Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 36, No. 6, June 1991

Since there are swarms of tourists in Amsterdam at all seasons of the year, Clay decided that his best disguise was to hide out in plain sight — taking on the protective coloration of the sightseeing tourist. He bought a guidebook and systematically pursued the tourist sights of the city: the magnificent Rijksmuseum, with its many Rembrandts, the Stedelijk Museum, which has hundreds of Van Gogh canvases, the Rembrandthuis, the home of Rembrandt, the tropical plant museum. For three days, Clay haunted museums and art galleries, and nobody paid the slightest attention to him.

The Groot Vreeling, upon which Clay Felton was to return to the United States from Amsterdam, has a reputation as a “student ship.” Those who have sailed it describe it as a kind of floating madhouse. It has few comforts. Commercial and well-heeled passengers seldom travel it. Its appeal is economy, the cheapest way to get between Europe and America. Most of its space is booked months in advance. The cabins are packed with seven hundred college students, three or four to a tiny cabin, though a few higher-priced staterooms often go begging. Clay considered getting a stateroom or changing his reservation to fly back, but decided to do nothing that might attract attention to himself, like canceling one reservation and trying to get another.

He checked out of the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky and arrived at the pier by taxi. An enormous mob of students milled about, but he saw nothing suspicious. For a brief moment he was exultant. He had made it. Then, as he walked down the pier, his heart sank. Far down, the red-haired woman was standing beside the embarkation gangplank. Beside her stood an enormous fat man in a dark suit and two tall, muscular men who had gangster written all over them.

Clay was panicstricken. Had they found out about him? It was logical that they should check the ship, since the Groot Vreeling was the last student ship sailing for the season. The original scheme was to have a smuggler, disguised as a student, take the diamonds across. The diamonds had been given to someone who resembled a student. Perhaps they were checking students to see if any carried a pair of souvenir wooden shoes filled with chocolates.

Clay tipped a porter to have his baggage taken aboard. Then he turned and walked half a block to a souvenir shop.

“Do you speak English here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have fifty of these?” He pointed to a pair of the wooden shoes filled with chocolates.

“Fifty, sir?” The souvenir man was astonished.

“Yes. I’m doing some public relations work for the New York office of the Groot Vreeling. If I buy fifty of these, can you have someone stand out front and give them away? But only give them to young men students who can show a ticket for this sailing of the Groot Vreeling.

A separate gift will be given on board to the young ladies.” Clay pulled out several large bills.

“I’m sure it can be arranged, sir.”

“Very well. Give me a receipt for my office, please.” Clay thought that sounded businesslike. “And remember, say, ‘Compliments of the Groot Vreeling,’ each time you give one away. And give them only to young men students who can show you their tickets.”

“You can depend on it, sir.”

“This is an experiment. If it builds good will for the line, you may get other business in the future.”

Clay paid over three hundred seventy-five Dutch guilders, got his receipt, walked a few steps to an outdoor cafe and ordered coffee, then watched as the fifty sets of chocolate-filled wooden shoes were quickly dispensed.

He chuckled as he thought of the watching four going slightly crazy trying to check all those pairs of souvenir shoes. Then he got in line and calmly walked aboard. The redhaired woman, the fat man, the two mobsters did not give him more than a passing glance. Wearing a hat, bespectacled, well-dressed, he hardly resembled at all the poor student to whom the diamonds had been given.

Clay’s cabin was on C deck, deep in the bowels of the ship. It bore no relation to the luxury in which he had been living. Two other college-age students were already in the cramped space.

“Hi, I’m Tony McKenzie, Toledo, Ohio.” A handsome, dark-haired extrovert grinned at him.

“I’m Clay Felton, Nashville, Tennessee.”

“This is Howard Braden. He’s from Chicago.”

They shook hands all around.

Tony, it quickly developed, was a smooth operator with the girls. He looked Clay over appraisingly, decided he did not have two heads and was socially acceptable.

“How about going up to the bar for a beer?”

“Okay,” Clay agreed.

As they were walking up the passageway to the Main deck, Tony grew confidential. “Clay, I’ve been circulating around. Making contacts.”

“Oh?”