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goats. Mini-goats, strange-looking specimens, from Mongolia, I believe."
    "They all died," Grijpstra said.
    "Probably a rare breed," the commissaris said. "Couldn't stand your treatment."
    "No, no," Grijpstra said, "nothing to do with me. Some disease, it must have been. I got drunk because that household made me unhappy. De Gier and I are different that way. He won't drink when he's unhappy."
    "So Mrs. Guldemeester made a pass at you, Sergeant?" the commissaris asked. "And that upset you? You should be used to that sort of thing by now."
    "Our hero," Grijpstra said. "It's because of that ridiculous mustache. It makes women curious, they want to lift it up."
    "It's my high cheekbones," de Gier said. "Anyway, I didn't respond, so Celine stripped on the table."
    "She what?" asked the commissaris.
    "She did, sir," Grijpstra said. "Cardozo liked that. He gave her the idea. He kept talking about how he would like to infiltrate that nightclub, or gambling joint, or whatever one would like to call it, that belongs to the Society for Help Abroad and gets written up in the papers a lot. Best striptease in town. Guldemeester said he'd been there several times in the line of duty and the the show was truly excellent. Meanwhile, his wife had been making up to the sergeant, who just sat there and called her 'ma'am' and—"
    "Well, what did she expect?" de Gier asked. "She is Guldemeester's wife."
    "More, probably," the commissaris said. "Perhaps she expected more. Go on, Adjutant, you've made me curious."
    "Well, sir," Grijpstra said, "so Celine said that Cardozo could see a striptease right then and there, but she kept looking at de Gier."
    "Then what happened?"
    "We went home," de Gier said. "After Grijpstra threw up on the goats."
    "Oh," the commissaris said, "so Mrs. Guldemeester didn't really perform?"
    "She did," de Gier said. "It took forever, too. She must have practiced. She had special music for her act. 'Pyramid' by the Modern Jazz Quartet. You know the piece? It takes quite a while."
    "Good composition," Grijpstra said. "We should try that sometime. Some very tricky passages, though; maybe you won't be able to follow."
    "No," de Gier said. "I'll be thinking of that party again."
    "From what I hear," the commissaris said, "the experience might have had some pleasant aspects. De Gier, you've been here from time to time while we were away. Have you heard anything about reorganization at Headquarters here?"
    "I hope there won't be," Grijpstra said. "Reorganization makes the mess worse."
    "There'll be an investigation, sir," de Gier said. "State detectives have been called in by the mayor. They're supposed to concentrate on corruption and on cases that have been recently handled in an unprofessional way."
    "I hope they won't ask for my cooperation," the commissaris said. "I wouldn't like to intrigue against colleagues."
    De Gier stared at the commissaris.
    "Yes, Sergeant?"
    "No, sir." De Gier shook his head. "I was just thinking. Anything else you have in mind? I'd like to send that message off and see what Halba and Guldemeester have done, exactly. Shall we meet here tonight?"
    "I'll meet you at Martin IJsbreker's house," the commissaris said. "At seven. No, make that eight. I'd like to look around the area a bit first, I think."

\\\\\ 5 /////
    "V ERY NICE," ADJUTANT GRIJPSTRA SAID. "BEAUtiful, in fact. Lovely example of Golden Age architecture." The adjutant stood solidly at the extreme edge of the quay, his head tilted to obtain an optimal view. De Gier leaned against a tree. Together they observed a slender four-story gable built up out of varnished bricks, holding tall windows in bright white frames. A seagull had just landed on the gable's tip and was silhouetted sharply against the sky, which was still sparkling blue, but tinged with the first hue of coming darkness.
    "Got the key?" de Gier asked.
    "Sure," Grijpstra said. "He wouldn't give it, of course. Wanted to know why and so forth. Colleague Guldemeester can be quite