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stood up to let them in when Joe tapped at the window. He went back to reading the paper straight away. They closed the door and walked past him and went upstairs into the back bedroom.
    He did not know whether the uncomfortable look they wore was a fundamental part of the Dutchmen, or if they looked uncomfortable just now, and it was unusual. They peered into the upstairs bedroom as though they had been allowed one glimpse of outer space. He was tempted to ask them if they had never seen a bedroom before as Joe put a ladder against the small opening in the ceiling which led to the attic, climbed up and came down with two paintings – the Gainsborough and one of the Guardis. The two Dutchmen looked intensely at the paintings. No one spoke.
    One of them took out a notebook and wrote: ‘Where is the Rembrandt?’
    He took the notebook brusquely and wrote: ‘Pay for these two. If there are no hitches, we get you the Rembrandt tomorrow.’ The Dutchman took the notebook backand wrote: ‘We are here for the Rembrandt.’ Instantly, while the Dutchman still held the notebook, he wrote: ‘Are you deaf?’ Both Dutchmen read this carefully as though it had some deep and hidden meaning, knitting their brows in unison, their expressions hurt and puzzled.
    He took the notebook again and wrote: ‘The money?’ When he handed the notebook back to the Dutchman, he noticed that the next remark was written in much clearer handwriting: ‘We need to see the Rembrandt.’ He snatched the notebook and wrote quickly, almost illegibly: ‘Buy these paintings first.’ The other Dutchman now took the notebook: ‘We came here to see the Rembrandt,’ he wrote in writing like a child’s. ‘Since there is no Rembrandt, we have to get instructions. We will get in touch again soon, via Mousey.’
    Suddenly, he realized that these two men were serious about the rules which had been established. He had agreed to show them the Rembrandt and now he had broken the rules. It was done for the sake of caution. He would not weaken or adjust his tactics, but move slowly, taking as few risks as possible. They knew now that he was in possession of the other paintings from the heist, and he presumed that they were not being followed by the cops, although he could never be totally sure about that. Even though, by their sullenness, they suggested that the deal was in danger, he was sure that he had done the right thing, aware all of the time that Joe O’Brien was watching him. He felt an urge to grab one of the guys and tie him up and tell the other guy to go and get the money or they would kill his companion, but he had a sense that these two Dutchmen had that eventuality and many other such possibilities covered. They didnot themselves act on impulse, but he felt that they would know what to do should he go down that road. It was, he thought, a mistake dealing with foreigners, but there was no one in Ireland with either the money or the inclination to pay ten million for a few paintings.
    They both, as they walked out through the house, passing its owner in the kitchen, remained calm. It was their calmness which disturbed him, held him back, made him think. And then it made him unable to think. He could not tell anything about these two men. It was hard to imagine they had ever spent time in jail, unless Dutch jails taught skin care and inscrutable manners. Whoever sent them, he thought, chose them not only for their calmness, which must, he believed, mask a toughness, but also for their skill in knowing the difference between a real Rembrandt and a fake. Maybe that is all they knew, he thought, and they were going to leave the rest to real criminals. Maybe they were art professors, indeed they had the same look as some of the men who came on television to discuss the value to humanity of the paintings he had stolen.
    He did not want the Dutchmen to go without some further promise or enticement. He signalled that Joe O’Brien would take them back to their