and the green rubber mask, as well as a rolled-up bath towel and a bottle of suntan oil.
(Martin Beck, the born detective and famous observer, constantly occupied making useless observations and storing them away for future use. Doesn't even have bats in his belfry—they couldn't get in for all the crap in the way.)
'Are you waiting for the boat too?'
'Yes,' he said. 'But we're probably going in different directions.'
'I don't have anything special to do. I was thinking of going home, of course.'
'Have you been swimming?'
(The art of deduction.)
'Yes, of course. Why do you ask that?'
(Well, that's a very good question.)
'What have you done with your boyfriend today?'
(What the hell has that got to do with me? Oh, it's just an interrogation technique.)
'Tetz? He's gone. Anyway, he's not my boyfriend.'
'Oh, isn't he?'
(Extremely spiritual.)
'Just a boy I know. He stays at the boarding house now and again. He's a nice guy.'
She shrugged her shoulders. He looked at her feet. They were still short and broad with straight toes.
(Martin Beck, the incorruptible, more interested in a woman's shoe size than the color of her nipples.)
'Uh-huh. And now you're going home, are you?'
(The wearing-them-down treatment.)
'Well, I thought I would. I don't have anything special to do around this time of the summer. What are you going to do yourself?'
'I don't know.'
(At last a word of truth.)
'Have you been up to Gellert Hill to look at the view? From the Liberation Memorial?'
'No.'
'You can see the whole city from there, as if it were on a tray.'
'Mm-m.'
'Shall we go there? Perhaps there'll even be a little breeze up there.'
'Why not?' said Martin Beck.
(You can always keep your eyes open.)
'Then we'll take the boat that's coming in now. You would have taken that one anyway.'
The boat was called Ifjugarda and had probably been built on the same design as the steamer he had been on the day before. The ventilators, however, were constructed differently and the funnel was slightly aft- braced.
They stood by the railing. The boat slid swiftly midstream toward Margaret Bridge. Just under the arch, she said, 'What's your name, by the way?'
'Martin.'
'Mine's An. But you knew that before, didn't you—however that happened.'
He gave no reply to that, but after a while said, 'What does this name mean—Ifjugarda?'
'A member of the Youth Guard.'
The view from the Liberation Memorial lived up to her promise and more so. There was even a little breeze up there, too. They had gone all the way on the boat to the last stop in front of the famous Gellert Hotel, then walked a bit along a street named after Bela Bartok and finally got on a bus which slowly and laboriously had taken them to the top of the hill.
Now they were standing on the parapet of the citadel above the monument. Beneath them lay the city, with hundreds of thousands of windows glowing in the late afternoon sun. They were standing so close to each other that he felt a light, brushing touch when she swung her body. For the first time in five days, he allowed himself to be caught thinking about something other than Alf Matsson.
'There's the museum I work in, over there,' she said. 'It's closed during the summer.'
'Oh.'
'Otherwise I go to the university.'
'Uh-huh.'
They went down on foot, along twisting paths traversing the bank down to the river. Then they walked across the new bridge and found themselves close to his hotel. The sun had rolled down below the hills in the northwest and a soft, warm dusk had fallen over the river.
'Well, what shall we do now?' said Ari Boeck.
She held him lightly by his arm and swung her body playfully as they walked along the quay.
'We could talk about Alf Matsson,' said Martin Beck.
The woman gave him a swift look of reproach, but the next moment was smiling as she said, 'Yes, why not? How is he? Are you great friends?'
'No, not at all. I only… know him.'
At this stage he was almost convinced that she was telling the truth and that his vague idea that had taken him to the house in Ujpest had been a false trail. But it's an ill wind that brings no one any good, he thought.
She was clinging to his arm a little now and zigzagging with her feet so that her body swung back and forth on a vertical axle.
'What kind of boat is that?' he said.
'It goes on moonlight cruises up the river, then around Margaret Island and back. It takes about an hour. Costs next to nothing. Shall we go along on it?'
They went on board and soon afterward the boat set out, peacefully splashing in the dark current. Of all the types of engine-driven vessels yet constructed, there is none that moves so pleasantly as the paddle steamer.
They stood above the wheelhouse and watched the shores gliding by. She leaned against him, quite lightly, and he now felt very clearly something he had noticed earlier: that she had no bra on under her dress.
A small ensemble was playing on the afterdeck and a number of people were dancing.
'Do you want to dance?' she said.
'No,' said Martin Beck.
'Good. I don't think it's much fun either.'
A moment later she said, 'But I can, if necessary.'
'So can I,' said Martin Beck.
The boat passed Margaret Island and Ujpest, before turning and soundlessly gliding back southward with the current. They stood behind the funnel for a moment and looked through the open hatches. The engine was beating with calm pulse beats, the copper pipes were shining and the warm oily current of air was flung upward in their direction.
'Have you been on this boat before?' he said.
'Yes, many a time. It's the best thing to do in this city on a really hot evening.'
He did not really know who she was and what he thought of her, and this, above all else, irritated him.
The boat passed the colossal Parliament building—where nowadays a small red star shone discreetly above the central cupola—and then it slipped its lowered funnel under the bridge with large stone lions on it and hove to at the same place as where they started.
As they walked along the gangplank, Martin Beck let his eyes sweep over the quay. Under the lamp by the ticket office stood the tall man with dark hair brushed back on his head. He was again wearing his blue suit and was staring straight at them. A moment later the man turned around and vanished with swift steps behind the shelter. The woman followed Martin Beck's glance and put her left hand in his right one, suddenly but carefully.
'Did you see that man?' he said.
'Yes,' she said.
'Do you know who he is?'
She shook her head.
'No. Do you?'
