'That was nothing,' she said.
Sonja Hansson stood in the bathroom rinsing out her washing. When she turned off the water she heard the telephone ringing in the living room. She ran in and picked up the receiver without even taking time to dry her hands.
It was Bengtsson.
'Your bureau is on the way,' he said. 'The truck ought to be there in about fifteen minutes.'
'Thanks. It was nice of you to call. Otherwise, I wouldn't open the door, as I told you. I didn't think you would get it here so early. Shall I come down to your office and pay the bill or…'
'You can pay the driver. He has the invoice with him.'
'Fine. I'll do that, Mr…?'
'The name's Bengtsson. I hope you'll be satisfied with our service. The truck will be there in fifteen minutes, as I said.'
'Thank you. Goodbye.'
When she hung up she dialed Martin Beck's number.
'The bureau will be here in fifteen minutes. He just telephoned. I almost missed the call. It was just luck that I heard the phone. I didn't think of it before, but when the water's running in the bathtub I can't hear the phone.'
'You had better not bathe for a while,' Martin Beck replied. 'Seriously, though, you have to be near the telephone all the time. You can't go up to the attic or down to the laundry or anything like that.'
'No. I know. Shall I go down to his office as soon as the bureau has come?'
'Yes, I think so. Then call me.'
Martin Beck sat in the same room with Ahlberg. As he hung up the phone. Ahlberg looked at him questioningly.
'She's going there in about a half an hour,' Martin Beck told him.
'We'll just have to wait then. She's a great gal. I like her.'
When they had waited for over two hours Ahlberg said: 'Surely nothing could have happened to her now…'
'Keep calm,' Martin Beck answered. 'She'll call.'
She called after they had waited another half hour.
'Have you been waiting long?'
Martin Beck grimaced:
'What happened?' he said, and cleared his throat.
'I'll start at the beginning. Two drivers came with the bureau twenty minutes after I talked with you. I hardly glanced at it and told the men where it should go. After they left I noticed it was the wrong bureau and I went down to the office to complain.'
'You were there quite a long time.'
'Yes. He had a customer when I arrived. I waited outside the counter and he looked at me several times. It seemed as if he was trying to hurry the customer. He was very distressed about the bureau and I said that the mistake was mine, not the firm's. We almost got into an argument about whose fault it was. Then he went to find out if someone could bring the right bureau this evening.'
'Yes?'
'But he couldn't arrange it. He promised to see that it would be delivered tomorrow morning, though. He said that he would have liked to bring it himself, and I said that was too much to ask although it certainly would have been pleasant.'
'Okay. Did you leave then?'
'No. Of course I stayed on.'
'Was he hard to talk to?'
'Not particularly. He seemed a little shy.'
'What did you talk about?'
'Oh, about how terrible the traffic is and how much better Stockholm was before. And then I said that it was no city to be alone in, and he agreed, although he said he rather liked to be alone.'
'Did he seem pleased to talk to you?'
'I think so. But I couldn't hang around forever. He mentioned that he liked to go to the movies but other than that he didn't go out very much. Then, there wasn't much more to say. So I left. He walked out to the door with me and was very polite. What do we do now?'
'Nothing. Wait.'
Two days later Sonja Hansson went back to the moving company again.
'I wanted to thank you for your help and tell you that I received the bureau. I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble.'
'It was no trouble at all,' Folke Bengtsson said. 'Welcome back. What can I do for you?'
A man walked into the room and interrupted. He was clearly the head of the firm.
When she left the office she knew Bengtsson was looking at her over the counter and before she reached the outer door, she turned and met his glance.
A week went by before the experiment was repeated. Once again the pretext was a transportation problem. She hadn't been in her apartment on Runeberg Street very long and she was still in the process of gathering some furniture from the attics of various relatives.
After still another five days she stood in his office again. It was just before five o'clock and because she was passing by, she thought she'd drop in.
Sonja Hansson sounded annoyed when she telephoned in.
'He still isn't reacting?' Martin Beck asked.
'Only moderately. You know, I don't believe it's him.'
'Why not?'
'He seems so shy. And rather disinterested. I've pressed hard these last few times, practically given him an open invitation. Seven out of ten men would have been sitting outside my door howling like wolves by now. I guess I just don't have any sex appeal. What should I do?'
'Keep on.'
'You ought to get someone else.'
'Keep on.'
Continue. But how long? Hammar's look became more questioning each day that passed. And each time Martin Beck looked in the mirror the face that he met was more and more haggard.
The electric clock on the wall at the Klara Police Station ticked away another three uneventful nights. Three weeks had passed since the dress rehearsal. The plan was well conceived but it didn't seem as if they would ever have the chance to put it into effect. Absolutely nothing had happened. The man called Folke Bengtsson lived a quiet, routine life. He drank his buttermilk, went to work, and slept nine hours each night. But they were almost losing contact with their normal environments and the outer world. The hounds chased themselves to death without the fox even noticing it, Martin Beck thought.
He stared angrily at the black telephone which hadn't rung for three weeks. The girl in the apartment on Runeberg
Street knew that she should only use it for one specific situation. They called her twice each evening to check. Once at six o'clock and again at midnight. That was the only thing that happened.
The atmosphere in Martin Beck's home was strained. His wife didn't say anything but the doubting look in her eyes was more and more unmistakable each time he looked at her. She had given up faith in this project a long time ago. It had not produced results and kept him away from home night after night. And he neither could nor would explain.
It was somewhat better for Kollberg. At least Melander and Stenstrom relieved him every third night. Ahlberg kept occupied by playing chess by himself. That was called solving problems! All topics of conversation had long since been pre-empted.
Martin Beck had lost the train of thought in the newspaper article he was pretending to read. He yawned and
