Their object achieved, a new period of inactivity began.

"Bah," Grijpstra said and read the sign on the door.

The sign said HINDIST SOCIETY.

Both men studied it. It looked neat, like the door. The text had been written in an unusual script as if the letter artist had tried to create a mysterious atmosphere. It seemed as if the letters had been drawn very quickly; the result was vaguely Chinese, far away.

De Gier produced a comb and arranged his hair while he looked about him.

The porch was old, and magnificent in its Golden Age splendor. It had been designed in the seventeenth century for a gentleman-merchant who specialized in expensive timber, imported from Africa and the Far East and stored in the first three stories of the tall house, while the merchant himself would have lived in the top three stories from which he could see the harbor and his vast stocks of cheaper timber, stacked in an area of perhaps a square mile. But that was long ago and the stones of the porch were cracked now and the beams supporting the gable house sagged a little. But the well-built house still retained a good deal of its original stately beauty and the present owner had kept it in reasonable repair.

A small window showed a number of objects and de Gier studied them one by one. Glass jars filled with health grains and brown and green tea and a substance that de Gier, after some thought, determined as seaweed. A sign in the window, showing the same sort of lettering as the main sign, informed the visitor that the Society went in for a variety of activities. Grijpsira grunted and read the sign in a loud voice.

"Shop, open from nine to four. Restaurant and bar, restaurant open to nine, bar open to twelve P.M."

He looked at de Gier but de Gier was still studying the display.

There were several small cartons filled with incense and a gilded Buddha statue sitting on a pedestal, staring and smiling, with a headgear tapering off into a sharp point.