"De Gier talks like that too," Cardozo said.
"Bah. De Gier."
"All women like de Gier," Cardozo said. "You do too."
Miss Antoinette smiled dreamily. "I won't have to share Carl. I just love his sculptures. They're so sexy, don't you think?"
"And Carl himself?"
"Very sexy, and he can't get away." She touched Cardozo's arm. "You guys get away. De Gier took Carl and me to Carl's loft last night, in a sports car. You should have seen him roar off. Disgusting. Carl won't roar off, I'll have to drive him about, he'll be dependent on me. I'll inspire him and we'll be happy forever." Miss Antoinette danced away, swinging her hips.
Cardozo waited at the elevator. Grijpstra joined him. "Do you know," Cardozo asked, "that some women want to cripple us?"
"No," Grijpstra said.
"You don't agree?"
"No," Grijpstra said. "Not some women. All women want to cripple us. We're objects to be possessed."
"That's bad."
"Not bad." Grijpstra pushed Cardozo into the elevator. "It's true. The truth can't be classified, but it can be used."
"How?" Cardozo asked.
The elevator stopped at the first floor and Grijpstra rushed off. Cardozo ran along. "How, Adjutant?"
"If ever I find out I might just let you know," Grijpstra said. "Meanwhile, I'll live alone. Leave me alone too, Cardozo, I've got work to do."
"Where?"
"At the airport."
"What?"
"A trap," Grijpstra said. "I'm setting up a trap. You'll hear in due course."
\\\\\ 32 /////
The next day's Courier outdid itself in a display of subtle venom without making any outright statements. A front-page article pointed at possible instability of the Banque du Credit. The second page discussed the woes of the Ryder clothing stores, brought about, possibly, by the luxurious life-style and gambling of its president and main shareholder. Ryder's accidental death, already reported on, was covered in more detail, and a photograph showed the remnants of his boat, studied by State Police officers in uniform. The Society for Help Abroad was linked (the word "separately" appeared various times) to a shuffle at Police Headquarters. The commissaris, reading the article to Grijpstra and de Gier, rustled the paper. "I didn't tell him that. Kowsky must have other informants in this building."
"Good," Grijpstra said. "I like the photographs that illustrate that article. Halba and the chief constable at the club's bar, cavorting with half-naked women. Kowsky must have kept that snapshot up his sleeve. Probably smuggled a photographer in."
"Kowsky has a minicamera himself," de Gier said. "He showed it to me once. Shall we get busy, sir?"
The commissaris put his paper down. "Yes. Use all your contacts. I'll work on the Tax Inspection Office. You two can raid the club later this week; I'll assign a chief inspector. The warrant will be for gambling without a license. We'll make it official this time."
"Chief Inspector Rood, sir?"
"No. Someone else. Make as many arrests as you can, and see if we can make them implicate Fernandus and de la Faille. I'll work on the Central Bank too, see if they'll send inspectors down. We'll push from all sides and do as much damage as we can."
"Will the mayor help?" Grijpstra asked.
The commissaris nodded. "Yes. He wants me to go slow, but I'll ignore that advice, I think." He rubbed his hands. "To work."
So they worked. The bank came down and was closed behind sealed doors. Warrants for the arrests of Fernandus and the baron were issued, based on statements provided by the Society's manager and waiters, and several employees of the Banque du Credit, but Fernandus could not be located. De la Faille's trail led as far as the Belgian border.
"Now what?" Grijpstra asked when he saw the commissaris later that week.
"Wait," the commissaris said.
"Any news yet from Calcutta?" Cardozo asked. The commissaris read a Teletype message. "Supply from Nepal due soon. Courier ready. Will inform you of flight number and date."
"We're ready too," the commissaris said. "This is from our narcotics commissioner out there. Where's de Gier?"
"Gone," Grijpstra said solemnly.
The telephone rang. "I'm not here," the commissaris said. He placed his elbows on his desk and dropped his chin on his clasped hands. "Gone?"
"It's the chief of the Tax Inspection Office, sir," Miss Antoinette said, covering the receiver with her hand.
The commissaris waved impatiently. "This is more urgent, dear. I'm out to everybody." He looked straight ahead. "Gone?"
Grijpstra harrumphed.
"Harrumph?" Cardozo asked. "What sort of answer is that? Where is the sergeant?"
"No sergeant," Grijpstra said placidly. "I don't think de Gier cares for his title anymore. He said he wouldn't come down. He's suspended in thin air."
"Adjutant," the commissaris said, "de Gier's been reinstated. I had an envelope placed on his desk. His salary will be paid in full with apologies and all. What more does he want?"
"More." Grijpstra flicked dust off his knee. "The white knight didn't open his envelope."
"The white knight?" Cardozo asked. "But that's silly. He wasn't serious, was he? The sergeant likes to hold on to a joke."
"Nojoke."
"So where is he?" the commissaris asked. "You're closer to de Gier than anyone else. Did he leave the city? Where is his cat?"
"At my house," Grijpstra said. "He brought it last night, in a Ferrari. I've got his furniture too, it came in a truck. I don't want de Gier's furniture. And he didn't just leave the city, he left the country."
"So why did you take his furniture? Or did you leave it in the street?"
"I took it, sir."
"And what about de Gier's apartment?"
"I don't know. For rent, I suppose."
"Evidently he isn't planning to come back," the commissaris said. "He could always get a job here. De Gier's always offered jobs. Has he got money, Adjutant?"
"Savings."
"Savings?" the commissaris repeated. "He always complains about his overdraft."
"Not for the last year, sir." Grijpstra smiled grimly. "He hasn't bought any new clothes for a year. He stayed home for his holidays. Refused to pay for my coffee. Hardly went out."
"The stock market," Cardozo said. "I've seen him looking at the Financial Times in the canteen."
"And at maps," Grijpstra said.
"What maps?"
"Maps of New Guinea, sir."
"No," the commissaris said. "That fantasy too? But that goes back years. When that Papuan suspect got away, he sent a postcard later, I believe."
"What Papuan?" Cardozo asked.
"A good man," the commissaris said, "who managed to get away. Grijpstra can tell you. This is serious." He picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk.
"Well, de Gier was suspended, sir," Grijpstra said. "And he's free anyway. If he goes, he goes."
"Surely." The commissaris let the pencil slide from his hand. "But do we want him to kill the baron? That's not a good start. He might get hurt, too, his ribs haven't healed."
"He's in pain," Cardozo said. "It hurts him when he breathes deeply. I could see that. De Gier was very careful how he moved."
"You don't want him to duel with the baron, sir?" Grijpstra asked.
The commissaris played with his pencil. "No."
The telephone rang again. Miss Antoinette answered. "State Police, sir, about the accident on the Vinker Lakes."
"Good luck to them," the commissaris said.
"He isn't here," Miss Antoinette said into the telephone.
Cardozo flattened his hair with both hands. "The baron's probably in Spain, at Ten Haaf's estate in Marbella, where Guldemeester is working now."