The Deadly Dutchman

by John Blaine

  The porter knocked again, then tried the knob. The door opened slightly. The porter asked, “ Mijnheer Scott?” There was no answer. The man pushed the door wide open.

  Rick gasped. He rushed inside and surveyed the wreckage of a once-comfortable room. Every dresser drawer was out and upside down. Scotty’s suitcase was lying open on the floor; his clothes were in a crumpled heap in the closet. Even the bed linens had been pulled off and the mattresses dumped from the twin beds.

  The boy searched frantically, his heart pounding with fear. Theroom, the closet, the bath-all were empty.

  There was no one in the room, either dead or alive.

  CHAPTER III

  Scotty’s Tale

  The porter ran. Rick found himself alone in the ransacked room, his heart still in his throat and fear for Scotty erasing all else from his mind. What had happened? Scotty could only have been inAmsterdam for a couple of hours. How could something like this have developed?

  At least Scotty wasn’t dead or unconscious in the torn-up room, which meant that he was probably very much alive and on the trail of the prowler. Rick calmed down a little and made himself think clearly.

  The room was in pretty bad shape, but only because a hurried searcher had dumped everything on the Page 7

  floor. There was no evidence of a fight-no chairs overturned, nothing broken, no blood. Similarly there was no evidence that Scotty had been in the room while it was ransacked. But if he had gone out, the porter would have seen him. Unless . . .

  Rick ran to the hallway and checked the glass-paneled door. Sure enough, it was a flight of stairs. And it was not in sight of the porter’s desk. Scotty could have gone out that way. But he would use the normal method, taking the elevator, unless some emergency developed. If he had gone down the stairs, it probably meant that he was after the prowler.

  Rick returned to the room and began a methodical search. He picked up a drawer and saw a wallet under it. Scotty’s! Rick had given it to him as a birthday present. Bills projected from it, as though pulled out and carelessly stuffed back in again. He frowned. Scotty wouldn’t have left his wallet so messed up.

  But if the prowler hadn’t taken good American dollars, what had he wanted?

  The porter, a heavy-set strange man, and a uniformed police officer arrived in a body, and the quiet was suddenly shattered by a spate of Dutch unintelligible to Rick. The stranger turned out to be the manager, whose English was fluent enough, but so heavily accented that Rick had trouble understanding him. It appeared that the manager was desolated that such a thing could have happened in his hotel. Someone would pay. And where, please, was Mr. Scott?

  “I don’t know,” Rick replied. “He is gone. I don’t know where.”

  “ Ja ,” the manager agreed. “Please, where do you say Mr. Scott go?”

  “I don’t know,” Rick repeated patiently.

  The policeman had a smattering of English. He tried to be helpful. “Heask , where go Mijnheer Scott, hein ?”

  The porter spoke rapidly in Dutch, and the faces of manager and policeman cleared. “Ah.Mr. Scott not here, /a?” the manager queried.

  “True,” Rick agreed. “Mr. Scott is not here.”

  “False,” a voice disagreed from the doorway. “Mr. Scott is here.”

  Rick let out his breath with a prolonged sigh of relief. He shook hands with his pal. “I was scared, Scotty. Where were you?And why the shambles?”

  “I was after the guy who did this,” Scotty explained. “He ran down the stairs and out the back, and I lost him in the alleys. I searched, but he had vanished.”

  The manager and the policeman wanted to know what was going on. They had obviously missed Scotty’s explanation. Scotty spoke to the porter. “Explain, Piet. I started out to meet Mr. Brant at the station. You remember? I got to your desk, and found I hadn’t taken my wallet. I came back to get it, and the prowler was tearing the room apart. How long did we talk?”

  “Maybe five minutes, Mr. Scott,” the porter said in good English.

  “We were talking about the canals,” Scotty explained to Rick. “I had written some notes home, and reached for my wallet to get money for stamps, and realized I had left it in the room. In those few minutes Page 8

  the prowler came in and wrecked the place. I walked in on him. He jumped and caught me by surprise.

  He went right over me and ran down the stairs. I went after him. “Piet, the porter, translated for the manager and the policeman. The policeman asked, “He steal?”

  “I don’t know,” Scotty replied. “I didn’t have a chance to check. I suppose he got away with my wallet.

  It was in plain sight on the dresser.”

  Rick held it up.“Nope. It was on the floor under a drawer.”

  Scotty’s brows creased. “Funny. He must have dropped it when I walked in on him.”

  The policeman had his notebook out, and made it clear with help from Piet that he wanted a description of the prowler.

  Scotty summed it up briefly. The surprise of finding a prowler in the room hadn’t impaired his powers of observation.

  “Height five-nine, weight about a hundred and sixty-five, light-blue eyes, reddish-brown hair getting thin on top, gold tooth upper right, scar across bridge of nose-not very prominent, dressed in blue gabardine, light-blue shirt, black tie, black shoes. Not shabby. Hair cut neatly. Heavy gold ring with a black stone on middle finger left hand. That’s all.”

  The policeman finally got it all down, Piet translating while the manager scowled. Rick realized that the fact the porter spoke far better English than the manager was not according to protocol. The manager didn’t like being shown up in front of guests.

  The policeman and the hotel manager left, with promises that the culprit would be tracked to earth and suitably punished-promises that the boys accepted with a grin. Piet called the housekeeper on the phone, then started putting the room in order.

  Scotty grinned at Rick. “Welcome to the Hotel Regina.”

  “It was an upsetting welcome,” Rick admitted. “What do you suppose the prowler was after?”

  “Money.Only why didn’t he take it? He pulled the bills out, then shoved them back in again.”

  “Maybe he heard you coming and was planning to shove wallet and all into his pocket,” Rick ventured.

  “Only you came into the room too fast for him. Wasn’t the door locked?”

  “I locked it when I left. He must have used a passkey. I put my key in the lock when I returned, and the door opened while I was turning it.”

  “He heard your key,” Rick said.

  “Sure. He must have. Only why drop the wallet? He could have held onto it and charged me with it in his hand. But he didn’t. It doesn’t add up.”

  “Look,” Rick said sensibly. “He must have been after money and valuables. Why try to inflate a simple robbery into a mystery? He probably watched you leave from down the hall somewhere, then used a master key and went through the room like a tornado, not knowing how long you’d be gone. That lock is older than Father Time himself. You could get a key to fit it at any hardware store. And I’ll bet the back Page 9

  door downstairs isn’t locked at all by day.”

  “It locks,” Scotty disagreed.“An old spring lock. When I came back in I used a nail file. So technically you’re wrong, but actually you’re right. For all practical purposes, the door is unlocked. I guess it must have happened the way you said. Only why didn’t he stuff the money into his pocket when he had it out of the wallet?”

  Rick shook his head.“Probably nervous. Heard you coming and got rattled. Look, if you blow this up into a mystery instead of a simple robbery, you’ll complicate our lives. We’re here to have a vacation, remember?”

  “Wow!” Scotty stared in amazement. “Is this Richard Brant, young detective, who can’t let a mystery rest?”

  “I just don’t think it’s much of a mystery,” Rick insisted stubbornly. Having taken that position, he stuck to it. Only deep down inside, h
e was as puzzled as Scotty. Why hadn’t the prowler taken the money?

  CHAPTER IV

  The Five Flies

  After the room was cleaned up, the boys sprawled on the newly made beds and talked. The prowler was forgotten in the exchange of news about events since they had parted atKennedyInternationalAirport

  .

  Rick described the conference, his new friends, and the meeting atLeiden . Scotty responded with details of day-by-day life at Spindrift, and produced a long letter from Jan and a shorter one from Barby that he had brought with him. They talked until the built-in alarm in Rick’s stomach told him it was time for food.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Aye aye .This will be my first meal inHolland . How’s the chow?”

  “Depends on the place.Some of it’s great, and some is punk.”

  “Just h’ke home,” Scotty observed.

  “I have the name of a place inAmsterdam the gang atLeiden recommended very highly. It’s on a street called Spuistraat . And if you think that’s bad, wait until you hear the name of the restaurant.” Rick grinned at his friend.

  “Okay. Out with it.”

  “ D’Vijff Vlieghen.”

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  “Meaning?”

  “The Five Flies.”

  Scotty got up and stretched. “This I have to see. Who are the five flies?Waiters or cooks?”

  “Beats me.We’ll find out when we get there. Anyway, it’s very famous.Been in business continually since the year 1627.”

  “They should have learned to cook pretty well in three and a half centuries,” Scotty agreed. “Do you know how to get there?”

  “Sure.” Rick pulled out a map that had been marked for him atLeiden . “We take a streetcar in front of the hotel, go down Damrak Straat until we get to theRokinCanal , then get off and walk about four blocks down Spui , and when we see the SingelCanal we turn right and there it is.”

  “Simple,” Scotty observed with a grin.

  “Very.” Rick took a booklet from his pocket. “And if we get lost, I speak Dutch according to the Hugo’s Simplified System. It says it’s Indispensable to tourists.Imitated pronunciation throughout.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I haven’t tried it yet,” Rick admitted. “So far, I’ve had English-speaking guides.”

  Scotty chuckled.“Lots of luck.”

  They washed up, put on coats, and followed directions. Rick had ridden streetcars with hisLeidenUniversity friends, and he led the way and paid the fare like an old hand. But they missed the first stop at theRokinCanal , and got off a block later at a street Rick’s map identified as Helige Weg .

  Following the map, they turned right on Handboogstraat and emerged on Spui within sight of the Singel Canal . It was an interesting walk. The houses were large, and very old, some almost hidden by enormous trees. This part of town had once been occupied by wealthy Dutch burghers, perhaps giants of commerce in the days of sailing ships. Now many of the big houses had been converted to business offices, most of them occupied by professional people like lawyers and doctors.

  The Five Flies, as they soon saw, were five houses, all very old. Inside, they found that the houses’

  interiors were connected, forming a single restaurant. It was a delightful place, made up of a series of rooms with heavy, age-stained beams overhead, genuine leather covering the walls, ancient ship’s lanterns giving soft light, and relics ofHolland ’s great days as a sea power all around. The boys were seated at a massive oaken table in a room in which the fronts of vast wine barrels formed one wall. Each barrel, which Rick remembered was properly called a “ tun,” was nearly five feet in diameter. The spigots were shining brass; the hoops of gleaming copper.

  Scotty was hungry. He decided on huzarensla , a salad made of cold boiled beef, hard-boiled eggs, and beetroot served as an appetizer, then the famed Dutch groentesoep -a soup made from every imaginable kind of fresh vegetable. Rick settled for an appetizer of tiny Baltic shrimps, lettuce, and a dressing called garnalenmayonaise . For an entree, Scotty chose blinde vink -sliced veal stuffed with minced veal and covered with bacon. Rick, who loved the tasty miniature shrimp, chose a garnomelet , an omelet stuffed with the delicious tidbits.

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  The famous restaurant lived up to its advance billing. The food was excellent. They topped off the meal with generous portions of a whipped-cream pastry that was rich and delicious, but unpleasantly named slagroomgebdk . It sounded unpleasant, anyway, Rick observed.

  It was late when they emerged from the Five Flies. But the night was cool and pleasant, and Rick agreed with Scotty’s suggestion that they walk back to the hotel. There were few people on the street. Showing off one of his few newly acquired words of Dutch, learned from hisLeiden friends, Rick observed, “Not many voetgangers out tonight.” He pronounced it correctly as “ footgahngers.”

  “Even I can understand that,” Scotty said with a grin. “ Footgangersequals footgoers , equals pedestrians.”

  “Right.That’s A for tonight’s Dutch lesson.”

  “Here come two. We are not alone.”

  Rick had noticed the two, standing under a tree. He had seen them as he and Scotty emerged from the restaurant. Now the two were walking toward them. They met under a huge linden tree and the men blocked their path. They were big men, well dressed but with tough faces. One of them spoke to Scotty.

  “Where is it?”

  Scotty asked, “Where is what?”

  The speaker grabbed the boy by the coat lapels and pulled. “You know what I mean. Where is it?”

  Scotty objected to being manhandled. He brought his arms up sharply, breaking the man’s hold, then followed through with a jab to the solar plexus. The man doubled up, but recovered instantly, swinging a big fist that Scotty evaded.

  Rick had stared for a fraction of a second, then realized he had better take a hand. The second man was half a head taller than Rick, and nearly fifty pounds heavier. Rick knew he couldn’t fight on equal terms.

  He launched himself like a charging lineman, shoulder first into the man’s stomach. It was like hitting the side of a two-ton steer. The man had seen what was coming, and braced. Rick bounded off like a BB

  shot from the side of a blimp, and as he fought for balance, a fist like a wooden maul descended onhis head. He kept going down, onto the pavement.

  Hollandwhirled dizzily around Rick. He managed to get to his hands and knees, then fell sideways. He realized vaguely that scuffling figures were doing a wild dance around him, and he heard a dull smack, like a baseball hitting the catcher’s mitt. Heels caught against his stomach and a ponderous shape crashed down next to Rick.

  From somewhere a million miles away a thin, high skirl sounded, and a fast tapping echoed through Rick’s left ear that was against the pavement. The man on the ground scrambled to his feet, and the tapping was replaced by a pounding, like a herd of buffalo stampeding.

  Rick was hauled to his feet, and Scotty asked anxiously, “Are you all right?” He leaned Rick against a tree.

  A voice called out, “Wat ist ?”

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  Rick shook his head to clear it. A blue-uniformed policeman, club in hand and whistle dangling from his lapel, was approaching at a run. A bit farther down the block another policeman was hurrying to join them. Rick realized the skirl had been the officer’s whistle, and the tapping on the pavement the signaling of his club for help. That meant the herd of buffalo had been the two assailants running off.

  “Two men attacked us,” Scotty said.

  The officer responded with a rapid flow of guttural Dutch. Scotty shook his head helplessly.

  Rick tried another bit of his newly learned Dutch, acquired from hisLeiden friends. “ Spreekt u Engels

  ?”

  The second policeman arrived in time to hear the question. “I speak a little. What go?”

  “We were stopped and attacked by two men,” Scotty said. “They ran when they heard the whi
stle.”

  The two officers conversed. The one who spoke a little English turned to the boys. “Please, you come.”

  “Can you walk?” Scotty asked Rick.

  “Sure. I’m okay, except for the back of my head.” He explored it gingerly. “It feels sore. But I’m not dizzy any more. Let’s go with him.”

  Fortunately the distance was not far. Rick was feeling a bit nauseated from the blow on the back of the head, and his legs weren’t steady. Scotty offered an arm, and Rick took it gratefully. They walked three blocks, around a corner and down the canal to a house that turned out to be precinct offices for the police.

  The precinct house was brightly lighted and cheerful. The boys waited in an anteroom while one of the police officers talked with a higher-ranking officer, and then disappeared for a few moments. He returned with a tall, slender man with gingery hair, a tweed suit, and a beautifully colored meerschaum pipe.

  “I hear you boys ran into some difficulty,” the man said in English that was only faintly accented. “I’m Inspector Klaus Vandiveer. Want to come into my office and tell me about it?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Scotty replied. “My name is Donald Scott, and this is my friend Rick Brant.”

  The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “I am pleased to meet both of you. My office is this way.” He led them to a comfortable room furnished with a neat desk and leather armchairs. Motioning them to chairs, he went to his desk and spoke into an intercom, then returned and sat down in another armchair.

  “I’ve ordered some tea. It will help you to relax.”

  His keen hazel eyes focused on Rick. “You look ill. Are you?”

  “Nothing serious, sir.I took a punch on the back of the head. It kind of jarred my brains loose for a minute.”

  “I see. Suppose you settle back and relax while Mr. Scott describes the circumstances of the punch.”

  Scotty did so, briefly but completely.

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  Inspector Vandiveer puffed a fragrant cloud of smoke from the meerschaum.“Interesting. You are certain you had never seen either of the men before?”