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Updated: June 17, 2025
"And you must admit that you are a success, you know," said Mrs. Vansittart. "I see your quiet grey carts, full of little square boxes, passing up Park Straat to the railway station in a procession every day." "Yes," admitted Roden. "We are doing a large business." He was willing to allow Mrs.
It was after ten o'clock that night when a woman, wrapped in a rough frieze coat, knocked at the door of the house in the Bree Straat and asked for the Vrouw van Goorl. "My mistress lies between life and death with the plague," answered the servant. "Get you gone from this pest-house, whoever you are." "I do not fear the plague," said the visitor. "Is the Jufvrouw Elsa Brant still up?
That afternoon Dirk, filled with a solemn purpose, and dressed in his best suit, called at the house in the Bree Straat, where the door was again opened by Greta, who looked at him expectantly. "Is your mistress in?" he stammered. "I have come to see your mistress." "Alas! Mynheer," answered the young woman, "you are just too late.
"Ah," she said, and that was all. She rose and made a little signal with her parasol to her coachman, who was waiting in the shadow of the Kursaal. As she drove home, she wondered why Von Holzen was afraid that she should marry Percy Roden, who, as it happened, was coming to tea in Park Straat that evening. Mrs. Vansittart had not exactly invited him not, at all events, that he was aware of.
"One morning, while dressing, my master told me that he had to motor to The Hague as he wished to meet in strict secrecy a man who would call to see him at a little hotel called the Rhijn, in the Oranje Straat. He asked me to drive him there so that Mullard, the chauffeur, should have no knowledge of the visit. This I promised to do, for I can drive a car.
"Then," he said, lapsing in his self-forgetfulness into the terse language of his everyday life and thought, "what on earth have you been driving at all along?" "I have been driving at Herr von Holzen and the Malgamite scheme. I have been helping Tony Cornish," she answered. So Percy Roden quitted the house at the corner of Park Straat a wiser man, and perhaps he left a wiser woman in it.
They were standing and laughing at the window, when Marguerite suddenly drew them back. "What is it?" asked Mrs. Vansittart. "It is Lord Ferriby," replied Marguerite. And looking cautiously between the lace curtains, they saw the great man drive past in his hired carriage. "He has recently bought Park Straat," commented Marguerite.
They were seated in front of the humble Cafe de l'Europe, which lies concealed in an alley that runs between the Keize Straat and the lighthouse of Scheveningen. It was quite dark and a lonely reveler at the next table seemed to be asleep.
She had sent Roden on a fool's errand to Park Straat to await her return there. Was she going to succeed? Would she be left alone for a few moments in that little office with the safe? She fingered the key in her pocket a duplicate obtained at some risk, with infinite difficulty, by the simple stratagem of borrowing Roden's keys to open an old and disused desk one evening in Park Straat.
The prisoners used to meet there in order to drink coffee, eat pancakes and talk to heart's content. This particular spot was generally called Pan Koek Straat, and the wildest rumours concerning the war seemed to originate in it. Now as to the inner organisation of the Camps. The prisoners were allowed to choose a corporal from their midst and also to select a captain for each house.
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