DeKok feigned pure amazement when Little Lowee, a bit reluctantly, entered the detective room.

"What's the matter, Lowee?" he asked. "If I feel like a cognac, you don't have to deliver. I'll be happy to come and get it."

Little Lowee sank down on a chair next to DeKok's desk and worried nervously with his fingers of which the nails had been bitten to the quick.

"Please, no jokes, Mr. DeKok," he said anxiously. "I don't have a lotta time. I can't stay away too long. You see, somebody is watching the bar and you never know, they steal you blind before you know it."

DeKok moved his eyebrows in that inimitable manner.

"So, why are you here?"

Lowee's adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"I've been worrying about it all afternoon. It nags, you know what I mean? I'm just that worried about it, Mr. DeKok."

"About what?"

Lowee rubbed the back of his hand along his dry lips.

"Lookit, Mr. DeKok, you asked me this morning iffen I had seen anything of Cunning Pete, lately."

"Yes?"

"Well, eh, I said no, because I thought you were lookin' for 'im, you know."

"So, what?"

Little Lowee pulled a sad face.

"I lied, you understand. But it was a good lie, I mean, I thought I was doing the right thing. I seen him a lot, you see. He usta come a lot, lately."

"Go on."

"Yes." The small barkeeper remained silent and stared into the distance. "You see," he continued, "I wouldn't have told you, normally ... but Pete is dead now." He lowered his narrow chin toward his chest and rubbed his eyes. There was no doubt that the tiny barkeeper was genuinely moved. "Pete," he continued finally, with a sob in his voice, "Pete usta tell stories, you know." He made a helpless gesture. "Mostly people just asked to be lied to, you know. But in his heart, deep down, Pete was a honest guy. Really." He blinked his eyes, as if to remove a tear. "I swear to you, Mr. DeKok, Pete was as honest as the day is long."

DeKok looked mockingly at the barkeeper.

"What do you want from me, Lowee? Should I cry, now?"

Lowee sprang up and banged his fist on the desk with surprising strength.

"It's a d.a.m.n rotten trick they pulled on that boy, you know that?" His voice was loud and his face was distorted by fury. "Yessir, a d.a.m.n rotten trick," he repeated.

DeKok bit his lower lip.

"Yes, to stick somebody from behind with a dagger, yes, Lowee, I agree, that's a d.a.m.n rotten trick."

Little Lowee nodded sadly.

"And all for a coupla bucks."

DeKok did not react immediately.

"A ... eh, a few bucks?" he asked finally.

Lowee ground his teeth.

"Yes, no more than a few filthy bucks. They wanted to cut him out, I bet. Didn't want to share the loot."

"Share?"

"Yep, they wanted to cut him out. It's obvi..., eh, obvi ... eh, it's as clear as anything. You see, Pete knew all about the hold-up."

DeKok kept his face expressionless. He succeeded with considerable difficulty.

"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that Pete knew about the hold-up?"

Lowee nodded vehemently.

"He tole me hisself."

"How did he know?"

"From the guys." Lowee made an impatient gesture.

"What guys?"

"Geez, DeKok, the guys that were to do the job, of course."

"And they are?"

"Iffen I knew that, DeKok ... iffen I knew that ... I woulda told you. Really. If only outa revenge for Pete." He looked at the inspector, his head c.o.c.ked to one side. "You believes me, don't you?"

DeKok nodded slowly.

"Yes, Lowee, I believe that," he replied formally.

For a long time they sat silently opposite each other. Each occupied by his own thoughts. Above their heads the defective ballast in one of the light fixtures hummed annoyingly. A drunk in the street tried to sing a melancholy song about dying and crying and trains.

Slowly Lowee rose from his chair.

"I can't stay any longer," he said somberly. "I gotta get back."

DeKok nodded pensively.

"Before you go, Lowee, one more question. Was Pete planning to partic.i.p.ate in the hold-up?"

Lowee shook his head.

"Nah, you shoulda known that yourself, DeKok. A hold-up, with guns and all. That wasn't Pete's style. Pete was a story teller, all right, a con-man, but never any violence. He never liked violence. He just talked people outa their money."

With a tired gesture, DeKok rubbed his face with both hands.

"Did Pete tell you how large the haul was going to be?"

A thoughtful expression appeared on the friendly, mousy face of Little Lowee.

"Yeah, wait a minute, he talked about that. At least half a million, he said. Nowheres near three million as it says in the papers." He suddenly looked searchingly at DeKok. "Say, that three million ain't no funny stuff of you guys, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now, to make the guys go crazy, of course."

"How so?"

"Geez, DeKok, you're real dense today. I mean, half a million is gone, you guys make it three million. Before you knows it, the guys are fighting with each other about the missing loot. One may get p.i.s.sed enough to tell you about it."

DeKok shook his head.

"No, there really seems to be three million on the loose."

Lowee whistled between his teeth.

"Nice day's work."

DeKok laughed.

"So, Cunning Pete really believed the haul wouldn't be much bigger that five hundred thousand?"

"Yes."

"But Pete did want to share in part of it?"

"I think so, yes."

"Why?"

Lowee shrugged his shoulders.

"Because he knew about it, of course."

"That's the only reason?"

"Yes."

"Hush money," grinned DeKok.

"You mean, he was gonna talk, otherwise?"

"Exactly."

Lowee shook his head.

"Never. Pete wouldn't do such a thing."

"He could have threatened it."

Lowee made an annoyed gesture.

"Pete wasn't that sort. Nossir. He wasn't a canary. I tole you: Pete was as honest as the day is long. He just figured on some pocket money, that's all."

DeKok sighed.

"But why did Pete tell you about it?"

Again Lowee shrugged his narrow shoulders.

"Ach, you know how it goes. A drink, p.i.s.sed off, another drink ... and then come the tales..."

DeKok nodded his understanding. He stood up and placed a fatherly hand on the slight shoulders of the small barkeeper.

"Thanks for coming," he said simply.

Lowee walked toward the door with bent head. Halfway to the door he stopped, turned around and walked back to the desk. He stopped in front of the gray sleuth.

"I ... eh, I don't always agree with you, DeKok." His voice quivered with emotion. "Most of the time I don't, I should say. But this time, yes, this time, I hope you get them b.a.s.t.a.r.ds real quick."

DeKok gave him a friendly grin.

"I'll do my best, Lowee."

After the barkeeper had left, DeKok sat down again. He held his head between his hands, the elbows on the edge of the desk.

He let the entire conversation with Lowee pa.s.s in review. Every word, every intonation, every gesture was remembered. Not in his wildest imagination would he have suspected that there was a connection between the murder of Pete Geffel and the hold-up. It had been a complete revelation. There remained the question about the exact relationship between the two events. What had been Pete's role? Of course, Pete was usually involved in some sort of semi-respectable business. It was his business. He was a con-man, one of the best. Honest as the day was long. Lowee's testimonial could hardly be taken seriously. It was no more, nor less, than an obituary for a dead partner in crime. After all, thought DeKok, in addition to his apparently respectable front as a barkeeper, Lowee had, at one time or another, broken nearly all of G.o.d's Commandments. It was certain that he still dealt in stolen goods; was, in fact, one of the foremost fences of the Quarter. Pete, also, was more than an ordinary con-man. His actions sometimes hovered dangerously close to blackmail. It was not at all unlikely that someone had seen Pete's death as the only possible solution to his, or her, own problems. Blackmailers led a precarious life.

But, when all was said and done, the fact that Pete Geffel knew about the plans for the hold-up was enough reason for DeKok to get involved with the murder in Seadike. Despite the warning from the Commissaris to the contrary. And that, in itself ...

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He lifted the receiver. An excited Vledder was on the other end of the line.

"Guess what?"

"You call me to play guessing games?"

"The Simca 1500 that was stolen from Haarlem, belongs to a certain Bergen."