The Deadly Dutchman

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The Deadly Dutchman Page 6

by John Blaine


  “No. We have the stubs, but we don’t know where the bags are.”

  Things happened fast. Within minutes clerks, porters, and airport guards were scouring the station, both for bags and the false porter. Someone found the suitcases in a cubicle in the men’s room, and they were Page 33

  brought to the ticket counter. The boys inspected them in silent rage. The locks had been pried open; the padded handles slit with a knife. Inside every bit of lining had been torn loose. Clothing had been stuffed in carelessly after what was obviously a thorough examination.

  The airport officials were horrified, but helpless. They suggested that the boys file an insurance claim when they returned to theUnited States . A security police guard found straps and lashed the bags shut, then checked them through again. Another security officer produced long forms that had to be filled out for the airport, and more forms for theAmsterdam police. It was over an hour before the boys could leave.

  As they walked to their scooters, Scotty said, “Neat. The story held together and the man looked authentic.”

  “True,” Rick agreed. “We should have been suspicious anyway, just as a matter of course.”

  Scotty shrugged. “Maybe we should. Anyway, we’ll know better next time.If there is a next time.”

  “Smart gang,” Rick observed. “The Group is well-organized, and they know every move we make.”

  Scotty slipped into his scooter saddle. He said, “Let’s hope the police do, too.” He kicked the motor into life, and Rick followed suit. They headed aroundAmsterdam toward the Zee Weg .

  CHAPTER X

  Windmill Refuge

  It was a pleasant trip toEdam . They crossed canals and natural waterways more often than they would have crossed intersecting roads inAmerica . The landscape was flat, but well-tended. And always, on their right as they headed north, was the great dike, like a long hill ofearth, that separated the lowland from the water of the Ijsselmeer , the great sea inlet that had been the ZuiderZee in the days of Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates.

  They stopped inEdam to visit the cheese factories where cheeses-like bowling balls wrapped in red protective coverings-were produced in tremendous quantities. Filled with cheese samples and crackers and not at all interested in lunch, the boys headed seaward toward Volendam.

  Volendam was charming, a bit of ancientHolland preserved not only for tourists, but because the people wanted it that way. Once Volendam had been directly on the water, and beyond its great dike the water still ran, but only in a narrow strip. From the main street the boys looked out over the Volendam dike to the dike of Markerward , a great polder reclaimed from salt waters.

  The boys kept their eyes open. There were other strangers in town, and there was a high probability that some of them were members of the Group; others policemen. Many of the townsfolk were wearing the traditional Dutch costumes. The women wore voluminous black skirts, shawls, white blouses, and Dutch caps; the men were dressed in breeches, black stockings, wide belts with silver buckles, and dark shirts.

  Both sexes wore wooden shoes.

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  It didn’t take long to see Volendam, partly because the boys had taken the advice of the man at breakfast to do their shopping inAmsterdam . They discussed what their next stop should be, and agreed to take the back roads to Haarlem , then go on to Zandvoort on theNorth Sea , where they would eat a late lunch, actually afternoon tea. They buzzed back toEdam , then cut off on a small secondary road toward the little town of Axwijk . From there, the narrow, blacktop back road led south toward Purmer .

  From time to time they checked behind them, but saw nothing suspicious. There was little traffic.

  “Maybe we’ve gotten away from both Group and police,” Rick called to Scotty.

  His comment was a half minute too early. Above the put-put of the scooters they heard a sustained roar, and turned to see a group of high-powered motorcycles overtaking them.

  Rick saw black jackets, long hair under a variety of caps, scraggly beards blowing in the wind. He let out a yell! In the lead was a hoodlum he recognized, the one who had held a knife at his throat!

  Scotty didn’t need an interpretation of Rick’s yell. He swung off the road instantly, to the top of a narrow dike that enclosed a polder. The dike was connected to others, the rammed earth barriers forming a series of squares that enclosed fields of stubble that had been growing flax a week before.

  Ahead, in the middle of the array of low dikes, was the windmill that kept the polders dry.

  “Head for the mill!”Scotty shouted.

  The two Vespas roared at top speed. Scotty led the way, and as he turned at right angles onto a new dike top, Rick saw the motorcycle gang coming into the polders. The powerful machines could overtake them easily. The only advantage the boys had was in maneuverability, and that wouldn’t keep them in front for long.

  Scotty skidded and swerved onto a new tack. Rick was hard behind him. Then, taking a long chance on the solidity of the ground, Scotty roared down the side of the low dike and went directly across the stubble toward the mill. The motorcycles were gaining. Rick held onto his grips and fought the bucking Vespa , now and then putting a foot down as it skidded on the spongy ground. The windmill loomed above them, its great vanes turning slowly.

  “Let’s go!” Scotty cut the ignition, jumped off, and ran. Rick was right behind him. There wasn’t time to hunt for a door. A vane swept the ground, a wooden frame on which canvas was stretched like a sail.

  Rick jumped for it, expecting the vane to carry him up, but his weight was too great! The windmill stopped turning!

  “Up!”Scotty yelled.

  Rick didn’t hesitate. He went up the wooden slats like a jet climbing for altitude and gained the great hub on which the vanes turned. There was a little door above the hub, through which the owner apparently greased the axle. Rick shoved. It swung open, and he went through headfirst. He found himself in a small, wooden-floored room into which the shaft projected. In the middle of the room was a gearbox, from which a second shaft projected downward.

  Rick scrambled out of Scotty’s way and turned to see his friend dive in after him. At the same moment he heard footsteps pounding up stairs.

  He looked around quickly. There was a small side door, perhaps two feet wide and three feet high. That Page 35

  must be the stairs. He could see there was no way to latch it, and moved quickly on hands and knees to block it with his body.

  “Stand aside,” Scotty said quickly.

  Rick looked up. Scotty had found a length of timber, about three feet long and two inches square. Rick saw that others were stacked at one side of the room, evidently for repairs, because they were newly cut.

  Rick got out of the way just as the door swung open. A dirty mop of long hair pushed in. Scotty moved like a long-ball hitter driving for a home run. There was a sound like a melon dropping on a cement floor and the head vanished abruptly. Scotty shut the door again.

  A noise from the shaft door alerted Rick. He got a billet of wood and moved to it quickly. He was just in time. A black-jacket was just mounting the hub, and he held a flick-knife in his teeth.

  For a moment Rick and the cutthroat stared at each other.

  “Awfully sorry,” Rick said politely, and rammed with his billet. It caught the hoodlum squarely in the chest. He went off the hub backwards, clawing for a hold. He managed to grip the canvas of a vane, and it tore in his hands. He hit the soft earth with a thud.

  There was excited yelling from below. Another man started up the vane, and Rick saw still another move away from the mill and pull a pistol from his pocket. Rick drew back. The pistol sounded, and a slug came through the hub door and splintered an overhead beam slightly.

  Good tactics, Rick thought grimly. One covers the window while another climbs, probably with a pistol ready. He heard footsteps on the stairs again and said tohimself , “They’re rushing us from both directions at once.”

  He turned. Scotty pulled the do
or open, sighted, and launched his billet of wood like a battering ram.

  There was a scream and the sound of a falling body as Scotty swung the door shut again. He gave Rick a tight grin.“Sitting ducks.”

  “With guns,” Rick commented. He stood to one side of the hub door, out of the line of fire. He could see the hub and reach it with his piece of lumber. A grimy hand grabbed the hub. Rick slammed the timber down end first, as though killing a snake.

  There was a scream as the hand let go, then the crack of wood breaking, and a dull thud. He shook his head. It was tough on the windmill vanes. That fall had broken one of the framing pieces.

  There was excited conversation in Dutch out of sight below, then shots. One came through the window and slammed into the ceiling timbers. Others hit the heavy wooden sides, but didn’t penetrate. A slug came through the wood of Scotty’s door, but the boy was safe behind the heavy construction timbers of the mill. Rick moved back a little, but stayed where he could see the hub. They were safe enough, in spite of the guns, unless one of the hoods got through the hub window or the stair door. Rick knew no one would get through Scotty’s door, and he wasn’t going to let anyone in through the hub entry.

  A hand passed the hub, reaching upward for a hold on the vane extending up from the hub. The hand’s owner was careful not to put his hand where it could be hit. Rick got into position and waited. An arm followed the hand, then one shoulder. The man was staying behind the protection offered by the vane structure. Another twelve inches, and he could fire directly through the opening into the room. He was Page 36

  moving very slowly and cautiously.

  Rick estimated quickly, then ran across the small room and searched through the pile. There was a length of timber nearly six feet long. He put down the one he had used, and picked up the long one.

  Through the window he could see hand and arm, shoulder, part of the man’s chest, and a fringe of beard. The man was protected by the vane frame from a swing with the timber, but the frame was just that-a framework of wood with plenty of space between pieces. The man’s chest fitted into one of the spaces like a picture of a target.

  Rick ran forward, holding the timber like a vaulting pole. Its end rammed through the frame, into the man’s chest, all Rick’s supple weight behind it. The man was torn loose with such violence that he went outward three feet before he started to fall. A fusillade of shots blazed through the hub opening, but Rick was no longer there.

  Moments later, motors roared down below. Rick hazarded a quick glance, and was in time to see the gang roar off toward the road. Running across the polder toward the windmill were several men, some in farm clothes and some in business suits. On the road Rick saw a big Mercedes, its door open.

  He turned to Scotty. “The Marines have landed. Looks like Vandiveer’s men and the people who own this mill.”

  Scotty joined him. The motorcycles had gained the road and were revving up to top speed. The boys leaned out and looked down, waving at the arriving reinforcements. On the turf below were two black-jacketed figures. When they went down the stairs to the lower level a moment later they found Scotty’s first victim, still unconscious. The hoodlums outside were conscious, but wishing they weren’t.

  All three were ambulance cases.

  CHAPTER XI

  Key to the Riddle

  Inspector Klaus Vandiveer puffed his meerschaum in the only comfortable chair in the boys’ hotel room.

  He had explained that the Group had blocked his men by staging an accident that kept their car from passing.

  Rick was puzzled. “But how did they know where to stage it? We didn’t know ourselves what road we were taking.”

  “How much choice did you have?Three roads. You could have taken the main highway north or south, or the road toward Axwijk . There is a single intersection inEdam . By stationing two cars at the intersection and having the cyclists hide until called, the Group could simply fall in behind you-between you and my men-as you passed. The two cars did,faked the accident, then called the cyclists, probably by walkie-talkie. My men saw them roar by, but were helpless. Fortunately, you weren’t. So the Group is now minus three helpers, now in the hospital. We’ve questioned them, but they know only that they were helping their leader Duif. An all-points alert is out for Duif and the rest.”

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  “If we’d taken a main road,” Scotty said thoughtfully, “they’d have had a bigger problem.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.One car to block my men, one to stay with you, the cyclists to run you down, knock you out, and pack you into the car. The highway isn’t heavily traveled. They could have picked their spot. The one thing I don’t know is, how they knew where you were going today. It took advance notice to get their men in position. Of course once you were at Volendam, everything was simple, because there is only the one road from Volendam toEdam . But how did they know to get their forces toEdam ?”

  “We told them,” Rick explained unhappily. He described the helpful Dutchman who had sat next to them at breakfast. “He’s the only one we told.”

  Vandiveer smiled. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you about picking up with strangers? I thought that was standard practice inAmerica .”

  “I guess we’re just not a suspicious breed,” Scotty replied.

  “I guess not,” the inspector agreed.“No matter. The one important thing is still before us.” He rose and looked at Scotty. “The key to all this is in your head somewhere, even if you don’t recognize it. Find it.

  Dig. These people have shown themselves too smart and well-organized to make a mistake in identity.

  You are it. And only you can tell us why. I leave it to you. Call me when you find the solution.” He nodded, and left them alone.

  Rick stretched out on his bed. “He’s right, Scotty.”

  “I know, but I’ve thought until I’m tired. No one gave me any verbal message, and no one hid a message on me. I’ve gone through my clothes and everything I own time and again. There’s nothing.”

  “There has to be,” Rick said. “The only way is to dig it out. Go over your trip until the moment you checked in at the hotel.Start at Spindrift. Somewhere along the way is the key to all this.”

  Scotty had a good memory, and was an accurate reporter. Rick knew his pal wouldn’t miss any details.

  “All right,” Scotty said as he stretched out on his bed. “The family saw me off. We drove from Whiteside Landing, the usual way.Up the parkways to theStaten Islandbridges, across the narrows.

  Nothing of interest happened. No incidents of any kind. We spoke to no one except the tollgate keepers, and that was only ‘You’re welcome’ when they said ‘Thanks.’ Dad let us off at the airline terminal, then went and parked the car. We waited for him. They all went with me to the ticket counter, and I checked in. We were early, so there was no line. I checked my suitcase through and didn’t see it again until I got to SchipholAirport .Any questions?”

  “Nope.You’re doing fine.”

  “Okay. We sat in the waiting room until my flight was announced, and spoke to no one, and no one came near us. Then we walked to the gate. I had Barby on one arm and Jan on the other, and Mother and Dad were behind us. Dad had my knapsack. I was using it as a flight bag. We walked right up to the nose door on the plane. I kissed them all good-by and got aboard.”

  “Who sat with you on the plane?” Rick asked.

  “No one.It was half-empty. The plane was actually the second section. The airline had oversold the flight Page 38

  and had to put on a second one. I didn’t know that until the stewardess told me when I asked her how come there weren’t more people aboard. The ticket agent had just routed me to the second plane without mentioning it.”

  “No one talked to you? Bumped into you?”

  “Only the stewardesses.No bumps, just food. Anyway, the flight landed atOrly , and I had to take a KLM shuttle toAmsterdam . It was an hour late.”

  “Where did you wait?”

  �
��In the international transient lounge.You know how it is. Passengers not entering the country wait in a separate lounge so they don’t have to go through immigration and customs. Anyway, I bought a bottle of Perrier water and some cheese crackers and relaxed.”

  “You spoke to no one?”

  Scotty hesitated. “To one of the attendants, and I asked a man if I could help him. He was sick. He almost fell once, and I steadied him.”

  Rick pounced. “All of it! Every single detail! Come on.”

  Scotty reviewed the wait atOrly , then began to describe it. Only a handful of passengers from his flight were going on the shuttle, and for a half-hour the waiting room had been nearly empty. Then another group came in, people from a Far Eastern KLM flightwho were going on toAmsterdam . One of them was a small, very pale man who looked deathly ill. Scotty, an inveterate people-watcher, had noticed him at once. He had bought a postcard, then gone to one of the stand-up counters to write it. Scotty saw him sway and clutch at the counter for support, and the boy hurried to his side and took his arm. The man swung into Scotty’s chest, grabbing for support, then steadied himself against the counter.

  “Thank you,” he said shakily. “You are most land. But please do not disturb yourself. I often have these attacks. They go away in a moment.”

  “Shall I call the attendant?” Scotty asked.

  “No. I will be all right. Please do not let me disturb you.”

  Scotty went back to his seat, but kept an eye on the man. He had spoken with an accent that Scotty now recognized as Dutch. The man fumbled in his pockets, produced a packet of cigarette papers, tobacco, and matches. He rolled a cigarette and lit it. The tobacco had smelled odd, Scotty recalled. It was probably a drug of some kind. The man perked up and began writing. He finished his postcard, bought a stamp, then posted it. Scotty watched until he saw the man settle down, then paid no more attention until some time later, when he saw the little man pass nearby, obviously having another attack.

 

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