by John Blaine
Scotty had pointed the man out to the attendant, who had hurried to help him.
“He wasn’t on the shuttle,” Scotty finished. “So I guess he didn’t make it.”
“Is that all?” Rick pressed.
Scotty shrugged. “That’s all that was unusual.
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The shuttle was called in another ten minutes or so, and I thought for a second I was going to miss it because my passport case had fallen out of my pocket. But I found it on the floor next to the chair, and .
. .”
He stopped. Rick was already on his feet and running for the closet. Scotty bounced out of bed, too, shaking his head.
“I’m a dope!” he exclaimed.“Holy mackerel!”
Rick emerged from the closet with Scotty’s passport case, taken from his inside breast pocket.
“It has to be,” Rick stated. “You gave him the chance he needed. When you helped him, he swung against you and picked your pocket. Then on his postcard he wrote your name and the flight number and posted it.”
Scotty shook his head. “It won’t wash, Rick. The card was posted inParis . The Group moved in on me that same afternoon inAmsterdam .”
“You’re used to American mails,” Rick said. “We think they’re pretty good until we see how some of the European countries operate. What kind of box was the card posted in?”
“It wasn’t a box. It was a slot.”
“ Uhuh.That means the card probably came toAmsterdam on the same plane with you, and was delivered in the afternoon mail. Ask Piet how often the mail comes.”
“I will. Come on. Let’s see what’s in the passport case, if anything.”
The case contained Scotty’s passport, his World Health Organization vaccination record card, his airline tickets, a stub for the bus trip from the airport to the hotel, a small conversion card for figuring equivalent amounts in American and foreign currencies, and a larger-than-wallet-size color photo of Barby Brant.
There was nothing else.
“There has to be,” Rick said flatly.
Scotty began a minute examination of the many pockets in the passport case, removing every shred of lint or paper.
Rick watched tensely. It was the only thing that made sense. The man atOrlyAirport had touched nothing else. And Rick was sure he knew who that man had been.
In the pocket marked “LandingPass” Scotty found a tiny, crumpled piece of tissue. He smoothed it out while Rick leaned over to see, then they grinned at each other.
“A cigarette paper,” Scotty said with satisfaction.
There were symbols on it, a foreign script of some kind. Rick had seen writing like it before, inIndia .
“It was a Far Eastern flight,” Scotty said slowly. “Do you know where KLM goes in theFar East ?
Among other places?”
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Rick nodded. “Indonesia. He was Dutch, and there are still connections betweenHolland and what used to be theDutch East Indies . Ten to one this is Indonesian script.”
“I wonder why he did it,” Scotty asked. “Why didn’t he call someone? Or wait until his attack was over? He said they only lasted a short time.”
“This one lasted too long,” Rick explained. “There was an item in theLondon Times I looked at inThe Hague . A man who died atOrly had been identified, and the name was so odd I remember it. It was Dutch. The man was a jewel thief by the name of Rilke van Hooch.”
“Rilke,” Scotty said. His eyes were wide with astonishment. “The girl, She didn’t say ‘Rick,’ she said
‘Rilke!’ It has to be!”
“It all fits,” Rick agreed. “It not only has to be, it is!”
CHAPTER XII
The Message
Scotty immediately called the police precinct station. The sergeant who answered said that Inspector Klaus Vandiveer had been called toThe Hague , and was en route that very minute on police business of a confidential nature. The sergeant would try to get a message to the inspector that Mr. Brant and Mr.
Scott had important information, but could not promise quick delivery. The sergeant inquired if there was anything he could do.
There was not. Rick and Scotty agreed that they would not entrust the cigarette-paper message to anyone but the inspector. Nothing could be done except wait until he called.
It was nearly dinnertime. They had a date with Van der Klaffens at the Bali House, but with nearly an hour to kill, they settled down to talk over the discovery of the message in Scotty’s passport case.
“Rilke van Hooch must have been pretty desperate,” Rick said thoughtfully. “The message might never have been found. Why do you suppose he didn’t give a clue to the Group about where he had stashed it?”
“Maybe he didn’t dare,” Scotty replied. “Maybe he was afraid his card might be intercepted. He must have known that the Group would find me and shake me down thoroughly. After all, they didn’t know that I was an innocent messenger who didn’t even know I had a message. Otherwise they’d have grabbed me at once, without all this business of trying to get me to turn it over.”
“I thought you’d made a thorough search of your belongings,” Rick said.
“Well, who would have thought of looking in an empty pocket in a passport case, especially when I was sure I didn’t have anything! I checked the pocket, and it seemed empty, so I didn’t probe inside it for a crumpled piece of tissue.”
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“I wonder why Van Hooch didn’t write a letter and seal it in an envelope,” Rick said. “He could have given them all the dope in a letter.”
“How did he know he’d have to write a letter? He didn’t have paper and envelopes in his pocket, and the only thing sold in the transient waiting room was postcards. He had to improvise. I guess he knew he wouldn’t make it.”
Rick switched subjects. “Do you suppose the inspector went to the capital on business connected with this case?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. He must have a dozen cases working at once.”
“Guess you’re right,” Rick agreed. “Listen, we’d better check the map so we can locate this place where we’re to meet Van der Klaffens.”
He found the address on the Keren GrachtCanal and pointed it out to Scotty. “Shall we walk?”
“Sure. We can keep to well-traveled places with lots of people around. Besides, we’ll have a police escort somewhere behind us. Let’s wash up and get going.”
On the way out they stopped at the porter’s station. Piet was just going off duty. Rick asked, “Piet, if someone mailed a card fromOrlyAirport inParis in the morning when would it be delivered inAmsterdam
?”
Piet answered promptly, “In the afternoon. The mail service is very good. In some parts of the city, like here, we have four or five posts each day.”
As they went down on the elevator, Scotty commented, “That settles it. The card got to the Group not long after I checked into the hotel. They could have located me with a few phone calls. After all, there aren’t many hotels inAmsterdam where foreigners are apt to stay.”
“Were you in the hotel long enough for them to locate you and set up a search before you went out to meet me?”
“Sure. I checked in about two, then took a long shower and sacked out for a while. I didn’t get up and start out to meet you until pretty late.”
They left word with the clerk where they could be reached in case Vandiveer called, then set out for Bali House, keeping to main streets and avoiding alleys. Scotty easily spotted their police escort within a few minutes after leaving the hotel. There were two, he reported, and obviously police officers. He could tell because they wore identical shoes, of a kind that usually went with a uniform. If the Group had tails on the boys, Scotty didn’t spot them.
Bali House turned out to be a converted mansion on the canal, an attractive old place with typicalBali decor, including wallpaper in the ancient batik patterns. Van der Klaffens was waiting for them at a corner table. He greeted them cordially a
nd suggested that they allow him to order. The boys were glad to do so.
They talked at length over numerous courses, starting with delicious hors d’oeuvres, and the Dutchman gave them further details of his exploits with the Phantom Shark, stories they had not heard before. Rick told him that they had given the inspector some of the background, and the Dutchman smiled. “But I Page 42
would have been glad to tell him myself. It is the kind of thing that would amuse him. I will give Vandiveer more details next time he drops in to my shop. He is a fine man and a brilliant policeman. Had he been out in the islands, our little scheme would not have lasted so long.”
They fell silent as the main course began to arrive. It was the famed rysttafel , or rice table, developed by the Dutch inIndonesia . Curried breast of chicken was served on mounds of steaming rice, then covered with nearly two dozen sauces and seasonings. Rick identified fresh-grated coconut, the tiny dried fish known as Bombay duck, fresh ginger, chutney, red peppers, green peppers, pickled peppers, oyster sauce, black-bean sauce, chopped cashew nuts, mango pickles, strips of dried trepang , and pickled banana buds. Then he gave up. When the Indonesian waiters were through serving, their plates were heaped in great mounds. The combination of all the tastes was indescribable, but delicious.
“The world changes,” Van der Klaffens observed as they sipped coffee. “Indonesiawas the home of the rijsttafel . Now that the Dutch have gone from there, one can get a good rijsttafel only inHolland .”
“Let’s not permit the art to vanish,” Rick said with a satisfied grin. “It’s too delicious.”
The Dutchman nodded. “Yes. We will keep the art alive in this country, even if it vanishes from theFar East . But permit me to change the subject. You have not spoken of this mystery of yours. Has Van-diveerfound an answer?”
“No, but maybe we have.” The boys had agreed to trust the Dutchman. Rick nodded to Scotty, who described the incident atOrly and the finding of the message. He produced it from the same pocket where Van Hooch had put it, and handed it to Van der Klaffens.
The Dutchman smoothed it out and said, “How very strange. It is in Indonesian, but it makes little sense-at least to me.”
“Please read it,” Rick urged.
“Of course.It says, ‘Brick five up, three out.’”
“Is that all?” Scotty asked incredulously.
“That is all. ‘Brick five up, three out.’ This means nothing to you?”
“Not a thing,” Rick replied. “I’d guess it’s a location for something. Whatever it is must be hidden behind a brick that’s five up and three out in a wall somewhere in the world.But where?”
“And what?”Scotty added. “I guess we have one clue to that. Rilke van Hooch was a jewel thief, according to the paper Rick read. Maybe it’s a cache of diamonds.”
“And maybe not,” Rick concluded.
Van der Klaffens looked at his watch. “It is time for me to leave for home. I must unpack my shipment of goods tonight and mark up the prices so as to be ready for business in the morning. May I take you to your hotel?”
“No, thank you. We’ll walk off some of this big meal,” Rick replied.
“Inspector Vandiveer is inThe Hague ,” Scotty said. “At least that’s where his office said he had gone.”
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“And you want badly to get in touch with him,” the Dutchman finished. “When I get there I will call around and see if I can locate him.”
“We’ll appreciate it,” Rick said.
They shook hands and parted in front of Bali House, and the boys watched Van der Klaffens drive off in his Volkswagen bus, the back loaded with the parcels he had picked up from his shipping agent. Then they began to walk leisurely to the hotel.
The way led along the canal, past ancient houses, still elegant, although many were no longer used as homes. Rick looked behind them and saw no one. Neither the police nor the Groupwere being obvious about tailing them.
As they passed a narrow break between houses, someone hissed at them. Both boys turned quickly, crouched to flee or fight. In the dimness they saw the girl, beckoning. Her whisper was barely audible.
“Please trust me. Come quickly before the others see.”
The boys hesitated. Rick remembered the sadness on her face as Scotty had let her go in the hotel corridor, and he made a quick judgment. “Go, Scotty.”
They melted into the shadows. She whispered, “Mr. Scott, take my hand. Mr. Brant, take his.” She led them into the darkness of the alley, stopped briefly, and Rick heard the squeal of rusty hinges. She led them through a doorway and stopped long enough to push the door shut. They were in total blackness, now. Rick put a hand out and felt a stone wall.
The girl knew her way perfectly, because she didn’t hesitate. She guided them through blackness to another door, pushed it open, and brought them into a walled garden. They could see faintly in starlight, and the reflected lights of the city.
“We haven’t much time,” she whispered. “I asked him to give you one more chance. I don’t want you hurt. Give me the information, quickly, before the others find us. Please!”
An idea suddenly occurred to Rick. They couldn’t very well give her the message before checking with Vandiveer, but they could give her something that might hold off the wolves until the inspector’s return.
He hoped she didn’t know Pig Latin. He whispered, “ Alsfay opeday. Tell her, Scotty,” knowing that his pal would catch the “false dope” part, but hoping the girl wouldn’t
“Okay,” Scotty said softly. “Your motorcycle gang almost got us today, and we’re tired of this business.
The message is ‘Brick two up, nine out.’”
The girl repeated it softly. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Do you know what it means?”
“No. I don’t really know anything, except that you’ll be caught and tortured. Now I’ll hurry ahead of the others and tell him, and maybe you’ll be safe.”
“Who is “him’?” Rick asked.
“I can’t tell you. He’d kill me. But he’s a nasty, deadly Dutchman. I hope you never meet him.Good-by, Page 44
now.”
“Wait,” Scotty whispered. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Gretchen, Scotty. Good-by.”
“Thanks, Gretchen,” Scotty whispered, and Rick echoed the thanks.
“I hope it works out,” she answered. She pointed toward the back of the house in whose garden they stood. “On the right is a door that will take you out on the canal again. I go another way. Good luck.”
They watched as the girl hurried to the back of the garden and slipped through a small break in a high hedge.
“After her,” Scotty whispered. “I’ll go out front and pull the police and the Group after me. Stick with her and find out where she goes. I’ll be at the hotel.”
“Okay.” Rick hurried after the girl. He moved carefully through the hedge and found himself against a board fence. Feeling with his hands, he found a loose board, tilted it inward, and looked through. There was a sidewalk outside the fence. He looked both ways, and saw the girl nearly a block down the street.
Turning his shoulders sideways, he slipped through, losing a coat button in the process. Then, staying close to the fence, he hurried after her.
Gretchen walked swiftly and steadily toward the waterfront, in the general direction of their hotel but a bit further north. She didn’t look behind her; evidently the idea that she might be followed hadn’t occurred to her. A pretty confident and self-sufficient girl, Rick thought. A good thing she had been attracted to Scotty. He felt a momentary guilt at following her when she had obviously stuck her neck out to help them, but he pushed the thought aside. She was tied up with the Group. The Group was an efficient, ruthless mob that must be brought to justice. Gretchen was undoubtedly no more than a messenger. She could probably be charged only with being a minor part of a gang, maybe an accessory before the fact. If he and Scotty made a plea on her behalf, chances were t
hat Inspector Vandiveer wouldn’t even bother about her. If ... if they ever did find the Group, or figure out the meaning of the message.
The girl moved from the city proper into the warehouse district, where old commercial buildings were backed up to one of the canals. Rick had to go more carefully now. There was danger that his footsteps could be heard, echoing among the buildings on a deserted street. They had left all other traffic behind.
Rick moved from doorway to doorway, always ready to duck into deep shadows if Gretchen looked behind. And he was careful to be silent. The street was lighted only by ancient gas lamps, set far apart.
They did little to break the gloom.
Gretchen turned a corner, and Rick hurried to catch up. Around the corner he passed a vacant lot where a building had been torn down, and he caught a glimpse of a black canal, the water looking oily in the dim light. He wondered how far she would lead him. They must be nearly at the main waterfront by now. It was a good place for a gang hideout, he thought. The area obviously was not a busy one. The buildings were very old and run down. The street was paved with cobblestones; the sidewalk worn brick. He passed under a street light and saw a weathered, painted sign: Mayrant Padding. Filial- lenen Batavia , Soerabaja , Singapore , Penang , Manila , Calicut .
The namesBatavia and Soerabaja hadn’t existed for a quarter of a century. Rick wondered if the firm of Page 45
Mayrant Padding still had branches throughout theFar East and thought the branches had probably been closed long ago.
Ahead, Gretchen walked briskly. Like an athlete, Rick thought. She was quite a girl. He doubted that she was Dutch. Her accent wasn’t at all Dutch; it was more British, with a trace of something else. It made him wonder if the Group was Dutch. But she had spoken of the deadly Dutchman, so it probably was. Anyway, he decided, she would never make a good mob girl. Not if she kept going soft over the fate of the victims.
Suddenly Gretchen turned. Rick faded into the shadow of a brick pillar that ran up the front of the building he was passing. She went into a doorway and Rick was alone on the street. He moved cautiously until he reached the doorway. The door was set in a few feet from the entrance. There was no light.
