The Man Who Went Up in Smoke

his hand.

His taxi swung around and stopped behind the police car, and the doorman with a gray mustache opened the back door. Martin Beck asked him to wait and went back into the revolving doors just as the policeman went into them from the other direction, closely followed by the receptionist. When the receptionist caught sight of Martin Beck, he waved and pointed to the policeman. After having whirled around a couple of times in the revolving doors, they all three succeeded in meeting up on the hotel steps and Martin Beck was given his envelope. He stepped into the taxi after having given out his last aluminum coins to the receptionist and the doorman.

On the plane, he was seated beside a boastful, loud-voiced Englishman, who hung over him, spraying saliva into his face as he related stories about his totally uninteresting activities as some kind of commercial traveler.

In Prague, Martin Beck just had time to rush through the transit hall into the next plane, before it took off. To his relief the expectorating Englishman was nowhere to be seen, and when they were up in the air, he opened the envelope.

Szluka and his men had done their best to live up to their reputation for speed. They had questioned six witnesses and done the report in English. Martin Beck read:

Summary of interrogation of those persons known by the police to have had contact with the Swedish citizen Alf Sixten Matsson from the time of his arrival at Ferihegyi Airport in Budapest at 10:15 P.M. on July 22, 1966, until his disappearance from Hotel Duna in Budapest at unknown time between 10:00 A.M. and 11:00 A.M. on July 23 of the same year.

Ferenc Havas, passport control officer who was on duty alone at the passport control point at Ferihegyi on the night between July 22 and July 23, 1966, says that he does not remember seeing Alf Matsson.

Janos Lucacs, taxi driver, says that he remembers that on the night between July 22 and 23 he took a passenger from Ferihegyi to Hotel Ifjusag. According to Lucacs, the passenger was a man between 25 and 30 years of age, had a beard and spoke German. Lucacs, who does not speak Ger man, understood only that the man wanted to be taken to Ifjusag. Lucacs thinks he remembers that the man had a suitcase, which he put down beside him on the back seat.

Leo Szabo, medical student, night porter at Hotel Ifjusag on July 22-23, remembers a man who came to the hotel late one evening between July 17-24. Everything indicates that this man was Alf Matsson although Szabo remembers neither the exact time of the man's arrival, nor his name or nationality. According to Szabo, the man was between 30 and 35 years old, spoke good English and had a beard. He was wearing light-colored trousers, blue jacket, probably a white shirt, and tie, and had light luggage—one or two bags. Szabo cannot remember having seen this man on any other occasion but this one.

Bela Peter, taxi driver, drove Alf Matsson from the Hotel Ifjusag to the Hotel Duna on the morning of July 23. He remembers a young man with a brown beard and glasses, whose luggage consisted of one large and one smaller bag, the smaller probably a typewriter.

Bela Kovacs, porter at the Hotel Duna, received Matsson's passport and gave him the key to Room 105 on the morning of July 23. According to Kovacs, Matsson was then wearing light, probably gray trousers, white shirt, blue jacket and a plain-colored tie. He was carrying a light-colored coat over his arm.

Eva Petrovich, receptionist at the same hotel, saw Matsson both when he arrived at the hotel shortly before 10:00 A.M. on July 23, and when he left the hotel about half an hour later. She has given the most extensive description of Matsson and maintains she is certain about all details, except the color of his tie. According to Miss Petrovich, Matsson was of medium height, had blue eyes, dark-brown hair, beard and mustache and steel-rimmed glasses. He was wearing light-gray trousers, dark-blue summer blazer, white shirt, blue or red tie, and beige shoes. Over his arm he had a light-beige poplin coat

Szluka had added something:

As you see we have not found out much more than what we already knew. None of the witnesses can remember anything special that Matsson did or said. I have added the description of his clothing at his disappearance to the personal description we have sent all over the country. Should any other facts come to light, I shall let you know immediately. Have a good trip!

Vilmos Szluka

Martin Beck read through Szluka's summary again. He wondered whether Eva Petrovich was the same girl who had helped him identify the cardigan-like garment in Alf Matsson's suitcase. On the back of Szluka's letter, he wrote:

Light-gray trousers

White shirt

Dark-blue blazer

Red or blue tie

Beige shoes

Light-beige poplin coat

Then he took out the list he had made of the contents of Alf Matsson's bag and read through it before putting everything into his briefcase and closing it.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He did not sleep, but sat like this until the plane began to go down through the thin cloud bank over Copenhagen.

Kastrup was as usual. He had to stand in a line before being sluiced into the transit hall, where people of all nationalities were crowding in front of the counters. He drank a Tuborg in the bar to gather his strength before tackling the trying task of collecting his luggage.

It was past three o'clock when he finally stood with his bag outside the airport building. A whole row of taxis was standing in the stand and he put his bag in the first one, got into the front seat and gave the driver the address of the harbor in Dragor.

The ferry, which was in and appeared ready to leave, was called Drogden and was an unusually ugly creation. Martin Beck put his bag and briefcase down in the cafeteria and went up on deck as the ferry eased its way out and headed for Sweden.

After the heat of the last few days in Budapest, the breeze in the Sound felt cold and after a while Martin Beck went in and sat down in the cafeteria. There were a great many people on board, mostly housewives who had been shopping over in Denmark.

The trip took scarcely an hour, and in Limhamn he at once got a taxi that would take him to Malmo. The taxi driver was talkative and spoke a southern Swedish dialect that sounded to Martin Beck almost as incomprehensible as Hungarian.

23

The taxi stopped outside the police station on Da-vidhall Square. Martin Beck got out, walked up the wide steps and deposited his bag in the glass reception office. He had not been there for two years but was struck, as always, by the massiveness and majestic solemnity of the building and by its pompous halls and wide corridors. Two flights up, he stopped in front of a door marked INSPECTOR, knocked and slipped in. Someone had once said that Martin Beck knew the art of standing inside a room having already shut the door behind him at the same time as he knocked on it from the outside. There was a grain of truth in this.

'Hiya,' he said.

There were two people in the room. One of them was standing leaning against the window, chewing a toothpick. He was very large. The other, who was sitting at the desk, was tall and thin, with his hair brushed straight back and his eyes lively. Both were in civilian clothes. The man at the desk looked critically at Martin Beck and said, 'Quarter of an hour ago I read in the paper that you were abroad, breaking up international narcotics rings. And now you just walk in here saying hiya. Is that any way to behave? Do you want something?'

'Do you remember a stabbing case here on the eve of Twelfth Day? Guy called Matsson?'

'No. Should I?'

'I remember it,' said the man by the window, apathetically.