Page 11 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

A s Melody left the library, she contemplated her next move. She knew Rat would be departing soon for his outing with Miss Edwards, and besides, he wasn’t the right person to confide her insights to; Alessandro was.

Despite her general irritation with the man, he owned at least one newspaper in Amsterdam, if not more, for all she knew. Certainly, he was the one most familiar with and connected to the world of journalism. Yet Melody hesitated.

On the surface, her reluctance to return to Alessandro’s townhouse stemmed from the real possibility of having another uncomfortable confrontation with Fatima. She could envision the woman’s disdain as she insinuated Melody was fabricating false reasons to seek out “her Sandro.”

Yet, there was more to her hesitation than merely the likelihood of encountering Fatima.

Melody had been proud of what she had uncovered during her research in the library, and believed it warranted further exploration.

But now, as she thought about it further, Melody feared Alessandro would mock her, because he had already discerned the pattern she had noted or, worse still, for her naivety in believing it to be significant.

Melody was so deep in thought that she nearly lost her way.

At one point, she paused at a street corner and looked around; had she taken a wrong turn?

At that moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder and was shoved to the ground.

It took her a moment to realise that the person who had pushed her had also snatched her satchel.

Some bystanders gathered to assist the young woman. After she protested that she didn’t require a trip to the doctor, the crowd lost interest and drifted away.

Aside from some grazes on her palms, Melody was unhurt. More than anything, she was angry. She assumed a footpad had set upon her. Other than her notepad, she had nothing of value in her bag. Whatever money she was carrying was in a small bag in the pocket of her skirt.

What was most annoying was having lost the notes she had made.

However, as she reflected on them, Melody realised that, while she might not recall every detail, she remembered enough to relay it to Alessandro.

She did remember the names of the two journalists she had identified as being behind many of the more partisan articles.

Losing her notes was irritating, but not fatal.

Now, Melody was determined to reach Alessandro’s house as swiftly as possible so that she could write down everything she recalled while it was still fresh in her mind.

Ten minutes later, she stood outside his door, taking a moment before knocking.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for an inevitable confrontation with Fatima.

Because of her attempts to prepare herself to come face-to-face with Fatima, Melody was caught off guard when a maid answered the door. It appeared that Alessandro was home, and the maid welcomed her into the house, guiding her to the room they had occupied the previous evening.

Melody took a seat and waited a few minutes before the door opened, and Alessandro entered. To her immense relief, Fatima was not with him.

“Miss Chesterton, Melody, I was not expecting you.”

Melody considered making an acerbic comment about his attempts to exclude her from the investigation, but she thought better of it. There was nothing to be gained by further antagonising the man.

Instead, she said, “I believe I have found something out. I spent the afternoon in the Anglo-Continental Library taking notes.” She paused. “Unfortunately, I was attacked on the walk over here and my satchel was stolen. ”

“Melody, are you alright?” Alessandro exclaimed. His concern at this news should have been gratifying, but given her overall irritation at the man, pretending to care about her welfare was annoying.

“I am fine. Nothing more than some grazing on my palms. However, my notes were in the satchel. I believe I can remember the main gist of what I wrote. Do you have some paper on which I can write names and details?”

Alessandro crossed to a charming little desk in the corner of the room and returned with some expensive-looking notepaper and a pen.

Melody then explained what she had discovered and noted key details, including the journalists’ names, as far as she could remember them.

Any fear she’d had that Alessandro would tell her he already knew these facts, or that they were unimportant, dissipated as he said, “This is good work, Melody. Really good work. I should have thought of doing this, but I didn’t.”

Melody blushed at the praise. Alessandro continued, “I recognise one of those names, Hendrik Bosman, but not the other, Paul van Dijk. Bosman is a notorious apologist for some of the most extreme elements in Dutch society. Let me see what I can find out about van Dijk.”

“Were you able to learn anything more about Vermeer?” Melody asked.

Alessandro nodded. “From what my journalist discovered, his name was Karl Brenner, or at least the name he had been living under. He had been working as recording clerk at the docks at Entrepotdok for a year now. It appears he had been cohabiting with a woman for several months, and when he didn’t return home for two nights, she went to her local police station and identified the body. ”

“Well, a job at the docks explains how he must have got hold of the manifest fragment that was found in his hand,” Melody mused.

“Indeed,” Alessandro agreed.

While she was initially hesitant to mention William’s name, Melody couldn’t help but ask, “Do you know anything about how Vermeer originally made contact with Captain Somerset?”

“Nothing. However, I do know that all potential informants are thoroughly vetted, so Somerset must have had reason to trust the man’s information. ”

“What kind of information had he passed on previously?”

Once again, Alessandro knew very little. All he was aware of was that the British Government’s suspicions regarding German false flag operations had been confirmed, at least in part, by Vermeer’s information.

Alessandro promised to inform her and Rat as soon as he had more information regarding the two journalists. “I want to talk to some of my people about the events you’ve highlighted. I’m sure my newspaper covered the events, and I want to understand their viewpoint on what happened.”

Melody couldn’t help expressing her next question, “Will your journalists think you want this information?”

It was a fair question, and Alessandro nodded in recognition of it.

“I own the newspaper and so do not need to explain myself. However, I already mentioned to my staff that I am attempting to ensure consistency across my newspapers, which includes connecting events in one country to those my papers are reporting on in others.”

Even if that wasn’t entirely plausible, Melody could see that a lowly journalist would not imagine it was his place to delve too deeply into the explanation.

Ten minutes later, Melody decided it was time to leave.

She had avoided encountering Fatima and didn’t want to overstay and risk changing that.

Despite the open windows, the hot temperatures had left the drawing room rather stuffy.

Melody had once again removed her bolero jacket upon entering the room, placing it beside her on the couch.

Now, she picked it up and began to put it on.

As she did so, she heard a slight crinkling from within one pocket.

Melody reached in and discovered a piece of paper she was certain hadn’t been there earlier.

Melody pulled the paper out. At first glance, it appeared to be two columns of meaningless letters and numbers.

Alessandro walked towards her and extended his hand. After examining it for a couple of minutes, he said, “I think this might be the key to the cypher.”

“Really? In my pocket?” Melody asked sceptically.

“How do you think it got in there?”

Melody considered his question. Now, she second-guessed her initial certainty that the paper hadn’t been there earlier. When was the last time she had worn this jacket? She thought back over the days since they’d arrived in Amsterdam.

Finally, Melody said, “I’ve only worn this jacket once or twice since we’ve been here. I put it on today because the temperature is a little cooler than it has been and it does go so nicely with this skirt.”

“And you’ve had it on all day, or at least until you came here?”

“No. I took it off in the library. It was also quite stuffy in there. However, it was next to me on the table the entire time. I would have seen if anyone had approached me and slipped something in there.”

“What about the person who stole your satchel? Is it possible they slipped something into your pocket as they grabbed your bag?” Alessandro asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. It was possible, but why bother? “If someone wanted to give me something, that seems a rather extreme way of going about it. Doesn’t it? Why not walk up to me and give it to me while pretending to ask for directions?”

It was a good question, but Alessandro had no equally good response.

Instead, he said, “This could be what Matthew needs to decipher the manifest. Someone wants this information in your hands, Melody. Maybe this is another informant who fears making direct contact because of what happened to Vermeer.”

While that seemed plausible, Melody felt she had to point out what she thought would be obvious: “Or, someone is trying to throw us off the scent of the real cypher by giving us a false key.”

Reluctantly, Alessandro accepted this was plausible.

However, he insisted that they should consider the possibility that someone was trying to help them.

As they talked, he became increasingly convinced that Vermeer had not been acting alone and that this additional informant was afraid to step out of the shadows.

“I have seen things like this happen before. Perhaps this associate of Vermeer’s knew about his planned meeting with your brother and has been watching you both, waiting for the right moment to share whatever Vermeer was planning to give Matthew,” Alessandro suggested.

Despite Alessandro’s assurances, Melody couldn’t shake her concerns about the convenience of a cypher key unexpectedly appearing in her pocket.

However, she was still glowing from his unexpected praise earlier and didn’t want to take a step back from their newfound cordiality by continuing to challenge him.

As she had this thought, Melody wondered again where Fatima was.

When they were in Morocco, Melody harboured serious reservations about the other woman’s trustworthiness.

Half Moroccan and half French, there seemed little reason for Fatima to align herself with British interests, and even less reason to trust that she would.

Melody could easily believe that Fatima didn’t possess any national allegiance and instead picked the side most likely to win in any given situation.

However, Alessandro seemed to trust her totally, and there was little doubt that she knew far more about his work for the British Secret Service Bureau than he was willing to acknowledge to Melody.

Why had Fatima come with them? Melody couldn’t help but wonder. “Where is Fatima today?” She asked, attempting a nonchalant tone.

“I have no idea. Probably out shopping,” Alessandro answered. Then asked suspiciously. “Why?”

Melody shrugged. “I was just curious why she didn’t open the door today.”

Perhaps sensing the direction in which Melody’s thoughts had been heading, Alessandro said with the weariness of someone resentful of having to repeat himself yet again, “Melody, Fatima can be trusted. Or at least, I trust her. She is not working against us, nor is she some wily operative who is playing both sides. I realise you dislike her, though I am not sure why. However, it’s not helpful to throw up these accusations. ”

Melody wanted to argue that she had made no accusation.

She had simply asked where the woman was.

However, since suspicion had indeed been behind her inquiry, she saw no point in prolonging the discussion.

She didn’t trust Fatima and never would, but, at least for now, she was the only one who didn’t.

Melody realised it was pointless to poke at the matter any further.

Changing the subject entirely, Alessandro told Melody, “I am sending Mustafa to walk back with you. If the snatching of your bag wasn’t a random act, then whoever took it may have realised they do not have what they were looking for and might try again.

Do you know, the boy has the most extraordinary power of recall.

I didn’t realise it until we reached Amsterdam.

I showed him a map one day and he could remember the entire thing perfectly when we were next out. ”

Mustafa was a young, orphaned Arab boy whom they had befriended in Morocco.

He was a skinny lad of about eight years who had proven resourceful and brave.

They had brought him with them to Amsterdam, where Alessandro had insisted the boy stay with him.

Now that she realised Alessandro owned a house in the city, it made sense why he had kept the boy.

Indeed, Melody wasn’t sure what she and Rat would have done with him at the hotel.

Melody hadn’t seen Mustafa since their arrival and suddenly felt guilty for not having even thought to ask about him.

Now, upon hearing Alessandro’s suggestion, Melody was both pleased at the chance to see the boy and discover how he was doing and also irritated by the notion that she required protection.

“Do you really believe I am so weak and incapable of taking care of myself that I would be better off with a child than alone?” she snapped.

Alessandro raised his hands as if to defend himself against her attack. “It was only a suggestion.”

“I will take Mustafa with me, not because I need to be guarded or shown the way back to the hotel, but because he can relay back to you whatever my brother has to say about the potential use of this note as the cypher key.