The Deadly Dutchman

by John Blaine

  The tour took them through the canals ofAmsterdam . Some were wide, some were narrow, most were dirty. The tour conductor apologized in Dutch, English, German, and French. He explained that at one time the tides had swept the canals clean. But that Dutch land reclamation in what was once called the ZuiderZee had interfered with tidal flow, so the canals were not kept as clean by the tides as they once had been.

  “Just like theHudson River ,” Scotty whispered. Rick grinned.

  Some canals went through old residential districts, with magnificent old houses like those they had seen at Madurodam and near the Five Flies.Others cut through warehouse districts, and towering walls of brick. Massive doors of the old warehouses loomed overhead. The tour conductor explained that ships came into the canals and loaded and unloaded through the high doors.Once the ships had been sailing craft, hauled into the canals by barges with oarsmen. Now the ships were merely lighters which took some cargoes off at the anchorage and brought them to those warehouses still in use. Most ships unloaded at modern docks.

  The tour went through the modern dock area and out into the harbor proper, then back through more canals to the motor launch’s starting point.

  There was ample time to take in a museum. Scotty looked at Rick. “Want to see theold Dutch masters?”

  “I’m an innocent tourist,” Rick said grimly. “I’m going to see the sights. Including theold Dutch masters.

  Who were the old Dutch masters?”

  “Not cigar makers,” Scotty retorted. “Snap out of it, Rick. You look like Damocles waiting for the sword to fall.”

  “I feel like it,” Rick admitted. “Will you be able to relax before you find out what this silly mystery is all about?”

  “No,” Scotty agreed. “But I’m not going to go to bed and sleep, waiting until someone wakes me up with the answer. Let’s go see the great paintings.”

  “Lead on, buddy.” Rick wasn’t as ignorant of painting as he pretended. “Incidentally, we’ll see Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch’ at the Rijksmuseum. Did you notice that we went through the town ofRijn on the way fromDelft to Route 10-E? He was called Rembrandt van Rijn, which means from Rijn, so that must have been his family’s home town.”

  “I noticed,” Scotty admitted, “but I didn’t make the connection. Glad to see your brain is still functioning.”

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  “Slowly,” Rick said, grinning.“And not very productively.”

  It took longer to go through the museum than it had to see the canals. The big old place was filled with spectacular masterpieces, from the luminous, nearly three-dimensional Rembrandt “Night Watch,” which filled a whole wall, to the fleshy, humorous portraits of Frans Hals .

  The hour was late when they emerged, just before the museum closed, and they took a taxi back to the hotel. There was a message from Inspector Vandiveer asking them to phone. When Rick did so, expecting news about tie mystery, it was only to receive an invitation to dinner, which the boys accepted with pleasure. There was an hour to wait. They washed up, then spent the time in the lobby, alternately people-watching and examining the Dutch publications at the cigar stand. If they were being observed by either friend or enemy, they couldn’t identify the watchers.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Night Caller

  Inspector Vandiveer escorted the boys to a nearby basement restaurant, which was unpretentious but served excellent food. Rick kept expecting the police officer to turn the conversation to the current mystery, but Vandiveer talked about everything else.

  Finally the inspector asked about their friendship with Van der Klaffens. Rick and Scotty looked at each other, and the policeman noted their hesitation.

  “My interest is not official,” he assured them. “It happens that I like Van der Klaffens, and I have bought a great many things from him which I prize. We have had many long talks, but I have never asked him about the incident that caused the French police to declare him an undesirable.”

  “Did they do that?” Rick asked. He wasn’t surprised.

  “Yes. He was ordered to leaveNew Caledonia , and to stay away from French territory. Also, the police notified us through Interpol that he was under suspicion of running a bunco game.”

  The inspector’s keen eyes were amused. “I assure you, his record is clear with us. Oh, I know he did some smuggling in his youth when the Dutch still ownedIndonesia , but that is in the past. I’m simply curious. Of course, if you prefer not to tell me . . .”

  “Actually, it’s a good story,” Rick said. “Van der Klaffens stayed within the law, but just barely. It was a highly profitable confidence game, very elaborate. I don’t think he’d mind your knowing. Why didn’t you ask him yourself?”

  Vandiveer smiled.“Dutch reticence. I’m sure he would have told me, but the subject never came up, and I didn’t want to introduce it point-blank. It would not be delicate. You understand, I’m sure.”

  “Of course,” Scotty said. “Tell the inspector the story, Rick. And tomorrow night at dinner we’ll tell Van Page 28

  der Klaffens that we were telling tales about him, just to keep the record straight.”

  “Okay.” Rick related the fantastic tale of the Phantom Shark, and the role it had played in an intricate confidence game that depended on the greediness and lack of scruples of the victim. He concluded,

  “Actually, Van der Klaffens and his partner did nothing illegal. It just wasn’t very ethical.”

  Inspector Vandiveer roared with laughter. “Very ingenious,” he said. “It is what I would have expected from our friend. I got acquainted with him in the process of keeping an eye on him when he first returned toHolland . He has been strictly legitimate, and entirely ethical. And I suspect he finds it more profitable than the shady scheme with the pearls.”

  Dinner ended with no mention of the mystery surrounding Scotty, but Rick was sure that behind the inspector’s friendly, calm face his busy mind was working on it. The hint of Dutch stubbornness in the firm chin told him that Vandiveer wouldn’t let go of the problem until he knew the answer.

  On the way back to the hotel, the inspector suggested that they makeAmsterdam their headquarters for a few days, but not to hesitate to take in the sights. Rick remarked that he and Scotty had enjoyed the Rijksmuseum, but they weren’t really much for museum-trotting.

  “Then why not visitEdam , where the famous cheeses are made? Then go on to Volendam. The people there still wear the old-fashioned Dutch costume, wooden shoes and all. It’s an easy trip by scooter.

  You’ll find both towns on the map, north-northeast ofAmsterdam .”

  It had been a long, busy day, and they were tired. They thanked the inspector, then said good night and went to their room. As they got ready for bed, the phone rang.

  Rick was nearest. He picked it up, thinking the inspector might have forgotten something. “Yes?”

  A cool, faintly accented male voice said, “Now that you have left your police friend, I would like to speak with Mr. Scott.”

  Rick handed Scotty the phone and leaned close to listen.

  “This is Scott.”

  “So.Mr. Scott, I give you your last chance. If you want to save your foolish skin and that of your friend, give the message to the girl. If the message is not written down, write it. Your police friends will not be able to help you if we decide it is necessary to extract the information by force.”

  “Wait,” Scotty said urgently. “What is this message?”

  The cool voice got harsh. “Don’t play the fool, Mr. Scott, or you will become a dead fool.” The line went dead.

  Scotty hung up with a sigh. “So ‘It’ is a message. I wish I knew what message.To whom, from whom?

  I’m baffled, Rick.”

  “Same.” The only thing that was perfectly clear was that the gang was dead certain Scotty carried a message. They didn’t know whether it was verbal or written, but they were sure he had it. Why? Why were they sure?

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  Someone knocked on the d
oor. Scotty got there in one bound and threw it open. The pretty blonde fromThe Hague smiled at them. She looked cute in a hotel maid’s uniform. She held out her hand to Scotty. “Give it to me.”

  Scotty took the outstretched hand and held it. “I haven’t got what you want. This time we’ll let you explain to the police what you’re after.”

  The girl shook her head sadly. “Holding me won’t help. I know nothing. I was only told to ask you for the message. Besides, you can’t hold on to me without hurting me. Also, I’m strong and I’ll fight. You’re not the kind of boys who hurt girls.”

  Scotty grinned. He let her go. “You win.”

  “Please give it to me.” The girl was really pleading now. “Please! If you don’t, you’ll be badly hurt, maybe even killed, both of you. You don’t know that deadly Dutchman! He will torture you until you tell.

  He will!”

  She wasn’t acting. Her blue eyes dimmed with tears as she looked at Scotty.

  “I wish I could,” Scotty told her gently. “Really I do. But I just don’t know what it is.”

  The girl studied him for a long moment, then she said, “I believe you. I’m so sorry, because the Group won’t believe it. Not after Rick’s message.” She turned and ran lightly down the hall to the fire-escape stairs.

  The boys watched her out of sight, then closed the door and stared at each other.

  “What did she mean by after your message?” Scotty asked. “I got no message from you.”

  “I sent none,” Rick said flatly. “Anyway, I gathered that she meant the Group had got the message.”

  “ ‘The Group,’” Scotty repeated.

  “Headed by a deadly Dutchman.”

  “Call Inspector Vandiveer,” Rick suggested. “I’m going to bed. I feel a nightmare coming on.”

  Scotty was already at the phone. Fortunately, Vandiveer had gone back to the precinct station and not to his home. He listened, then promised to call back. Within five minutes he did so. Scotty took the call, thanked the officer, then turned to Rick. “He’s got Central Research tracking down the names, the Group and the deadly Dutchman, but doesn’t think they’ll turn up much, if anything. His men at the hotel saw the girl. They thought she was just a floor maid. One of them tried to make a date with her and got snubbed.”

  Rick grinned sleepily. “Anyway, the Group is organized. They knew the minute we came back from dinner and arrived in our room. They had the girl planted in the most natural get-up possible for a hotel.

  I’ll bet the porter never saw her. She must have used the back stairs coming and going, and she knew exactly where to go and which door to knock on. Any doubts that we’re under close surveillance?”

  “None,” Scotty replied grimly.“None at all.”

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  CHAPTER IX

  The Airport Ploy

  During the early hours of morning, the boys reached a decision. They would allow twenty-four hours for the mystery to be solved, or for the Group to make a move. After that, they would mount scooters and head for the Belgian border. As Rick pointed out, they couldn’t waste their vacations hanging aroundAmsterdam waiting for the mysterious Group to pounce on them.

  The first step was to prepare for light, quick travel. They packed all essentials in their knapsacks, put everything else in their suitcases, and carried them to the lobby. Assuring the clerk that they would spend the night at the hotel, they loaded suitcases on the scooters and headed for SchipholAirport .

  At the ticket counter they checked their suitcases through toNew York , received their baggage stubs, and went into the airport restaurant for breakfast.

  The boys consulted the menu, then looked at each other. Rick grinned. “Out comes Hugo’s Simplified System. I wonder why they don’t print the menu in English.”

  “Maybe because the national language inHolland is Dutch,” Scotty replied. “See if Hugo’s System tells you how to order fried hominy grits with maple syrup.”

  Rick chuckled. “I won’t even bother looking it up. If we can get eggs and sausages I’ll be happy.”

  A man in a porter’s cap approached. He took off the cap and bowed. “ MijhneerBrant? Scott?”

  “That’s right,” Scotty said. “What can we do for you?”

  “There has been a mistake. The clerk, he thought you would go with the bags, neen ? He will fix.

  Please, you give me the checks. I will bring them back ten minutes. He needs to make fix the route, fa ?”

  “How did he make the mistake?” Rick demanded.

  The porter shrugged. “His English is niet so goof. The other clerk, he hears, but he do not wish to make his friend-how you say?-shamed, so he waits until you go, then he tells.”

  It made sense. The clerk had had some difficulty communicating. Probably he had routed the suitcases to the next ready room, whereas they had to be marked “Hold” or “Will Call,” or something like that for the information of people atKennedyInternationalAirport . “Okay,” Rick said. He produced his ticket, and Scotty followed suit.

  The porter took them.“Will not be long. When you finish eating, I will be back.”

  The waiter had been hovering in the background. Now he left for a moment to seat a tall, thin man who wore Dutch whiskers, the cheeks, chin, and lip clean-shaven, but a fringe of beard running from his sideburns down under his jaw. The waiter gave the man a menu, then stepped across to the boys, pencil Page 31

  poised over his pad.

  Scotty asked, “Do you speak English?”

  “Only so leetle , mijhneer .”The waiter smiled his apology.

  The thin man with Dutch whiskers leaned across the aisle. “May I be of service, gentlemen?”

  “That’s kind of you, sir,” Rick replied. “We want to order fried eggs and sausages with coffee for us both.”

  “Certainly.”The man spoke to the waiter. “ Twee spiegelei met worstjes .” To the boys, “Perhaps you’d like some fried potatoes? And do you want black coffee, or coffee with milk?”

  “We’d like the potatoes,” Scotty said. “And white coffee for both, please.”

  “Very well. Twee gebakken aardappelen , en twee koffie met melk .”

  Rick smiled. “The trouble with Dutch is that it seems as though I should be able to understand it.”

  “I’m sure you could learn it very quickly,” the Dutchman said politely. “You probably find that the spelling looks difficult, but when you hear the words they sound much like English.”

  “That’s true,” Rick agreed.

  “Actually, Dutch and English are very close. They both originated with the ancient Low German. In your case, it merged into the old Anglo-Saxon, then blended with many words from the Romance languages.

  Ours still resembles the original more closely, but many words have the same roots, and even the same meaning.”

  “That’s interesting, sir,” Scotty commented. “Actually, it’s the fs that throw me.”

  The man smiled. “Ignore them, or consider them as y’s . I take it you’re student tourists?”

  “Yes, sir.”Rick could see no reason for involved explanations.

  “I hope you’re getting out into the countryside. That’s the realHolland . Seeing onlyAmsterdam orRotterdam is like trying to seeAmerica by visitingNew York orBaltimore .”

  “We’re doing some touring,” Scotty explained. “We have motor scooters.”

  “Excellent. By all means stop in the villages. The townsfolk are always friendly and helpful. Of course you’ll visit Volendam?”

  “We hope to ride up there today,” Rick said. “And we want to seeEdam .”

  “Of course.Be careful, though. They’ll overload your stomachs with their hospitality. Cheese is a great food, but only in moderation.”

  “We’ll remember,” Scotty told him.

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  “Incidentally, another bit of warning.”

  Rick tensed. “What, sir?”

  “You’ll undoubtedly want to buy klompen . Everyone does.” />
  Rick relaxed. “You mean the wooden shoes?”

  “Yes. Don’t buy them at Volendam. It is such a popular tourist attraction that the prices have become exorbitant. Buy your souvenirs inAmsterdam . It’s much cheaper.”

  Rick thanked him, then asked, “Can you tell us the most convenient way to get on the road toEdam without going back throughAmsterdam ?”

  The Dutchman could and did, recommending a route that would take them through the extreme east end of the city to the Zee Weg , orSea Way , and north across the Afgesloten estuary.

  Their breakfast arrived and they fell silent.The friendly Dutchman, having offered his services and helped them out, paid attention to his own breakfast. The porter returned with their baggage stubs and assured them that all was now correct. They finished, paid the check, thanked their Dutch friend and left.

  As they walked through the main lobby, Rick stopped. “You know, it might not bea bad idea to make certain the suitcases are checked through properly.” He had learned that luggage could easily go astray in international air travel, and he wanted to be certain.

  “Why not?”Scotty agreed. “Let’s go talk to the clerk. And we’d better be sure his friend is standing by to translate.”

  The clerk greeted them by name.“Something, Mr. Brant? Mr. Scott?”

  “We want to be certain our bags are all right,” Scotty said.

  The clerk’s eyebrows went up.“But why not? You have them. You can take look yourself.”

  A warning bell rang in Rick’s head. “We have them? You mean the porter came and got them?”

  “But yes.As you know.”

  “You didn’t send for our checks?” Scotty demanded.

  The clerk beckoned to his colleague. Apparently Scotty’s question had baffled him. The newcomer asked in excellent English, “Is something wrong, gentlemen?”

  Rick explained quickly what had happened. The two clerks conversed in Dutch, then the newcomer shook his head. “The routing was correct. My friend did not send for your two stubs. Do you mean that you do not have your bags?”