'I don't know, Belinda.*
'Maggie was good at her job, wasn't she?*
'Maggie was good.'
'And me?' I said nothing. 'You don't have to tell me,' she said dully. 'I should have pushed van Gelder down the stairs in the warehouse, or crashed his van, or pushed him in the canal, or knocked him off the steps on the crane or — or — ' She said wonderingly: 'He didn't have his gun on me at any time.'
'He didn't have to, Belinda.'
'You knew?'
'Yes.'
'Category Grade 1, female operative,' she said bitterly. 'First job in narcotics — '
'Last job in narcotics.'
'I know.' She smiled wanly. 'I'm fired.'
'That's my girl,' I said approvingly. I pulled her to her feet. 'At least you know the regulations, or the one that concerns you anyway. She stared at me for a long moment, then the slow smile came for the first time that night. That's the one,' I said. 'Married women are not permitted to remain in the service.' She buried her face in my shoulders, which at least spared her the punishment of having to look at my sadly battered face.
I looked past the blonde head at the world beyond and below. The great hook with its grisly load was swaying wildly now and at the extremity of one of the swings both gun and puppet slipped from van Gelder's shoulders and fell away. They landed on the cobbles on the far side of the deserted canal street, the riot gun and the beautiful puppet from Huyler, over which the shadow, like the giant pendulum of a giant clock, of the cable, the hook and its burden, swung in ever-increasing arcs across the night skies of Amsterdam.