by John Blaine
Her blue eyes flashed. “I am not! I never have been. I hate my uncle. I hate him! I’m glad the police have him. Besides, he is not really my uncle. I think he is what you call a second cousin.”
“Then why did you stay with him?” Scotty demanded. “Why didn’t you go home to your folks? Or don’t you have any folks?”
“Of course I have folks.” Gretchen smiled at him. “But it is not easy to go home. I live inSouth Africa .”
“You’re not Dutch?” Rick exclaimed.
“Not really. My grandparents were Dutch. You would call them Boers. They leftHolland forSouth Africa after the First World War. That is, my mother’s parents did. My father’s parents were born inAfrica . His grandfather fought for Oom Paul Kruger during the Boer rebellion.”
“That’s why you have a bit of English accent,” Rick observed. “It’s really a South African accent.”
“Yes,” Gretchen assented. “My Dutch isn’t very good. The only reason I can understand it so well is that we speak Afrikaans as well as English at home, and that’s kind of a corrupted Dutch. But my accent is poor when I speak. The girl students laugh at me, but the boys think the way I speak is charming.”
Rick grinned. He could imagine.
“Where are you a student?” Scotty asked.
“At theRijksmuseumArtSchool.That is why I am inHolland . It is the only art school I wanted to go to.
My parents wouldn’t let me come without family connections, so they sent me to my uncle. That is what mother told me to call him, even if he is not her brother. She said it would make him feel good, to have a pretty girl be his niece.”
Rick thought the cherubic little demon probably couldn’t have cared less.
“I found out he was some kind of illegal within a week or two,” Gretchen continued. “But I didn’t care, just so I could go to art school.” She added, “I’m a very promising artist.”
Very confident of her good looks and talent, Rick thought. Well, why not?
“Did you get along with him?” Scotty wanted to know.
“No. He was cold and cruel. When I would bring home a painting everyone thought was very good, he would grunt and call it a messy daub. Once, when I got sick, he told me to get out of bed and stop malingering. I did. I went to school, but I had a high fever. A boy I like took me home to his mother, and she kept me in bed and treated me for three days. Then, when the boy brought me home, Rokin had Kurt beat him up. I wanted to leave, but if I did I couldn’t stay at school. I wanted to kill him sometimes, Page 72
too. Maybe I would have, if the police hadn’t taken him.” She smiled charmingly. “He made a mistake when he tangled with you two. I wish you had drowned him, Rick.”
“It was almost the other way around,” Rick told her.
Scotty demanded, “If you’re such a bloodthirsty creature, why didn’t you shoot Sidneye when he was chasing me with that hook?”
Gretchen shrugged. “Oh, I knew you could take him, even with your hands tied. He is too slow and stupid to get out of his own way. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
Scotty smiled weakly. “I wish I’d had your confidence.”
“If he had killed you, I would have shot him,” Gretchen assured him earnestly.
Scotty stared. “That’s nice,” he managed.
“I’ve never shot a man,” the girl confided. “But I’m a good hunter. My father taught me. He’s a game warden inKrugerNational Park . Once I went with him after a wounded rhino some fool had hit with a truck. He let me kill it. He said rhinos are much harder to kill than a man.”
“I suppose he’s right,” Scotty admitted.
Rick decided it was time to change the subject. “How did you get involved in Rokin’s operations?”
“Oh, I didn’t.Not very much. Once or twice he had me carry messages, and he sent me with Duif, that’s his nickname; it means ‘pigeon’-to talk to you inThe Hague . We followed you in our Saab. I didn’t like it, because I don’t like Duif. He smells. Only when I met you, I told my uncle I wouldn’t mind taking some more messages to Mr. Scott, so I did.”
Scotty turned pink. “Duif is the dirty one with the stringy beard?”
“Yes. He is a good shot, and he leads the dickey boys, the motorcycle mob.” She smiled happily. “I was so glad when I found out you had won the fight. Duif told my uncle how you knocked his men down the stairs and off the windmill, and some were badly hurt. My uncle was furious. He beat Duif. I wish he had climbed the windmill so you could have broken his back, but he is too cowardly to take chances.”
Rick stared. He had heard bloodthirsty utterances before this, but never delivered so calmly and with a smile by a pretty girl.
There was an interruption. The police guard rose and faced the door, ready. Inspector Vandiveer came in. With him were two other officers in plain-clothes, and a tall, attractive woman in her late thirties or early forties. He introduced her as Police Matron Gertrude Lieber, and told Gretchen he was turning her over to the matron.
“Am I arrested, Inspector?” Gretchen asked, wide-eyed.
“No, dear,” the matron replied. “Not yet. I must ask you some questions, and then we will see. The inspector tells me that Mr. Scott has spoken in your behalf. I believe you picked up a pistol and protected him from one of your uncle’s men. That is very much in your favor. Tomorrow we will decide when we see the magistrate. Now, you come with me. My car is downstairs. We will get you some clean Page 73
clothes and take you to Central.”
“Will I spend the night in jail?” Gretchen asked. She might have used the same tone of voice in asking,
“Shall I bring a toothbrush?”
Matron Lieber smiled.“No, my dear. You spend tonight with me at the women’s police duty quarters. It will be comfortable. Now come, please.”
“All right.”Gretchen turned and smiled at the boys. “Good night, Rick and Scotty.And good night, Inspector. I’m sure we’ll meet again tomorrow.”
“Indeed we will,” Inspector Vandiveer said. “Good night.”
Gretchen left with the matron, chatting excitedly. Scotty grinned at Rick and shook his head.
Rick chuckled. “I want to see what you say about Gretchen when you write to Barby.”
“She’d never believe it,” Scotty replied.
Inspector Vandiveer said, noncommittally, “Pretty girl. She seems nice.”
Rick said tactfully, “Yes, she does seem nice.” He reserved further comment, and Scotty said nothing at all.
“How about getting into your clothes?” Vandiveer suggested. “It’s time we got to work. Feel up to watching a bit of wall-cracking?”
“You bet!” Scotty was first up. He tested the clothes. They were still slightly damp but wearable. He shed his blanket and got dressed. Rick was right with him.
Vandiveer said something in a language that didn’t sound like Dutch. Rick asked, “What was that?”
“Indonesian for ‘Brick five up, three out.’”
Their note had given Vandiveer the message, but only in English. “How did you know it was in Indonesian?” Scotty demanded.
“I stopped to phone Van der Klaffens on my way fromRotterdam toAmsterdam . You see, you had said you were dining with him, and I wanted to check on your safety. I suspected that he, as a friend, might know things you hadn’t told my officers.”
“Like the nature of the message?” Rick asked.
“Yes. There had to be one, and I had confidence in you. Once you accepted the idea that Scott did carry a message, I knew you would get to work and dig it out. Anyway, after I called Klaffens I phoned my office and the desk sergeant said you had sent a message. I had him read it, then ordered a squad to proceed to this address at once, and I would join them. I broke every speed record inEurope , and got here just as they arrived. It had taken time to assemble a squad and cars, you see. We do not have the facilities of your police departments.”
The boys were dressed now. “Come on.” Vandiveer led the way to the cellar,
the two plainclothes-men Page 74
following. At the first-floor landing the men picked up a tool kit and two big lights.
Rick flexed his arms as they walked to the wall that held Van Hooch’s secret. His wrists and elbows still hurt from being tied. His nose hurt, too, and his legs were so weary he wasn’t sure how long he could stand up. But he felt fine. “Quite different from the last time we were down here,” he observed.
“I wouldn’t have given a wooden guilder for our chances,” Scotty agreed.
Vandiveer counted five up and three out after Rick told him which wall Rokin had counted from. The inspector pointed to the right brick, and his men got to work. From the toolbox they brought out a battery-powered drill and fitted a tungsten-tipped bit into place. One man held a light and the other manned the drill. A hole was made in the brick, then a second hole and a third.
The tool was returned to the box and another drill-like tool was taken out, and a small chisel of hardened steel fitted into it. The battery-powered tool was an electric hammer. The chisel drove into the brick between the holes with no trouble at all. In less than ten minutes the brick was in pieces. The men pried the pieces out with curved pieces of steel tools obviously made for such jobs.
Then the men stepped back. One said something in Dutch.
“There it is!” Vandiveer translated.
Rick and Scotty crowded close as the inspector went to the wall. In a hole behind the brick was a shiny rectangle, the face of a box protected by a thick plastic coating.
“Get it out,” Vandiveer ordered in Dutch, then translated for the boys.
The helpers produced a tool that looked like huge forceps with flattened ends. With infinite care they worked the ends in at the edges of the box, then gripped, and pulled straight out. The box came free.
One handed it to the inspector. It wasn’t a large box. It might just fit into a cigar box at home, Rick thought. He was itching with curiosity.
“Shall we open it?” he asked.
“Certainly.But let’s go upstairs where it’s a bit more comfortable.” He issued instructions in Dutch. The helpers closed the toolbox and led the way.
Inspector Vandiveer placed the box on Rokin’s desk.
“Have you any idea what’s in it?” Scotty queried.
The inspector shook his head. “Not with any certainty. I have a suspicion, and I hope it is the correct one. But shall we see?”
“Yes,” both boys said at once.
The inspector grinned.“Very well.” He motioned to the helpers and stepped back.
One of the men took a knife with a short, very sharp blade from the toolbox. Another helper carefully cut through the plastic covering, following the lines of the box. Then he peeled the protective covering off.
The box was wooden, and Rick thought it looked like teak.
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The helper examined it, then lifted the top. A layer of cotton batting met their eyes.
The helper stepped back. Inspector Vandiveer reached over and carefully raised the layer of cotton.
Rick gasped in amazement. Jade! Pure, translucent jade, of the deepest, most beautiful green he had ever seen. The jade pieces formed a necklace, each piece in a setting of pure, gleaming gold.
Vandiveer sighed deeply. “Suspicion confirmed.”
“What is it?” Scotty asked. His voice was hushed.
The inspector took the magnificent necklace out of the box and held it up. “An incredible thing, isn’t it?”
He touched one of the lovely stones, with reverence.
“This necklace was given to a Maharanee of Bali centuries ago, long before your continent was discovered. It was given to her as a testimony to her great beauty by the Maharajah of Travancore. This Indonesian queen was the pearl ofAsia , of such extraordinary loveliness that the princes ofIndia and other countries made fantastic gifts just to attend her court so they could see her. This necklace is worth a king’s ransom even today. I wouldn’t dare guess at its value. But let’s see. There is one other possibility.”
Vandiveer peeled back another layer of cotton wool, disclosing a small bundle of golden silk. He picked it up andunwrapped the silk. A single gem lay in his hand.
Rick stared. It was green, cut like an emerald, but it was not an emerald. The color was lighter, and the sparkle was different. It reflected and refracted light like a diamond, but of course it couldn’t be a diamond-could it? Rick thought. The size was too great. The longest dimension of the gem was nearly three inches. Yet, diamonds weren’t all white. The Hope diamond was blue, the Tiffany diamond was yellow.
He asked hesitantly, “Is it ... ?”
“Yes. It’s a diamond. The legendary Crown of Coromandel , given to our lovely queen by the Nizam of Hyderabad.”
Scotty asked, “May I hold it?”
Vandiveer smiled. “I think you’ve earned the privilege.”
Scotty took the gem and studied it. “I can’t see a flaw in it. I’ll bet it’s worth more than the jade necklace.”
“I don’t think so,” Vandiveer disagreed. “Colored diamonds aren’t as highly prized as pure whites or blues of the same size. I think they’re probably worth about the same, if one can put a price on such treasures.”
“Anyway,” Scotty observed, “Barby would love it.”
“My sister,” Rick explained to the inspector. He knew that Jan would prefer the jade. Aloud, he asked,
“Why did you suspect that the treasure might be these?”
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Vandiveer was rummaging through the box. There was nothing else in it. “A policeman’s long memory,”
he explained. “These jewels belonged to the Queen of theNetherlands , but they were kept in theDutch East Indies as a royal gesture to the people of the islands. On special occasions they were displayed to the public at the governor’s headquarters. Then, when the revolution came, the jewels vanished. Our intelligence services were able to find out only that they had been smuggled out of theEast Indies . Rilke van Hooch had disappeared at the same time, although there was no evidence to connect him with the jewels-except the fact that he specialized in jewel thefts. He was questioned, but it came to nothing.
There was no evidence at all, only the suspicious minds of the Dutch police. One can’t arrest a man for a crime on so little.”
“So when you read in our note that Van Hooch had planted the message, you remembered the old business,” Rick finished.
“Yes. Obviously Van Hooch had kept the jewels hidden all these years simply because such distinctive gems are very hard to sell. No dealer in stolen goods would touch them, because he couldn’t find a buyer. I suppose Van Hooch could have broken up the necklace and sold the individual pieces, but I think he had a genuine love of jewels besides profiting from their theft, and he wouldn’t want to destroy the beauty of the necklace.”
“Couldn’t he have had the diamond cut into smaller pieces?” Scotty asked.
“Yes, but the appearance of a number of green diamonds with no legitimate source would have attracted unpleasant attention. It is not a common color. I think he preferred to keep them, maybe enjoying them like a miser with a hoard of gold.”
“Rokin knew he had them,” Rick guessed. “But Van Hooch probably refused to give away the location.
Then, when he realized that his heart was giving out, he used Scotty for a messenger.”
“Yes,” Vandiveer agreed. “It must have been like that. He had had several minor heart attacks, and the one atOrly must have been sufficiently different and more painful so that he probably realized he was finished. So he did the only thing he could, short of having his secret die with him.”
“What will happen to the jewels now?” Rick asked.
“Tomorrow my chief will notify the Prime Minister, who will undoubtedly notify Her Majesty. They will end up with the Dutch crown jewels.”
Vandiveer gazed at the lovely things. “Rather a pity. The jade would look much better on my wife.” He grinned sud
denly. “I can’t help thinking that these objects were taken from their original owners, the descendants of the lovely Maharanee, by threat if not by force. But that was the way of empires in those days and nowHolland hasn’t much empire left to help support the homeland. Someday these jewels may help support the value of the guilder in the international money market, so as a loyal subject of the queen, I should be happy.”
“You’re thinking what I am,” Scotty said. “These shouldn’t be hidden in a vault. They were made to be worn by pretty girls. But that’s not the way the world goes. Anyway, I’d much ratherhave the queen get them than see old Rokin gloating over them . . .”
“And us,” Rick finished.
Vandiveer laid the jewels back in their box. He said soberly, “Amen to that!”
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CHAPTER XX
End of a Group
Inspector Vandiveer picked the boys up at the hotel and eyed them critically. “You look none the worse for wear,” he said finally, “except for Rick’s nose. Are you sure it isn’t broken?”
“No, just swollen and sore.I won’t be sticking it into anybody’s business for a while, that’s for sure.”
“How’s my pal Sidneye?” Scotty asked.
“Sick. The hospital confirmed a ruptured diaphragm. Be glad you didn’t have hard-toed shoes on. It might have been embarrassing.”
“I know,” Scotty agreed. “It’s no fun damaging people, but he didn’t give us any choice. He’d have killed me with that hook and enjoyed doing it.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing you,” Inspector Vandiveer said.“On the contrary. Don’t be so sensitive. I’m delighted you two knew personal combat techniques well enough to get out of a bad jam.”
“How’s Gretchen?” Rick wanted to know.
Vandiveer grinned. “Enjoyingherself thoroughly. She and Matron Lieber have become great friends.
You’ll see her in court.”
The courtroom was in an ancient stone building typical of courthouses the world over-dusty, impregnated with the odor of thousands of cigars, shabby, decorated with portraits of judges and magistrates long departed, but somehow impressive. The courtroom was clean; the benches of worn, polished oak. The magistrate wore a white wig that sat like an abandoned bird’s nest on his head. He peered at the boys through half-spectacles as they came in, and nodded at Vandiveer.
