The Man with the Clubfoot

  CHAPTER XIII

  I FIND ACHILLES IN HIS TENT

  Outside darkness had fallen. I had a vague suspicion that thehouse might be watched, but I found the Bendler-Strasse quiteundisturbed. It ran its quiet, aristocratic length to the tangle ofbare branches marking the Tiergarten-Strasse with not so much asa dog to strike terror into the heart of the amateur spy. Even in theTiergarten-Strasse, where the Jewish millionaires live, there was littletraffic and few people about, and I felt singularly unromantic as Iwalked briskly along the clean pavements towards Unter den Linden.

  Once more the original object of my journey into Germany stood clearlybefore me. An extraordinary series of adventures had deflected me frommy course, but never from my purpose. I realized that I should neverfeel happy in my mind again if I left Germany without being assured asto my brother's fate. And now I was on the threshold either of a greatdiscovery or of an overwhelming disappointment.

  For the street called In den Zelten was my next objective. I knew Imight be on the wrong track altogether in my interpretation of what Iwas pleased to term in my mind the message from Francis. If I had readit falsely--if, perhaps, it were not from him at all--then all the hopesI had built on this mad dash into the enemy's country would collapselike a house of cards. Then, indeed, I should be in a sorry pass.

  But my luck was in, I felt. Hitherto, I had triumphed over alldifficulties. I would trust in my destiny to the last.

  I had taken the precaution of turning up my overcoat collar and ofpulling my hat well down over my eyes, but no one troubled me. Ireflected that only Clubfoot and Schmalz were in a position to recognizeme and that, if I steered clear of places like hotels and restaurantsand railway stations, where criminals always seem to be caught, I mightcontinue to enjoy comparative immunity. But the trouble was the passportquestion. That reminded me.

  I must get rid of Semlin's passport. As I walked along I tore it intotiny pieces, dropping each fragment at a good interval from the other.It cost me something to do it, for a passport is always useful to flashin the eyes of the ignorant. But this passport was dangerous. It mightdenounce me to a man who would not otherwise recognize me.

  I had some difficulty in finding In den Zelten. I had to ask the way,once of a postman and once of a wounded soldier who was limping alongwith crutches. Finally, I found it, a narrowish street running off acorner of the great square in front of the Reichstag. No. 2 was thesecond house on the right.

  I had no plan. Nevertheless, I walked boldly upstairs. There was but oneflat on each floor. At the third story I halted, rather out of breath,in front of a door with a small brass plate inscribed with the name"Eugen Kore." I rang the bell boldly.

  An elderly man-servant opened the door.

  "Is Herr Eugen Kore at home?" I asked.

  The man looked at me suspiciously.

  "Has the gentleman an appointment?" he said.

  "No," I replied.

  "Then the Herr will not receive the gentleman," came the answer, and theman made as though to close the door.

  I had an inspiration.

  "A moment!" I cried, and I added the word "Achilles" in a low voice.

  The servant opened the door wide to me.

  "Why didn't you say that at once?" he said. "Please step in. I will seeif the Herr can receive you."

  He led the way through a hall into a sitting-room and left me there. Theplace was a perfect museum of art treasures, old Dutch and Italianmasters on the walls, some splendid Florentine chests, a fine olddresser loaded with ancient pewter. On a mantelshelf was anextraordinary collection of old keys, each with its label. "Key of thefortress of Spandau, 1715." "Key of the Postern Gate of the Pasha'sPalace at Belgrade, 1810," "House Key from Nuremberg, 1567," were someof the descriptions I read.

  Then a voice behind me said:

  "Ah! you admire my little treasures!"

  Turning, I saw a short, stout man, of a marked Jewish appearance, with abald head, a fat nose, little beady eyes and a large waist.

  "Eugen Kore!" he introduced himself with a bow.

  "Meyer!" I replied, in the German fashion.

  "And what can we do for Herr ... Meyer?" he asked in oily tones, pausingjust long enough before he pronounced the name I gave to let me see thathe believed it to be a pseudonym.

  "I believe you know a friend of mine, whose address I am anxious tofind," I said.

  "Ah!" sighed the little Jew, "a man of affairs like myself meets so manypeople that he may be pardoned.... What did you say his name was, thisfriend of yours?"

  I thought I would try the effect of the name "Eichenholz" upon thisenigmatic creature.

  "Eichenholz? Eichenholz?" Kore repeated.

  "I seem to know the name ... it seems familiar ... now let me seeagain.... Eichenholz, Eichenholz. ..."

  While he was speaking he unlocked one of the oak cabinets and a safecame to view. Opening this, he brought out a ledger and ran his fingerdown the names. Then he shut the book, replaced it, locked the safe andthe cabinet, and turned to me again.

  "Yes," he said, "I know the name."

  His reticence was disconcerting.

  "Can you tell me where I can find him?" I asked.

  "Yes," was the reply.

  I was getting a trifle nettled.

  "Well, where?" I queried.

  "This is all very well, young Sir," said the Jew. "You come in here fromnowhere, you introduce yourself as Meyer; you ask me 'Who?' and 'What?'and 'Where?'--questions that, mark you, in my business, may havevaluable answers. We private enquiry agents must live, my dear sir, wemust eat and drink like other men, and these are hard times, very hardtimes. I will ask you a question if I may. Meyer? Who is Meyer?Everybody in this country is called Meyer!"

  I smiled at this bizarre speech.

  "This Eichenholz, now," I said, "... supposing he were my brother."

  "He might congratulate himself," Kore said, blinking his little lizardeyes.

  "And he sent me word to call and see you to find out his whereabouts.You seem to like riddles, Herr Kore.... I will read you one!"

  And I read him the message from Francis ... all but the first two lines.

  The little Jew beamed with delight.

  "Ach! that is bright!" he cried, "oi, oi, oi, but he is smart, this HerrEichenholz! Who'd have thought of that? Brilliant, brilliant!"

  "As you say, Herr Kore, enquiry agents must live, and I am quiteprepared to pay for the information I require...."

  I pulled out my portfolio as I spoke.

  "The matter is quite simple," Kore replied. "It is already arranged. Thecharge is five hundred marks. My client said to me the last time I sawhim, 'Kore,' he said, 'if one should come asking news of me you willgive him the word and he will pay you five hundred marks.'"

  "The word?" I said.

  "The word," he repeated.

  "You must take Dutch money," I said. "Here you are ... work it out ingulden ... and I'll pay!"

  He manipulated a stump of pencil on a writing block and I paid him hismoney.

  Then he said:

  "Boonekamp!"

  "Boonekamp?" I echoed stupidly.

  "That's the word," the little Jew chuckled, laughing at my dumbfoundedexpression, "and, if you want to know, I understand it as little as youdo."

  "But ... Boonekamp," I repeated. "Is it a man's name, a place? It soundsDutch. Have you no idea? ... come, I'm ready to pay."

  "Perhaps ..." the Jew began.

  "What? Perhaps what?" I exclaimed impatiently.

  "Possibly...."

  "Out with it, man!" I cried, "and say what you mean."

  "Perhaps, if I could render to the gentleman the service I rendered tohis brother, I might be able to throw light...."

  "What service did you render to my brother?" I demanded hastily. "I'm inthe dark."

  "Has the gentleman no little difficulty perhaps? ... about his militaryservice, about his papers? The gentleman is young and strong ... has hebeen to the front? Was life irksome there? Did he ever lo
ng for thesweets of home life? Did he never envy those who have been medicallyrejected? The rich men's sons, perhaps, with clever fathers who know howto get what they want?"

  His little eyes bored into mine like gimlets.

  I began to understand.

  "And if I had?"

  "Then all old Kore can say is that the gentleman has come to the rightshop, as his gracious brother did. How can we serve the gentleman now?What are his requirements? It is a difficult, a dangerous business. Itcosts money, much money, but it can be arranged ... it can be arranged."

  "But if you do for me what you did for my brother," I said, "I don't seehow that helps to explain this word, this clue to his address!"

  "My dear sir, I am as much in the dark as you are yourself about thesignificance of this word. But I can tell you this, your brother, thanksto my intervention, found himself placed in a situation in which hemight well have come across this word...."

  "Well?" I said impatiently.

  "Well, if we obliged the gentleman as we obliged his brother, thegentleman might be taken where his brother was taken, the gentleman isyoung and smart, he might perhaps find a clue ..."

  "Stop talking riddles, for Heaven's sake!" I cried in exasperation, "andanswer my questions plainly. First, what did you do for my brother?"

  "Your brother had deserted from the front--that is the most difficultclass of business we have to deal with--we procured him a _permis desejour_ for fifteen days and a post in a safe place where no enquirieswould be made after him."

  "And then?" I cried, trembling with curiosity.

  The Jew shrugged his shoulders, waving his hands to and fro in the air.

  "Then he disappeared. I saw him a few days before he went, and he gaveme the instructions I have repeated to you for anybody who should comeasking for him."

  "But didn't he tell you where he was going?"

  "He didn't even tell me he was going, Herr. He just vanished."

  "When was this?"

  "Somewhere about the first week in July ... it was the week of the badnews from France."

  The message was dated July 1st, I remembered.

  "I have a good set of Swedish papers," the Jew continued, "veryrespectable timber merchant ... with those one could live in the besthotels and no one say a word. Or Hungarian papers, a party rejectedmedically ... very safe those, but perhaps the gentleman doesn't speakHungarian. That would be essential."

  "I am in the same case as my brother," I said, "I must disappear."

  "Not a deserter, Herr?" The Jew cringed at the word.

  "Yes," I said. "After all, why not?"

  "I daren't do this kind of business any more, my dear sir, I reallydaren't! They are making it too dangerous."

  "Come, come!" I said, "you were boasting just now that you could smoothout any difficulties. You can produce me a very satisfactory passportfrom somewhere, I am sure!"

  "Passport! Out of the question, my dear sir! Let once one of mypassports go wrong and I am ruined. Oh, no! no passports where desertersare concerned! I don't like the business ... it's not safe! At thebeginning of the war ... ah! that was different! Oi, oi, but they ranfrom the Yser and from Ypres! Oi, oi, and from Verdun! But now thepolice are more watchful. No! It is not worth it! It would cost you toomuch money, besides."

  I thought the miserable cur was trying to raise the price on me, but Iwas mistaken. He was frightened: the business was genuinely distastefulto him.

  I tried, as a final attempt to persuade him, an old trick: I showed himmy money. He wavered at once, and, after many objections, protesting tothe last, he left the room. He returned with a handful of filthy papers.

  "I oughtn't to do it; I know I shall rue it; but you have overpersuadedme and I liked Herr Eichenholz, a noble gentleman and free with hismoney--see here, the papers of a waiter, Julius Zimmermann, called upwith the Landwehr but discharged medically unfit, military pay-book and_permis de sejour_ for fifteen days. These papers are only a guaranteein case you come across the police: no questions will be asked where Ishall send you."

  "But a fifteen days' permit!" I said. "What am I to do at the end ofthat time?"

  "Leave it to me," Kore said craftily. "I will get it renewed for you. Itwill be all right!"

  "But in the meantime...." I objected.

  "I place you as waiter with a friend of mine who is kind to poor fellowslike yourself. Your brother was with him."

  "But I want to be free to move around."

  "Impossible," the Jew answered firmly. "You must get into your part andlive quietly in seclusion until the enquiries after you have abated.Then we may see as to what is next to be done. There you are, a fine setof papers and a safe, comfortable life far away from the trenches--allsnug and secure--cheap (in spite of the danger to me), because you are alad of spirit and I liked your brother ... ten thousand marks!"

  I breathed again. Once we had reached the haggling stage, I knew thepapers would be mine all right. With Semlin's money and my own I found Ihad about L550, but I had no intention of paying out L500 straight away.So I beat the fellow down unmercifully and finally secured the lot for3600 marks--L180.

  But, even after I had paid the fellow his money, I was not done withhim. He had his eye on his perquisites.

  "Your clothes will never do," he said; "such richness of apparel, suchfine stuff--we must give you others." He rang the bell.

  The old man-servant appeared.

  "A waiter's suit--for the Linien-Strasse!" he said.

  Then he led me into a bedroom where a worn suit of German shoddy wasspread out on a sofa. He made me change into it, and then handed me athreadbare green overcoat and a greasy green felt hat.

  "So!" he said. "Now, if you don't shave for a day or two, you will lookthe part to the life!"--a remark which, while encouraging, was hardlycomplimentary.

  He gave me a muffler to tie round my neck and lower part of my face and,with that greasy hat pulled down over my eyes and in those worn andshrunken clothes, I must say I looked a pretty villainous person, thevery antithesis of the sleek, well-dressed young fellow that had enteredthe flat half an hour before.

  "Now, Julius," said Kore humorously, "come, my lad, and we will seek outtogether the good situation I have found for you."

  A horse-cab was at the door and we entered it together. The Jew chattedpleasantly as we rattled through the darkness. He complimented me on myready wit in deciphering Francis' message.

  "How do you like my idea?" he said, "'Achilles in his Tent'... that isthe device of the hidden part of my business--you observe the parallel,do you not?' Achilles holding himself aloof from the army and young menlike yourself who prefer the gentle pursuits of peace to the sternerprofession of war! Clients of mine who have enjoyed a classicaleducation have thought very highly of the humour of my device."

  The cab dropped us at the corner of the Friedrich-Strasse, which wasablaze with light from end to end, and the Linien-Strasse, a narrow,squalid thoroughfare of dirty houses and mean shops. The street was allbut deserted at that hour save for an occasional policeman, but fromcellars with steps leading down from the streets came the jingle ofautomatic pianos and bursts of merriment to show that the Linien-Strassewas by no means asleep.

  Before one of these cellar entrances the Jew stopped. At the foot of thesteep staircase leading down from the street was a glazed door, itspanels all glistening with moisture from the heated atmosphere within.Kore led the way down, I following.

  A nauseous wave of hot air, mingled with rank tobacco smoke, smote usfull as we opened the door. At first I could see nothing except a veryfat man, against a dense curtain of smoke, sitting at a table before anenormous glass goblet of beer. Then, as the haze drifted before thedraught, I distinguished the outline of a long, low-ceilinged room,with small tables set along either side and a little bar, presided overby a tawdry female with chemically tinted hair, at the end. Most of thetables were occupied, and there was almost as much noise as smoke in theplace.

  A woman's voice screamed: "Sh
ut the door, can't you, I'm freezing!" Iobeyed and, following Kore to a table, sat down. A man in hisshirt-sleeves, who was pulling beer at the bar, left his beer-engineand, coming across the room to Kore, greeted him cordially, and askedhim what we would take.

  Kore nudged me with his elbow.

  "We'll take a Boonekamp each, Haase," he said.