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It was in this sphere, where the personal is grafted on the political, that Clubfoot reigned supreme ... here and in another sphere, where German William is not only monarch, but also a very ordinary man. "There are phases in every man's life, Okewood, which hardly bear the light of day. In an autocracy, however, such phases are generally inextricably entangled with political questions.
Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi. "It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me, sir?" Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and shook his head. "I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my name!"
Barbara began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had understood that there was no question of his leaving the house until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there been foul play here, too? A sudden panic seized her.
Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood, I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet." "How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently. "Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities which considerably interest our Intelligence.
Once you've located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he or it may be a she is running loose, that I get peeved!" The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of exasperation. "I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know, Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my evidence..." Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly correct.
What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was. A voice broke in upon his angry musing. "Come in, Okewood!" it said. The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before.
"You cannot have followed the newspapers in your ... retreat, my dear Captain Okewood," he replied, "or surely you would have read the afflicting intelligence that Count Rachwitz, A.D.C. to Field-Marshal von Mackensen, was killed by a shell that fell into the Brigade Head-quarters where he was lunching at Predeal.
He was trembling all over. I could feel his elbow quiver where it touched mine. "No, Des, please ..." he pleaded, "let me ... this is my show...." Then, in a voice that vibrated with suppressed passion, he spoke swiftly to Clubfoot. "Take a good look at me, Grundt," he said sternly. "You don't know me, do you? I am Francis Okewood, brother of the man who has brought you to your fall.
Well, I would accept this as a message from Francis. Now to study it once more. O Eichenholz! O Eichenholz! Wie leer sind deine Blätter. Wie Achiles in dem Zelte. Wo zweie sich zanken Erfreut sich der Dritte. The message fell into three parts, each consisting of a phrase. The first phrase might certainly be a warning that Francis had failed in his mission. "O Okewood! how empty are thy leaves!"
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