‘Well, now.’ Van Effen looked at Samuelson, Agnelli and Riordan in turn. ‘I don’t know which of you I should address. It doesn’t matter. We have delivered the material — one of our number is at present checking the explosives and armaments to see that they are in the best possible working order. We understood that some call might be made on our services — our expertise, if one might put it that way. If you don’t require us, there’s no point in our remaining. We have no wish to impose ourselves on anybody.’ Samuelson smiled. ‘You would rather go?’
Van Effen smiled in turn. ‘I think you are perfectly well aware that we would rather stay. I’m as curious as the next man. Besides, it would be most interesting to know what is going to happen without having to wait to read about it in the newspapers.’
‘Stay you shall,’ Samuelson said. ‘We will probably have need of your expertise. We do, in fact, have plans for you. But first, perhaps, a soupcion of borreltje. 5 p.m., and 5 p.m., I understand, is the prescribed hour. Leonardo’ — this to Agnelli’s brother who had just entered with Daniken — ‘be so kind as to have some hot water brought from the kitchen.’ This, van Effen felt certain, made Samuelson the man who called the tune. ‘And some honey. We must do something about this fearful cold the Captain has. Come. Join me.’
A log fire burnt in an open hearth built into the window less back wall. Adjoining this was a circular oaken bar, small but quite splendidly stocked. Samuelson moved behind this as Riordan said: ‘You will, of course, excuse me.’
‘Of course, James, of course,’ Samuelson said. Van Effen felt faintly surprised. Riordan didn’t look like a man who had a first name. Riordan nodded to the company and mounted a circular stairway. Van Effen said: ‘Mr Riordan doesn’t approve of our heathenish practice of having a borreltie at this hour?’
‘Mr Riordan doesn’t disapprove. He doesn’t drink himself, nor does he smoke, but he doesn’t disapprove. I may as well tell you — for you will find out anyway and I don’t wish to cause anybody any embarrassment — that Mr Riordan regularly goes upstairs at this hour for prayer and meditation. He does this several times a day and one cannot but respect a man with such deeply-held beliefs. He is very devout — and is, in fact, an ordained minister of the church.’
‘You surprise me,’ van Effen said. He thought briefly. ‘No, on second thoughts you don’t surprise me. It seems very much in character. For such a devout character, I must say, the Reverend has certainly let loose a storm of cats in the dovecotes of Europe today.’
‘You must not think ill of Riordan, nor underestimate him.’ Samuelson spoke very seriously. ‘He is an evangelist, a missionary fired by a burning zeal. He is genuinely appalled by what is happening in Northern Ireland and believes that if blood must be spilled to bring peace to that troubled land then that’s how it will be. In his own words, he’s prepared to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil.’
‘And you support him in all of this?’
‘Naturally. Why else should I be here?’
It would have been interesting, van Effen thought, to know just why else he should be there but it seemed hardly the time and place to raise the question. He hoisted himself on a bar stool and looked around. The two girls were in whispered consultation. Agnelli and Daniken had already occupied the two stools at the further end of the bar. Vasco, who had been wandering round looking at the paintings and brass and copper work on the walls, made his unconcerned way over to the bar and sat down beside Daniken whom he began to engage in hoarse conversation.
‘Mr Samuelson.’ It was Julie. ‘I think I’ll go to my room. I have a bit of a headache.’
Van Effen remained casually still, drumming his fingers idly on the bar-top, a man perfectly at ease with himself. He was, in fact, very far indeed from being at ease with himself, the last thing that he wanted was that either of the girls should go to their rooms. Samuelson, who had been stooping down behind the bar, came to his unwitting rescue. ‘My dear Julie!’ If he weren’t so certain that he knew what Samuelson would say next, van Effen could have hit him. ‘Not to be thought of. Here we have a fine Tio Pepe. Guaranteed cure for any headache. Would you deprive me of your company?’
They would obviously have cheerfully done just that but just as obviously deemed it prudent to do as he told — prisoners tend to do what their gaolers tell them — and came and perched reluctantly by the bar, Julie close to her brother. She glanced at him briefly, a glance which told him quite clearly what she thought of violent characters who spoke off-handedly about sticking undesirable characters under the ground, then looked away. Almost at once she looked back again, fortunately not too quickly: something had just touched her right thigh. She looked at him, frowning slightly, then glanced downwards. Almost at once she turned away and made some confidential remark to Annemarie, just as Samuelson’s head cleared the bar again. Magnificent, van Effen thought, she was magnificent, the best in Amsterdam wouldn’t be good enough for his sister after this.
She accepted her sherry from Samuelson with a correctly pleasant if somewhat forced smile, delicately sipped her drink, placed it on the bar-top, opened her handbag on her lap and brought out cigarettes and lighter. She was magnificent, van Effen thought. She lit the cigarette, returned the cigarette case but not the lighter to her bag and, while still talking quietly to Annemarie while watching, without seeming to, the men at the bar, dropped her hand till it touched van Effen’s. A moment later, the lighter and the folded note, the top of which had been protruding between the fore and middle fingers of van Effen’s was safely inside her closed bag. He could have hugged and kissed her and made a mental note to do so at the first available opportunity. In the meantime, he did the next best thing, he downed his borreltie in one gulp. He had never much cared for it but this one tasted as nectar must have done to the gods. Samuelson, ever the attentive host, hurried across to replenish his glass and van Effen thanked him courteously. The second borreltie went the same way as the first.
Julie locked the bedroom door behind her, opened her bag and brought out the note which she began to unfold. Annemarie looked at her curiously. ‘What have you got there? And why are your hands shaking, Julie?’ ‘A billet-doux that I have just got from a love-lorn suitor in the bar. Wouldn’t your hands shake if you’d just got a billet-doux from a love-lorn suitor in the bar?’ She smoothed out the note so that they could both read it together. It had been meticulously typed so obviously it was not a scribbled note put together at the last moment.
‘Sony about the appearance and the thick accent,’ it said, ‘but you will understand that I can’t very well go around in my ordinary clothes and using my ordinary voice.
‘The dashing young army captain is Vasco. You will understand why he has developed this sore throat. Annemarie might just have been a little startled to hear his normal voice. Agnelli would have been very startled. ‘George is with us. Couldn’t bring him in athirst because George can’t be disguised. Couldn’t have you hugging him with feminine shrieks of delight. ‘You don’t know, us and you don’t want to know us. Stay away from us but don’t make it too obvious. Distant, remote and extending to us as much courtesy as you would to any other common criminals. ‘Don’t try to do anything clever. Don’t try to do anything. The men, probably, are not dangerous but watch the girls. They’re shrewd and have nasty devious feminine minds.