Puppet on a Chain by Alistair MacLean Page B
Authors: Alistair MacLean
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Maggie nodded. I pushed back my chair and rose. 'Now you tell me. Come on.'
'What? And leave all that lovely Guinness that is so good for you?'
'It's Belinda's health I'm thinking of, not mine.'
We left, and as we left it suddenly occurred to me that the name of the church had meant nothing to Magg ie. It had meant nothing to Maggie because Belinda hadn't told her when she got back to the hotel and she hadn't told her because Maggie had been asleep. And I'd wondered what the hell the two of them might have been talking about. They hadn't been talking about anything. Either this was very curious or I wasn't very clever. Or both.
As usual it was raining and as we passed along the Rembrandtplein by the Hotel Schiller, Maggie gave a well-timed shiver.
'Look,' she said. 'There's a taxi. In fact, lots of taxis.'
'I wouldn't say that there's not a taxi in Amsterdam that's not in the pay of the ungodly,' I said with feeling, 'but I wouldn't bet a nickel on it. It's not far.'
Neither was it -- by taxi. By foot it was a very considerable way indeed. But I had no intention of covering the distance on foot. I led Maggie down the Thorbecke-plein, turned left, right and left again till we came out on the Amstel. Maggie said: 'You do seem to know your way around, don't you, Major Sherman?'
'I've been here before.'
'When?'
'I forget. Last year, sometime.'
'When last year?' Maggie knew or thought she knew all my movements over the past five years and Maggie could be easily piqued. She didn't like what she called irregularities.
'In the spring, I think it was.'
'Two months, maybe?'
'About that.'
'You spent two months in Miami last spring,' she said accusingly. 'That's what the records say.'
'You know how I get my dates mixed up.'
'No, I don't.' She paused. 'I thought you'd never seen Colonel de Graaf and van Gelder before?'
'I hadn't.'
'But -- '
'I didn't want to bother them.' I stopped by a phone-box. 'A couple of calls to make. Wait here.'
'I will not!' A very heady atmosphere, was Amsterdam's. She was getting as bad as Belinda. But she had a point -- the slanting rain was sheeting down very heavily now. I opened the door and let her precede me into the booth. I called a near-by cab company whose number I knew, started to dial another number.
'I didn't know you spoke Dutch,' Maggie said.
'Neither do our friends. That's why we may get an honest taxi-driver.'
'You really don't trust anyone, do you?' Maggie said admiringly.
'I trust you, Magg ie. '
'No, you don't. You just don't want to burden my beautiful head with unnecessary problems.'
That's my line,' I complained. De Graaf came on the phone. After the usual courtesies I said: Those scraps of paper? No luck yet? Thank you, Colonel de Graaf, I'll call back later.' I hung up.
'What scraps of paper?' Maggie asked.
'Scraps of paper I gave him.'
'Where did you get them from?'
'A chap gave them to me last night.'
Maggie gave me her old-fashioned resigned look but said nothing. After a couple of minutes a taxi came along. I gave him an address in the old city and when we got there walked with Maggie down a narrow street to one, of the canals in the dock area. I stopped at the corner.
'This is it?'
'This is it,' said Magg ie.
'This' was a little grey church about fifty yards away along the canal bank. It was an ancient sway-backed crumbling edifice that appeared to be maintained in the near-vertical by faith alone, for to my untrained eye it looked to be in imminent danger of toppling into the canal. It had a short square stone tower, at least five degrees off the perpendicular, topped by a tiny steeple that leaned dangerously in the other direction. The time was ripe for the First Reformed Church of the American Huguenot Society to launch a major fund-raising drive.
That some of the adjacent buildings had been in even greater danger of collapse was evidenced by the fact that a large area of building on the canal side beyond the church had already been demolished:
'What? And leave all that lovely Guinness that is so good for you?'
'It's Belinda's health I'm thinking of, not mine.'
We left, and as we left it suddenly occurred to me that the name of the church had meant nothing to Magg ie. It had meant nothing to Maggie because Belinda hadn't told her when she got back to the hotel and she hadn't told her because Maggie had been asleep. And I'd wondered what the hell the two of them might have been talking about. They hadn't been talking about anything. Either this was very curious or I wasn't very clever. Or both.
As usual it was raining and as we passed along the Rembrandtplein by the Hotel Schiller, Maggie gave a well-timed shiver.
'Look,' she said. 'There's a taxi. In fact, lots of taxis.'
'I wouldn't say that there's not a taxi in Amsterdam that's not in the pay of the ungodly,' I said with feeling, 'but I wouldn't bet a nickel on it. It's not far.'
Neither was it -- by taxi. By foot it was a very considerable way indeed. But I had no intention of covering the distance on foot. I led Maggie down the Thorbecke-plein, turned left, right and left again till we came out on the Amstel. Maggie said: 'You do seem to know your way around, don't you, Major Sherman?'
'I've been here before.'
'When?'
'I forget. Last year, sometime.'
'When last year?' Maggie knew or thought she knew all my movements over the past five years and Maggie could be easily piqued. She didn't like what she called irregularities.
'In the spring, I think it was.'
'Two months, maybe?'
'About that.'
'You spent two months in Miami last spring,' she said accusingly. 'That's what the records say.'
'You know how I get my dates mixed up.'
'No, I don't.' She paused. 'I thought you'd never seen Colonel de Graaf and van Gelder before?'
'I hadn't.'
'But -- '
'I didn't want to bother them.' I stopped by a phone-box. 'A couple of calls to make. Wait here.'
'I will not!' A very heady atmosphere, was Amsterdam's. She was getting as bad as Belinda. But she had a point -- the slanting rain was sheeting down very heavily now. I opened the door and let her precede me into the booth. I called a near-by cab company whose number I knew, started to dial another number.
'I didn't know you spoke Dutch,' Maggie said.
'Neither do our friends. That's why we may get an honest taxi-driver.'
'You really don't trust anyone, do you?' Maggie said admiringly.
'I trust you, Magg ie. '
'No, you don't. You just don't want to burden my beautiful head with unnecessary problems.'
That's my line,' I complained. De Graaf came on the phone. After the usual courtesies I said: Those scraps of paper? No luck yet? Thank you, Colonel de Graaf, I'll call back later.' I hung up.
'What scraps of paper?' Maggie asked.
'Scraps of paper I gave him.'
'Where did you get them from?'
'A chap gave them to me last night.'
Maggie gave me her old-fashioned resigned look but said nothing. After a couple of minutes a taxi came along. I gave him an address in the old city and when we got there walked with Maggie down a narrow street to one, of the canals in the dock area. I stopped at the corner.
'This is it?'
'This is it,' said Magg ie.
'This' was a little grey church about fifty yards away along the canal bank. It was an ancient sway-backed crumbling edifice that appeared to be maintained in the near-vertical by faith alone, for to my untrained eye it looked to be in imminent danger of toppling into the canal. It had a short square stone tower, at least five degrees off the perpendicular, topped by a tiny steeple that leaned dangerously in the other direction. The time was ripe for the First Reformed Church of the American Huguenot Society to launch a major fund-raising drive.
That some of the adjacent buildings had been in even greater danger of collapse was evidenced by the fact that a large area of building on the canal side beyond the church had already been demolished:
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