3.

DeKok and Vledder were standing in the enormous hall of the B&G building. A bit lost, they looked around.

A large, tall black granite column rose up in the middle of the hall, supporting an enormous, bronze bust of the late Mr. Josephus Johannes Maria Goossens, the co-founder of the Company. He had died childless. The current Bent was the third President of Bent & Goossens by that name. On either side of the statue, wide marble staircases wended upstairs in a curve before meeting at an elaborate balcony overlooking the hall. Glistening crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling and the walls reflected the light from expensive marble. It was very beautiful and impressive.

DeKok pressed his lips together.

Interiors that were aimed at impressing visitors, had exactly the opposite effect on DeKok. He would not be impressed, or awed, or influenced by it. It only aroused in him feelings of inexplicable rebellion. Part, if not most, of that was caused by the puritanical soul of the civil servant and his Calvinistic childhood.

He took another look around and felt the dissatisfaction and discontent grow within him.

A neatly dressed gentleman in a dark suit caught the attention of the two police inspectors. From a gla.s.s booth he moved a crooked index finger in a beckoning gesture.

DeKok had a long standing dislike of beckoning gentlemen in gla.s.s booths. Therefore he did not make any effort to obey the beckoning finger, but instead beckoned back with his own crooked index finger. He smiled pleasantly and persisted in that att.i.tude until the authoritarian gentlemen left his cage, dark red with rage.

"You are supposed to report to me." The man's voice was excited.

DeKok's eyebrows performed one of their famous dances. For once the effect was lost on the subject of his gaze.

"Why?" asked DeKok mildly.

The man in black made a vague gesture.

"I'm the doorman," he said.

"So, what?"

The man swallowed.

"You have to report to me, first."

DeKok shook his head.

"No way," he replied stubbornly. "First of all, a doorman is supposed to look like an admiral and stand at the door. It simply isn't done to sit in a gla.s.s booth in the middle of a reception hall. Secondly, our Commissaris said nothing about reporting to a doorman. We have an appointment with Mr. Bent."

"Oh."

"Yes, he's waiting for us."

The gentleman in black performed a measured bow.

"In that case I will announce the gentlemen. Who can I say?"

DeKok lifted his little felt hat in a polite gesture.

"My name is DeKok, with ... eh, kay-oh-kay. This is my colleague, Vledder. We are, by the grace of our Chief Constable,* Detective-Inspectors attached to the Warmoes Street station."

The neatly dressed gentleman turned around and disappeared into the booth. Through the gla.s.s the two inspectors observed him making another bow while he spoke into the telephone. It was a comical sight. When the conversation had been concluded he emerged from his gla.s.s cage.

"Mr. Bent," he spoke self-importantly, "prefers to have his interview with the gentlemen elsewhere, not here in the office, but in his study at home. Mr. Bent will be down directly and lead the way."

Almost simultaneously with this announcement, they observed a muscular man descending by way of one of the marble staircases. He was a well-preserved man in his fifties with quick and athletic movements. He approached the two policemen with outstretched hand.

"I hope you won't mind coming home with me. I promised my wife I'd be home early." He made a joking gesture. "A promise to a beautiful woman has the force of Law."

DeKok looked at him.

"And what would you call the promise from a beautiful woman?"

The question seemed to touch Bent particularly. A hint of steel flickered momentarily in his eyes.

"The promise from a beautiful woman," he answered thoughtfully and slowly, "is fleeting like perfume. It's seldom more than a sweet dream."

He seemed to be lost in thought. Then he laughed broadly.

"Would you gentlemen ride with me?"

DeKok nodded carelessly.

"As you wish," he drawled.

He never objected to meeting his potential opponents in their own surroundings. It sometimes gave him surprising insights.

Bent steered the big, heavy Bentley with a steady hand through the busy Amsterdam traffic. Meanwhile he talked lightly with Vledder next to him about various models of cars he had owned, or had tried out. He studiously avoided any reference to the hold-up. There was a painful silence when Vledder asked guilelessly what sort of car Bent thought most suitable for hold-ups.

The B&G president was visibly embarra.s.sed by the question. But his confusion did not last long. He controlled himself almost immediately and remarked that he had never contemplated the use of any specific model in connection with a hold-up. DeKok did not partic.i.p.ate in the conversation. He was comfortably ensconced on the back seat and listened. He was not particularly interested in the subject matter of the conversation, but he listened with considerable attention to the intonation of the words, the sound of the voices. In his opinion, Bent was less than straight-forward. The att.i.tude of the president was too emphatically cheerful, too deliberately nonchalant. It was phony.

DeKok wondered what bothered the man. The hold-up? The loss of three million?

Bent's house was on the left side of the Amstel river, just outside the city limits. It was a splendid old villa with a thatched roof, partly hidden from view by a fine tangle of bare tree branches and twigs. Bent parked in a garage with an easy elan that showed much practice.

From the garage Bent led the way through an inside pa.s.sage to a large room with big windows, that afforded a beautiful view of the river. To the left of the windows stood a solid, oak desk of immense proportions. It was heavily decorated with intricate carvings. The remaining walls of the room were covered from floor to ceiling with books and in the center of the room four easy chairs were grouped around a round table made of rare wood. A big, black tomcat was curled up in one of the chairs. It stood up, stretched itself and idly gazed at the visitors. For only a moment. Then the animal settled in its former position, yawned unashamedly and ignored the policemen. DeKok noticed the expression on the cat's face. It seemed to him as if the cat gave him a mocking grin.

Bent made an inviting gesture.

"Please sit down and excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back."

He left the room and DeKok stared after him. He admired the straight back, the athletic posture, the light thread and he concluded that Bent, despite his years, must have gone to considerable effort to keep fit. Rowing, perhaps, on the Amstel.

Bent returned to the study after a few minutes. He seemed dejected. There was a disappointed set to his mouth.

"I wanted to introduce you to my wife," he said morosely, "but she has gone to bed. She asks you to excuse her. She's not feeling well. A slight migraine, I think."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said DeKok with genuine sympathy. "We would have liked to meet her. Another time perhaps?"

Bent looked at him.

"Yes, yes," he answered absent-mindedly, "Another time." He dropped into one of the easy chairs. He looked suddenly very tired. He seemed a different person, older, more gray. "But to business," he said. His tone of voice had changed as well, had become more sharp, more incisive. "I take it that time is precious for you gentlemen?" The tone of voice did not match the expression on his face.

Vledder grinned.

"Yes," answered the young Inspector, "the lead the robbers have, increases with every minute's delay."

Bent nodded.

"I'm aware of that. Time is money. But I would appreciate it, if you could spare the time to listen to me."

He moved in his chair and brought his hands forward until the tips of his fingers rested against each other.

"Of course," he continued, "I don't know in what direction your investigations are leading, but I want to make it clear that our personnel, from high to low, is completely trustworthy. You might as well forget any possibility about a leak at B&G."

Vledder looked at the man with ill concealed surprise.

"And." he asked sarcastically, "is that all you have to tell us?"

A tic developed in one corner of Bent's mouth.

"Yes," he hesitated, "yes, that's about it, I think."

Vledder made an impatient gesture.

"And for this,... this ... eh, shocking revelation you waste our valuable time and you drag us from the Emperor's Ca.n.a.l all the way to your house, here, on the Amstel?"

Bent nodded.

"Yes," he agreed emphatically, "for that remarkable revelation..."

DeKok interrupted him smoothly.

"My young colleague means, of course, that your statement was superfluous. There was no need to tell us. The reliability and trustworthiness of your personnel was never an issue. B&G enjoys, also with the police, an outstanding reputation."

Bent looked suspiciously at DeKok and was apparently unsure how to react, at a loss for words.

"Thank you," he said finally.

At that moment, the black tomcat again rose, stretched its back high and lightly jumped down from the chair. It took the cat just a moment to make up its mind, then it jumped on Vledder's lap, turned a few times the way cats do and settled down in a comfortable position. Vledder softly scratched it under the chin. The animal started purring.

Bent looked at the cat and then at Vledder. The scene seemed to touch him and for just a moment he seemed to have forgotten all about the situation.

"It's strange," remarked the B&G president in a friendly tone of voice, "but whenever somebody sits down in that particular chair, he will always jump on that person's lap. I've noticed it many times. It's a peculiar habit. Not everybody likes cats."

DeKok coughed.

"In connection with the hold-up," he remarked in an apologetic tone, "we would like to ask you some questions, nevertheless." He smiled. "Just routine, you understand?"

Bent waved with a slender hand.

"Go ahead," he allowed.

"What," began DeKok, "determines the size of the shipments?"

"The need, the need of our offices, our clients."

DeKok nodded thoughtfully.

"Why did the truck stop behind the station, you don't have any clients there, do you?"

"No, this was a different kind of shipment, destined for Belgium. We have an arrangement with the railroads. Of course, one of our people usually accompanies the shipment."

"I see, but still a regular sort of shipment as far as you are concerned."

"Yes, the destination was different, that's all. I mean, it wasn't local."

"Yes?"

"We normally keep a large amount of cash in our vaults. Paper work and checks are generally distributed on an ongoing schedule, but cash can sometimes collect for a few days. In this case one of our clients requested us to prepare the shipment for Belgium."

"How did you come to have the money in the first place?

"It was collected from their branches in the normal way. We had simply not received instructions for delivery."

"Does that happen often?"

"Not often, but frequently enough to make it routine."

"And who knows what is needed, and where?"

Bent sighed.

"The managers of the various branches, of course, they prepare the requests."

DeKok smiled winningly.

"I understand. Every manager knows the requirements for his, or her, own office. But who knows the total?"

Bent shook his head.

"Only a few top people at the Emperor's Ca.n.a.l, at headquarters, know that exactly. The people who prepare the shipments, the drivers, they don't know. We like to remove temptation as much as possible."

"And for international shipments?"

"The same people and the instructing client, of course."

"So, it didn't mean a thing to the drivers that the amount was exceptionally high, this time?"