The Man with the Clubfoot | Page 4

bluff direct way.
"I am going to tell you a story first, Desmond," he said to me, "then I'll
show you a piece of paper. Whether the two together fit in with your
theory as to poor Francis' disappearance will be for you to judge. Until
now I must confess--I had felt inclined to dismiss the only reference
this document appears to make to your brother as a mere coincidence in
names, but what you have told me makes things interesting--by Jove, it
does, though. Well, here's the yarn first of all.
"Your brother and I have had dealings in the past with a Dutchman in
the motor business at Nymwegen, name of Van Urutius. He has often
been over to see us at Coventry in the old days and Francis has stayed

with him at Nymwegen once or twice on his way back from
Germany--Nymwegen, you know, is close to the German frontier. Old
Urutius has been very decent to me since I have been in gaol here and
has been over several times, generally with a box or two of those nice
Dutch cigars."
"Dicky," I broke in on him, "get on with the story. What the devil's all
this got to do with Francis? The document--"
"Steady, my boy!" was the imperturbable reply, "let me spin my yarn
my own way. I'm coming to the piece of paper....
"Well, then, old Urutius came to see me ten days ago. All I knew about
Francis I had told him, namely, that Francis had entered the army and
was missing. It was no business of the old Mynheer if Francis was in
the Intelligence, so I didn't tell him that. Van U. is a staunch friend of
the English, but you know the saying that if a man doesn't know he
can't split.
"My old Dutch pal, then, turned up here ten days ago. He was bubbling
over with excitement. 'Mr. Allerton' he says, 'I haf a writing, a most
mysterious writing--a I think, from Francis Okewood.'
"I sat tight. If there were any revelations coming they were going to be
Dutch, not British. On that I was resolved.
"'I haf received; the old Dutchman went on, from Gairemany a parcel
of metal shields, plates--what you call 'em--of tin, hein? What I haf to
advertise my business. They arrife las' week--I open the parcel myself
and on the top is the envelope with the invoice.'
"Mynheer paused; he has a good sense of the dramatic.
"'Well', I said, 'did it bite you or say "Gott strafe England?" Or what?'
"Van Urutius ignored my flippancy and resumed. 'I open the envelope
and there in the invoice I find this writing--here!'

"And here," said Dicky, diving into his pocket, "is the writing!"
And he thrust into my eagerly outstretched hand a very thin half-sheet
of foreign notepaper, of that kind of cheap glazed notepaper you get in
cafes on the Continent when you ask for writing materials.
Three lines of German, written in fluent German characters in purple
ink beneath the name and address of Mynheer van Urutius ... that was
all.
My heart sank with disappointment and wretchedness as I read the
inscription.
Here is the document:
* * * * *
Herr Willem van Urutius, Automobilgeschäft, Nymwegen.
Alexandtr-Straat 81 bis.
Berlin, Iten Juli, 16.
O Eichenholz! O Eichenholz! Wie leer sind deine Blätter.
Wie Achiles in dem Zelte.
Wo zweie sich zanken Erfreut sich der Dritte.
* * * * *
(Translation.)
Mr. Willem van Urutius, Automobile Agent, Nymwegen. 81 bis
Alexander-Straat.
Berlin, 1st July, 16.
O Oak-tree! O Oak-tree, How empty are thy leaves.

Like Achiles in the tent.
When two people fall out The third party rejoices.
* * * * *
I stared at this nonsensical document in silence. My thoughts were
almost too bitter for words.
At last I spoke.
"What's all this rigmarole got to do with Francis, Dicky?" I asked,
vainly trying to suppress the bitterness in my voice. "This looks like a
list of copybook maxims for your Dutch friend's advertisement
cards...."
But I returned to the study of the piece of paper.
"Not so fast, old bird," Dicky replied coolly, "let me finish my story.
Old Stick-in-the-mud is a lot shrewder than we think.
"'When I read the writing,' he told me, 'I think he is all robbish, but then
I ask myself, Who shall put robbish in my invoices? And then I read
the writing again and once again, and then I see he is a message.'"
"Stop, Dicky!" I cried, "of course, what an ass I am! Why
Eichenholz...."
"Exactly," retorted Dicky, "as the old Mynheer was the first to see,
Eichenholz translated into English is 'Oak-tree' or 'Oak-wood'--in other
words, Francis."
"Then, Dicky...." I interrupted.
"Just a minute," said Dicky, putting