could see an exact replica ofAmsterdam ’s busy SchipholAirport , with jets lined up for take-off, motors roaring. Trains, both electric and diesel, ran on tracks around the countryside, hauling Dutch products. There was a large polder-a field enclosed by dikes and kept dry by windmill-powered pumps-with flax growing and the sails on the windmills turning. There was the seaport ofRotterdam , ships loading at docks under swinging cranes.
“Come on!” Scotty said excitedly. “I want to see the people who live in those houses.”
Rick chuckled. The miniature layout was so real that one did expect to see people-scaled down to proper size, of course-walking on the perfectly formed streets.
They stopped for several minutes to inspect the ancient Chambers of Parliament, which had its full-scale counterpart only a few miles away in the center ofThe Hague . There was the Hall of Knights, the Court Lake, the quadrangle of the inner court, and dozens of buildings. They stopped again at a replica of Oost-Voorne Castle, built in the year 1000 on the island of Voorne , then went on to an old fishing harbor which the Dutch called New Harbour because it was rather recent, having been built about a.d .
1600.
“It’s incredible,” Scotty stated. He waved an arm at the miniatureHolland . “How did it come to be built?”
Rick replied, “According to myLeiden pals, the original money was supplied by a family named Maduro
. Dutch, but they live inCuracao , that Dutch island in theWest Indies . They gave the money in memory of their son. He was an officer in the Dutch Hussars in the Second World War. I guess he did something heroic and got decorated. Then, later, he was captured by the Germans and died in the horror camp at Dachau . So this is his monument. The profits are used to aid Dutch students suffering from tuberculosis.”
“Quite a monument,” Scotty observed.
They walked along the street to a canal and stopped to look at the ancient, patrician houses, so much like those they had seen near the Five Flies.
“It makes one feel like Gulliver in Lilliput ,” Rick said as he put his finger casually on the chimney of a Page 17
five-story house. The next instant the chimney brick exploded under his finger. For a moment he stared, stunned, then he yelled, “Down!”
Scotty hit the pavement at the same moment Rick did. He twisted sideways and looked at Rick. “I heard a sharp crack. Was it-?”
“It was,” Rick said grimly. “Sounded like an air gun. The slug hit the chimney directly under my finger.”
They were protected by the ranks of houses unless they stood up, but they couldn’t lie in a miniature street all day. Rick considered, then spoke his thoughts aloud. “If your mysterious buddies sent a sniper, they either sent a lousy shot or he didn’t intend to hit me. My hand was outstretched. I’d say the shot was a warning.”
“ Uhuh.A warning to turn ‘It’ over?”
“What else?”
“True.” Scotty rose to his knees and took a quick look over the line of houses. Rick stood up when Scotty did. His skin crawled, expecting to feel the impact of a slug, even though he was sure the shot had only been a warning.
There were other people wandering through the little city, and they all looked like casual tourists. The boys waited, ready to duck again, but there was no further incident.
Rick let his breath out in a long sigh. “Guess it was just a warning, all right.Scotty, that shot kind of took the charm from Madurodam.”
“I agree!” Scotty said feelingly. “Let’s get out of here.” He led the way back toward the gate. “You know, I hoped we had left this stupid business inAmsterdam .”
“Same here.”Rick, like Scotty, was keeping a sharp eye out, but saw no one who was suspicious looking. They crossed the town wall, went through the exit, and walked to their Vespas. As they approached, Rick stopped short.
There was a girl seated on his scooter, a slim, pretty teen-age blonde clad in tailored slacks and a sweater. Her hair was a shade darker than Barby’s, but Rick was reminded strongly of his sister.
“Pretty girl,” Scotty said. “And she’s waiting for us.”
Her wide blue eyes watched them approach. As they came close, she slid from the scooter and stood up. Her eyes went over Rick, then focused on Scotty.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you ready to turn it over, Mr. Donald Scott?”
Rick looked at Scotty. His pal’s jaw sagged a little in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Turn what over?”
One loafer-clad foot tapped impatiently.“The information, of course.”
“What information?”
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The girl spoke flawless English, with a faint British accent. “Look, Mr. Scott, don’t play games. That air-pistol shot was a warning, to let you know how easy it would be to put you down.”
“Did you fire it?” Rick asked.
“No. I’m that good with a rifle, but not with a pistol. How about it, Mr. Scott? Do you give, or do you get into real trouble?”
“What kind of trouble?” Scotty demanded.
The girl shrugged. “My friends play rough. And they want that information.”
Scotty grinned. “I’d like to oblige, but I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t any information.”
The girl shrugged again, and walked off. She paused after a few steps and looked back, her blue eyes troubled. “Are you going to hold out?”
“I have to,” Scotty said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All right.Lots of luck.”She walked briskly away.
Rick watched until she disappeared behind a row of parked cars. “Suppose we should have held her and called the police.”
“I thought of it,” Scotty admitted. “But we’d have lost. She must have friends close by, and if she struggled and yelled, we’d have been swamped by friends and bystanders. Who wouldn’t come to the rescue of a pretty girl?”
“True,” Rick said. “Only we’d better report this to Inspector Vandiveer.”
By the time they worked out the intricacies of the Dutch public telephone system, with the aid of a helpful passer-by, considerable time had passed, and the inspector’s line was busy. They walked the streets ofThe Hague for a half-hour, then tried again. The inspector was out. They walked through the Chambers of Parliament, the originals of those seen at Madurodam, then tried again. This time they got Vandiveer. He listened to Scotty’s story, then commented:
“An interesting development.It shows clearly that our assumption of mistaken identity was wrong. You agree?”
“Not necessarily,” Scotty replied. “Perhaps they had no name, and got mine from the hotel.”
“Before or after your room was searched?No, Mr. Scott. The probabilities are against it. I have been uneasy about this since yesterday. Why choose you out of all the American tourists inAmsterdam ?”
Rick had been listening, his ear close to Scotty’s. “Makes sense,” he whispered.
“We’re with you, Inspector. But I still don’t know what this is all about. I have nothing anyone could want.”
“Well, someone thinks you have-you and not some unknown stranger. Are you returning toAmsterdam Page 19
?”
“We can come back any time. We planned to spend a couple of days in the south.”
“Well, don’t change your plans, but do stay out of dark
alleys. And if anyone contacts you again, as I’m sure someone will, say that you are willing to give them what they want if they’ll tell you what and where it is, and how you were supposed to have obtained it. Agreed?”
“Yes,” Scotty said.
“Very well.And keep in touch. I would offer a bodyguard, but I think that would be futile. You will not be harmed from a distance, I’m sure. It would be silly to shoot you, because it would destroy any chance of recovering this mysterious information. And if you watch yourselves, you will not get into situations where you can be taken physically. If you should, tell them what you know and don’t know. Don’t try to hold out. Be completely honest and they may be convinced. Also, you may pick up some leads that will help me get them.”
As they walked throughThe Hague , keeping to the main streets, Rick dwelt on the mystery. “Of course the inspector was right. It would be futile to assign a bodyguard. At least it would be from his point of view.”
Scotty chuckled. “Meaning that we continue as bait until something definite happens? A bodyguard would keep the cats away from the mice.”
“That’s the idea. Are you getting hungry?”
“Yes,” Scotty replied promptly.
They had breakfasted late and skipped lunch. Now it was approaching dinnertime. Rick took out his notebook and checked. “There’s a restaurant my friends atLeiden recommended. Saur’s. It must be near here.”
It was not far from the Chambers of Parliament and the American Embassy. Saur’s was upstairs in an old building, the entrance marked by a neon sign in the shape of a lobster. They dined on fillet ofRhineRiver salmon wrapped in fillet ofNorth Sea sole, poached and covered with Rearnaise sauce, with white asparagus on the side. It was superb food, better even than the Five Flies. Then, well-fed and happy, they made their way back to the Youth Hostel.
For a while Rick read the literature they had picked up during the day, written for tourists in English, Dutch, German, and French, then washed and got into bed. It was early, but he was tired. He drifted off into a sound sleep. Scotty was already asleep in the top bunk.
Rick awoke with a feeling of acute danger. He opened his eyes and blinked at daylight flooding through the window, then he gasped. Bending over him was a skinny youth with long, dirty blond hair and a skimpy beard. He wore a black leather jacket, and black shirt open at the neck with dirty T-shirt showing. In his hand was what Europeans called a flick-knife, known inAmerica as a switchblade. The knife was held at Rick’s throat.
