There were fifty-two guests in the hotel. Carella and Hawes went through the register once and then started through it a second time.
“Hey,” Hawes said suddenly.
“What?”
“Look at this one.”
He took the note and placed it on the page so that it was directly above one of the signatures:
“What you think?” he asked.
“Different handwriting,” Carella said.
“Same initials,” Hawes said.
Detective Meyer Meyer was still shaken. He did not like ghosts. He did not like this house. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in bed with his wife Sarah. He wanted her to stroke his hand and tell him that such things did not exist, there was nothing to be afraid of, a grown man? How could he believe in poltergeists, shades, Dutch spirits? Ridiculous.
But he had heard them, and he had felt their chilling presence, and had almost thought he’d seen them, if only for an instant. He turned with fresh shock now toward the hall staircase and the sound of descending footsteps. Eyes wide, he waited for whatever new manifestation might present itself. He was tempted to draw his revolver, but he was afraid such an act would appear foolish to the Gormans. He had come here a skeptic, and he was now at least willing to believe, and he waited in dread for whatever was coming down those steps with such ponderous footfalls — some ghoul trailing winding sheets and rattling chains? Some specter with a bleached skull for a head and long bony clutching fingers dripping the blood of babies?
Willem Van Houten, wearing his red velvet slippers and his red smoking jacket, his hair still jutting wildly from behind each ear, his blue eyes fierce and snapping, came into the living room and walked directly to where his daughter and son-in-law were sitting.
“Well?” he asked. “Did they come again?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Adele said.
“What did they want this time?”
“I don’t know. They spoke Dutch again.”
“Bastards,” Van Houten said, and then turned to Meyer. “Did you see them?” he asked.
“No, sir, I did not,” Meyer said.
“But they were here,” Gorman protested, and turned his blank face to his wife. “I heard them.”
“Yes, darling,” Adele assured him. “We all heard them. But it was like that other time, don’t you remember? When we could hear them even though they couldn’t quite break through.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Gorman said, and nodded. “This happened once before, Detective Meyer.” He was facing Meyer now, his head tilted quizzically, the sightless eyes covered with their black reflecting glasses. When he spoke, his voice was like that of a child seeking reassurance. “But you did hear them, didn’t you, Detective Meyer?”
“Yes,” Meyer said. “I heard them, Mr. Gorman.”
“And the wind?”
“Yes, the wind, too.”
“And felt them? It... it gets so cold when they appear. You did feel their presence, didn’t you?”
“I felt something,” Meyer said.
Van Houten suddenly asked, “Are you satisfied?”
“About what?” Meyer said.
“That there are ghosts in this house? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To ascertain...”
“He’s here because I asked Adele to contact the police,” Gorman said.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because of the stolen jewelry,” Gorman said. “And because...” He paused. “Because I... I’ve lost my sight, yes, but I wanted to... to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind as well,”
“You’re quite sane, Ralph,” Van Houten said.
“About the jewelry...” Meyer said.
“They took it,” Van Houten said.
“Who?”
“Johann and Elisabeth. Our friendly neighborhood ghosts, the bastards.”
“That’s impossible, Mr. Van Houten.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because ghosts...” Meyer started, and hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Ghosts, well, ghosts don’t go around stealing jewelry. I mean, what use would they have for it?” he said lamely, and looked at the Gormans for corroboration. Neither of them seemed to be in a supportive mood. They sat on the sofa near the fireplace, looking glum and defeated.
“They want us out of this house,” Van Houten said. “It’s as simple as that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they said so.”
“When?”
“Before they stole the necklace and the earrings.”
“They told this to you?”
“To me and to my children. All three of us were here.”
“But I understand the ghosts speak only Dutch.”
“Yes, I translated for Ralph and Adele.”
“And then what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“When did you discover the jewelry was missing?”
“The very instant they were gone.”
“You mean you went to the safe...”
“Yes, and opened it, and the jewelry was gone.”
“We had put it in the safe not ten minutes before that,” Adele said. “We’d been to a party, Ralph and I, and we got home very late, and Daddy was still awake, reading, sitting in that chair you’re in this very minute. I asked him to open the safe, and he did, and he put the jewelry in, and closed the safe and... and then they came and... and made their threats.”
“What time was this?”
“The usual time. The time they always come. Two forty-five in the morning.”
“And you say the jewelry was put into the safe at what time?”
“About two-thirty,” Gorman said.
“And when was the safe opened again?”
“Immediately after they left. They only stay a few moments. This time they told my father-in-law they were taking the necklace and the earrings with them. He rushed to the safe as soon as the lights came on again...”
“Do the lights always go off?”
“Always,” Adele said. “It’s always the same. The lights go off, and the room gets very cold, and we hear these... strange voices arguing.” She paused. “And then Johann and Elisabeth come.”
“Except that this time they didn’t come,” Meyer said.
“And one other time,” Adele said quickly.
“They want us out of this house,” Van Houten said, “that’s all there is to it. Maybe we ought to leave. Before they take everything from us.”
“Everything? What do you mean?”
“The rest of my daughter’s jewelry. Some stock certificates. Everything that’s in the safe.”
“Where is the safe?” Meyer asked.
“Here. Behind this painting.” Van Houten walked to the wall opposite the fireplace. An oil painting of a pastoral landscape hung there in an ornate gilt frame. The frame was hinged to the wall. Van Houten swung the painting out as though opening a door and revealed the small, round, black safe behind it. “Here,” he said.
“How many people know the combination?” Meyer asked.
“Just me,” Van Houten said.
“Do you keep the number written down anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hidden.”
“Where?”
“I hardly think that’s any of your business, Detective Meyer.”
“I’m only trying to find out whether some other person could have got hold of the combination somehow.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s possible,” Van Houten said. “But highly unlikely.”
“Well,” Meyer said, and shrugged. “I don’t really know what to say. I’d like to measure the room, if you don’t mind, get the dimensions, placement of doors and windows, things like that. For my report.” He shrugged again.