Puppet On A Chain Part 6

'Please, I -- '

'Your wig's slipped, Miss Lemay.'

Automatically her hands reached up and touched her hair, then she slowly lowered them to her sides and bit her lip in chagrin. There was something close to desperation in the brown eyes. Again I had the unpleasant sensation of not feeling very proud of myself.

'Please leave me,' she said, so I stepped to one side to let her pa.s.s. For a moment she looked at me and I could have sworn there was a beseeching look in her eyes and her face was puckering slightly almost as if she were about to cry, then she shook her head and hurried away. I followed more slowly, watched her run down the steps and turn in the direction of the ca.n.a.l. Twenty seconds later Maggie and Belinda pa.s.sed by in the same direction. Despite the umbrellas they held, they looked very wet indeed and most unhappy. Maybe they'd got there in ten minutes after all.

I went back to the bar which I'd had no intention of leaving in the first place although I'd had to convince the girl that I was. The bar-tender, a friendly soul, beamed, 'Good evening again, sir. I thought you had gone to bed.'

'I wanted to go to bed. But my taste-buds said, No, another jonge Genever.'

'One should always listen to one's taste-buds, sir,' the bar-tender said gravely. He handed over the little gla.s.s. 'Prost, sir!' I lifted my gla.s.s and got back to my thinking. I thought about naivety and how unpleasant it was to be led up garden paths and whether young girls could blush to order. I thought I'd heard of certain actresses that could but wasn't sure, so I called for another Genever to jog my memory.

The next gla.s.s I lifted in my hand was of a different order altogether, a great deal heavier and containing a great deal darker liquid. It was, in fact, a pint pot of Guinness, which might seem to be a very odd thing to find in a continental tavern, as indeed it was. But not in this one, not in the Old Bell, a horse-bra.s.s-behung hostelry more English than most English hostelries could ever hope to be. It specialized in English beers -- and, as my gla.s.s testified, Irish stout.

The pub was well patronized but I had managed to get a table to myself facing the door, not because I have any Wild West aversion to sitting with my back to the door but because I wanted to spot Maggie or Belinda, whichever it was, when she came in. In the event it was Maggie. She crossed to my table and sat down. She was a very bedraggled Maggie and despite scarf and umbrella her raven hair was plastered to her cheeks. She crossed to my table and sat down. She was a very bedraggled Maggie and despite scarf and umbrella her raven hair was plastered to her cheeks.

'You all right?' I asked solicitously.

'If you call all right being soaked to the skin, then yes.' It wasn't at all like my Maggie to be as waspish as this: she must be very wet indeed.

'And Belinda?'

'She'll survive too. But I think she worries too much about you.' She waited pointedly until I'd finished taking a long satisfying swig at the Guinness. 'She hopes you aren't overdoing things.'

'Belinda is a very thoughtful girl.' Belinda knew d.a.m.n well what I was doing.

'Belinda's young,' Maggie said. 'Yes, Maggie.' 'And vulnerable.' 'Yes, Maggie.'

'I don't want her hurt, Paul.' This made me sit up, mentally, anyway. She never called me 'Paul' unless we were alone, and even then only when she was sufficiently lost in thought or emotion to forget about what she regarded as the proprieties. I didn't know what to make of her remark and wondered what the h.e.l.l the two of them might have been talking about. I was beginning to wish I'd left the two of them at home and brought along a couple of Dobermann Pinschers instead. At least a Dobermann would have made short work of our lurking friend in Morgenstern and Muggenthaler's. 'I said -- ' Maggie began.

'I heard what you said.' I drank some more stout. 'You're a very dear girl, Maggie.'

She nodded, not to indicate any agreement with what I said, just to show that for some obscure reason she found this a satisfactory answer and sipped some of the sherry I'd got for her. I skated swiftly back on to thick ice.

'Now. Where is our other lady-friend that you've been following?' 'She's in church.'

'What!' I spluttered into my tankard. 'Singing hymns.' 'Good G.o.d! And Belinda?' 'She's in church, too.' Is she singing hymns?' 'I don't know. I didn't go inside.' 'Maybe Belinda shouldn't have gone in either.'

'What safer place than a church?'

True. True.' I tried to relax but felt uneasy, 'One of us had to stay.'

'Of course.'

'Belinda said you might like to know the name of the church.'

'Why should I -- ' I stared at Maggie. 'The First Reformed Church of the American Huguenot Society?' Maggie nodded. I pushed back my chair and rose. 'Now you tell me. Come on.' 'The First Reformed Church of the American Huguenot Society?' Maggie nodded. I pushed back my chair and rose. 'Now you tell me. Come on.'

'What? And leave all that lovely Guinness that is so good for you?'

'It's Belinda's health I'm thinking of, not mine.'

We left, and as we left it suddenly occurred to me that the name of the church had meant nothing to Maggie. It had meant nothing to Maggie because Belinda hadn't told her when she got back to the hotel and she hadn't told her because Maggie had been asleep. And I'd wondered what the h.e.l.l the two of them might have been talking about. They hadn't been talking about anything. Either this was very curious or I wasn't very clever. Or both. It had meant nothing to Maggie because Belinda hadn't told her when she got back to the hotel and she hadn't told her because Maggie had been asleep. And I'd wondered what the h.e.l.l the two of them might have been talking about. They hadn't been talking about anything. Either this was very curious or I wasn't very clever. Or both.

As usual it was raining and as we pa.s.sed along the Rembrandtplein by the Hotel Schiller, Maggie gave a well-timed shiver.

'Look,' she said. 'There's a taxi. In fact, lots of taxis.'

'I wouldn't say that there's not a taxi in Amsterdam that's not in the pay of the unG.o.dly,' I said with feeling, 'but I wouldn't bet a nickel on it. It's not far.'

Neither was it -- by taxi. By foot it was a very considerable way indeed. But I had no intention of covering the distance on foot. I led Maggie down the Thorbecke-plein, turned left, right and left again till we came out on the Amstel. Maggie said: 'You do seem to know your way around, don't you, Major Sherman?'

'I've been here before.'

'When?'

'I forget. Last year, sometime.'

'When last year?' Maggie knew or thought she knew all my movements over the past five years and Maggie could be easily piqued. She didn't like what she called irregularities.

'In the spring, I think it was.'

'Two months, maybe?'

'About that.'

'You spent two months in Miami last spring,' she said accusingly. 'That's what the records say.'

'You know how I get my dates mixed up.'

'No, I don't.' She paused. 'I thought you'd never seen Colonel de Graaf and van Gelder before?'

'I hadn't.'

'But -- '

'I didn't want to bother them.' I stopped by a phone-box. 'A couple of calls to make. Wait here.'

'I will not!' A very heady atmosphere, was Amsterdam's. She was getting as bad as Belinda. But she had a point -- the slanting rain was sheeting down very heavily now. I opened the door and let her precede me into the booth. I called a near-by cab company whose number I knew, started to dial another number.

'I didn't know you spoke Dutch,' Maggie said.

'Neither do our friends. That's why we may get an honest taxi-driver.'

'You really don't trust anyone, do you?' Maggie said admiringly.

'I trust you, Maggie.'

'No, you don't. You just don't want to burden my beautiful head with unnecessary problems.'

That's my line,' I complained. De Graaf came on the phone. After the usual courtesies I said: Those sc.r.a.ps of paper? No luck yet? Thank you, Colonel de Graaf, I'll call back later.' I hung up.

'What sc.r.a.ps of paper?' Maggie asked.

'Sc.r.a.ps of paper I gave him.'

'Where did you get them from?'

'A chap gave them to me last night.'

Maggie gave me her old-fashioned resigned look but said nothing. After a couple of minutes a taxi came along. I gave him an address in the old city and when we got there walked with Maggie down a narrow street to one, of the ca.n.a.ls in the dock area. I stopped at the corner.

'This is it?'

'This is it,' said Maggie.

'This' was a little grey church about fifty yards away along the ca.n.a.l bank. It was an ancient sway-backed crumbling edifice that appeared to be maintained in the near-vertical by faith alone, for to my untrained eye it looked to be in imminent danger of toppling into the ca.n.a.l. It had a short square stone tower, at least five degrees off the perpendicular, topped by a tiny steeple that leaned dangerously in the other direction. The time was ripe for the First Reformed Church of the American Huguenot Society to launch a major fund-raising drive.

That some of the adjacent buildings had been in even greater danger of collapse was evidenced by the fact that a large area of building on the ca.n.a.l side beyond the church had already been demolished: a giant crane, with the most enormous boom I had ever seen almost lost in the darkness above, stood in the middle of this cleared lot where rebuilding had already reached the stage of the completion of the reinforced foundations.

We walked slowly along the ca.n.a.l side towards the church. Clearly audible now was the sound of organ music and of women singing. It sounded very pleasant and safe and homely and nostalgic, the music drifting out over the darkened waters of the ca.n.a.l.

The service seems to be still in progress,' I said. 'You go in there -- '

I broke off and did a double-take at a blonde girl in a belted white raincoat who was just walking by.

'Hey!' I said.

The blonde girl had it all b.u.t.toned up about what to do when accosted by strange men in a lonely street. She took one look at me and started to run. She didn't get very far. She slipped on the wet cobbles, recovered, but only made another two or three paces before I caught up with her. She struggled briefly to escape, then relaxed and flung her arms about my neck. Maggie joined us, that old puritanical look on her face again.

'A very old friend, Major Sherman?'

'Since this morning. This is Trudi. Trudi van Gelder.'

'Oh.' Maggie laid a rea.s.suring hand on Trudi's arm but Trudi ignored her, tightened her grip around my neck and gazed admiringly into my face from a distance of about four inches.

'I like you,' Trudi announced. 'You're nice.'

'Yes, I know, you told me. Oh h.e.l.l!'

'What to do?' Maggie asked.

'What to do. I've got to get her home. I've got to take her home. Put her in a taxi and she'd skip at the first traffic lights. A hundred to one the old battle-axe who's supposed to be guarding her has dozed off and by this time her father's probably scouring the town. He'd find it cheaper to use a ball and chain.'

I unlocked Trudi's arms, not without some difficulty, and pushed up the sleeve of her left arm. I looked first of all at her arm, then at Maggie whose eyes widened and then lips pursed as she saw the unlovely pattern left by the hypodermic needles. I pulled down the sleeve -- instead of breaking into tears as she had done last time Trudi just stood there and giggled as if it were all great fun -- and examined the other forearm. I pulled that sleeve down too.

'Nothing fresh,' I said.

'You mean there's nothing fresh that you can see,' Maggie said.

'What do you expect me to do? Make her stand here in this icy rain and do a strip-tease on the banks of the ca.n.a.l to that organ music? Wait a moment.'

'Why?'

'I want to think,' I said patiently.

So I thought, while Maggie stood there with an expression of dutiful expectation on her face and Trudi clutched my arm in a proprietorial fashion and gazed adoringly up at me. Finally, I said: 'You haven't been seen by anybody in there?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'But Belinda has, of course.'

'Of course. But not so she would be recognized again. All the people in there have their heads covered. Belinda's wearing a scarf and the hood of her coat and she's sitting in shadow -- I saw that from the doorway.'

'Get her out. Wait till the service is over, then follow Astrid. And try to memorize the faces of as many as possible of those who are attending the service.'

Maggie looked doubtful. 'I'm afraid that's going to be difficult.'

'Why?'

'Well, they all look alike.'

They all -- what are they, Chinese or something?'

'Most of them are nuns, carrying Bibles and those beads at their waists, and you can't see their hair, and they have those long black clothes and those white -- '

'Maggie -- ' I restrained myself with difficulty -- 'I know what nuns look like.'

'Yes, but there's something else. They're nearly all young and good-looking -- some very good-looking -- '

'You don't have to have a face like a bus smash to be a nun. Phone your hotel and leave the number of wherever you happen to finish up. Come on, Trudi. Home.'

She went with me docilely enough, by foot first and then by taxi, where she held my hand all the time and talked a lot of bright nonsense in a very vivacious way, like a young child being taken out on an unexpected treat. At van Gelder's house I asked the taxi to wait.

Trudi was duly scolded by both van Gelder and Herta with that vehemence and severity that always cloaks profound relief, then Trudi was led off, presumably to bed. Van Gelder poured a couple of drinks with the speed of a man who feels he requires one and asked me to sit down. I declined.

'I've a taxi outside. Where can I find Colonel de Graaf at this time of night? I want to borrow a car from him, preferably a fast one.'

Van Gelder smiled. 'No questions from me, my friend.

You'll find the Colonel at his office -- I know he's working late tonight.' He raised his gla.s.s. 'A thousand thanks. I was a very, very worried man.'

'You had a police alert out for her?'

'An unofficial police alert.' Van Gelder smiled again, but wryly. 'You know why. A few trusted friends -- but there are nine hundred thousand people in Amsterdam.'

'Any idea why she was so far from home?'