Sir Austin, who had been talking quietly to the Crown Prince for a moment or two broke in. “Where does this Stefanopoulos live?”
“In the Jewish Quarter,” replied the Dutchman.
“Far from here?” queried Anthony.
“Take a tram along the Geldersche Kade past the Fish Market into the New Market. Get off by St. Anthony’s Weigh House. You can’t miss that—it’s a rather quaint red-brick affair carrying round towers and spires. It was the old East Gate of Amsterdam. Go down a side turning just before Joden Bree Straat—the first turning on the left before the canal. Stefanopoulos lives in the second establishment on the right. But I shall be coming along with you when the fun starts—so you need have no worry about finding your way.”
“It is most essential that we should be able to interview Stefanopoulos before he receives his visitor,” remarked Anthony.
“That also shall be arranged,” said Cuypers. “I will see to it.”
He was as good as his word and early that afternoon the notorious Greek “fence” of International reputation was privileged and surprised to receive four visitors. The establishment in the Jewish quarter to which Cuypers escorted them was externally unpretentious and to all appearances in no way significant of its proprietor’s world-wide notoriety. It was situated on the fringe of that part of the City of Amsterdam devoted for many years to the fascinating industry of diamond-cutting. To Anthony Bathurst, the quarter with its stalls and booths was as much reminiscent of London’s “Middlesex Street” as of anything he knew and the domicile of Stefanopoulos might have been removed en bloc from the Whitechapel Road. Cuypers beckoned to them.
“Come right in with me,” he said, “and let me do the talking.”
“What is the gentleman’s ostensible business?” asked Anthony.
“He’s a registered moneylender,” replied Cuypers, “and I for one, should be sorry to get in his clutches. He’s reputed to be the fourth richest man in Amsterdam.” He put his forefinger to his lips. “Leave it to me.”