The Man with the Clubfoot

by Valentine Williams

  CHAPTER VII

  IN WHICH A SILVER STAR ACTS AS A CHARM

  I have often remarked in life that there are days when some benevolentdeity seems to be guiding one's every action. On such days, do what youwill, you cannot go wrong. As the Berlin train bumped thunderously overthe culverts spanning the canals between the tall, grey houses ofRotterdam and rushed out imperiously into the plain of windmills andpollards beyond, I reflected that this must be my good day, so kindlyhad some fairy godmother shepherded my footsteps since I had left thecafe.

  So engrossed had I been, indeed, in the great enterprise on which I wasembarked, that my actions throughout the morning had been mainlyautomatic. Yet how uniformly had they tended to protect me! I had boughtmy ticket in advance; I had given my overcoat and bag to a porter that Inow knew to have been my saviour in disguise; I had sallied forth fromthe station and thus given him an opportunity for safe converse with me.The omens were good: I could trust my luck to-day, I felt, and, greatlycomforted, I began to look about me.

  I found myself, the only occupant, in a first-class carriage. On thewindow was plastered a notice, in Dutch and German, to the effect thatthe carriage was reserved. Suddenly I thought of my bag and overcoat.They were nowhere to be seen. After a little search I found them beneaththe seat. In the overcoat pocket was a black tie.

  I lost no time in taking the hint. If any of you who read this taleshould one day notice a ganger on the railway between Rotterdam andDordrecht wearing the famous colours of a famous regiment round his neckyou will understand how they got there. Then, wearied out with thefatigues of my sleepless night, I fell into a deep slumber, my verdantwaterproof swathed round me, Semlin's overcoat about my knees.

  * * * * *

  I was dreaming fitfully of a mad escape from hordes of wildly clutchingguides, led by Karl the waiter, when the screaming of brakes brought meto my senses. The train was sensibly slackening speed. Outside theautumn sun was shining over pleasant brown stretches of moorland brightwith heather. The next moment and before I was fully awake we had glidedto a standstill at a very spick and span station and the familiar cryof "Alles aussteigen!" rang in my ears.

  We were in Germany.

  The realization fell upon me like a thunderclap. I was in the enemy'scountry, sailing under false colours, with only the most meagreinformation about the man whose place I had taken and no plausible tale,such as I had fully intended to have ready, to carry me through therigorous scrutiny of the frontier police.

  What was my firm? The Halewright Manufacturing Company. What did wemanufacture? I had not the faintest idea. Why was I coming to Germany atall? Again I was at a loss.

  The clink of iron-shod heels in the corridor and an officer, followedclosely by two privates, the white cross of the Landwehr in theirhelmets, stood at the door.

  "Your papers, please," he said curtly but politely.

  I handed over my American passport.

  "This has not been vised," said the officer.

  With a pang I realized that again I was at fault. Of course, thepassport should have been stamped at the German Consulate at Rotterdam.

  "I had no time," I said boldly. "I am travelling on most importantbusiness to Berlin. I only reached Rotterdam last night, after theConsulate was closed."

  The lieutenant turned to one of his guards.

  "Take the gentleman to the Customs Hall," he said and went on to thenext carriage.

  The soldier appropriated my overcoat and bag and beckoned me to followhim. Outside the platform was railed off. Everyone, I noticed, wasshepherded into a long narrow pen made with iron hurdles leading to alocked door over which was written: Zoll-Revision. I was going to takemy place in the queue when the soldier prodded me with his elbow. He ledme to a side door which opened in the gaunt, bare Customs Hall with itslong row of trestles for the examination of the passengers' luggage. Ina corner behind a desk was a large group of officers and subordinateofficials, all in the grey-green uniform I knew so well from the life inthe trenches. The principal seemed to be an immense man, inordinatelygross and fat, with a bloated face and great gold spectacles. He wasroaring in a loud, angry voice:

  "He's not come! There you are! Again we shall have all the trouble fornothing!"

  I thought he looked an extraordinarily bad-tempered individual and Ifervently prayed that I should not be brought before him.

  The doors were flung open. With a rush the hall was invaded with aheterogeneous mob of people huddled pellmell together and driven alongbefore a line of soldiers. For an hour or more babel reigned. Officialsbawled at the public: the place rang with the sounds of angryaltercation. After a furious dispute one man, wildly gesticulating, wasdragged away by two soldiers.

  I never saw such a thorough examination in my life. People's bags wereliterally turned upside down and every single object pried into andbesnuffled. After the customs' examination passengers were passed on tothe searching-rooms, the men to one side, the women to the other. Icaught sight of a female searcher lolling at a door ... a monstrous andgrim female who reminded me of those dreadful bathing women at theseaside in our early youth.

  The fat official had vanished into an office leading off the CustomsHall. He was, I surmised, the last instance, for several passengers,including a very respectably dressed old lady, were driven into the sideoffice and were seen no more.

  During all this scene of confusion no one had taken any notice of me. Myguard looked straight in front of him and said never a word. When thehall was all but cleared, a man came to the office door and made a signto my sentinel.

  At a table in the office which, despite the sunshine outside, was heatedlike a greenhouse, I found the fat official. Something had evidentlyupset him, for his brows were clouded with anger and his mastiff-likecheeks were trembling with irritation. He thrust a hand out as Ientered.

  "Your papers!" he grunted.

  I handed over my passport.

  Directly he had examined it, a red flush spread over his cheeks andforehead and he brought his hand down on the table with a crash. Thesentry beside me winced perceptibly.

  "It's not vised," the fat official screamed in a voice shrill withanger. "It's worthless... what good do you think is this to me?"

  "Excuse me ..." I said in German.

  "I won't excuse you," he roared. "Who are you? What do you want inGermany? You've been to London, I see by this passport."

  "I had no time to get my passport stamped at the Consulate atRotterdam," I said. "I arrived there too late in the evening. I couldnot wait. I am going to Berlin on most important business."

  "That's nothing to do with it," the man shouted. He was working himselfup into a fine frenzy. "Your passport is not in order. You're not aGerman. You're an American. We Germans know what to think of ourAmerican friends, especially those who come from London."

  A voice outside shouted: "Nach Berlin alles einsteigen." I said aspolitely as I could, despite my growing annoyance:

  "I don't wish to miss my train. My journey to Berlin is of the utmostimportance. I trust the train can be held back until I have satisfiedyou of my good faith. I have here a card from Herr von Steinhardt."

  I paused to let the name sink in. I was convinced he must be a big bugof some kind in the German service.

  "I don't care a rap for Herr von Steinhardt or Herr von anybody else,"the German cried. Then he said curtly to a cringing secretary besidehim:

  "Has he been searched?"

  The secretary cast a frightened look at the sentry.

  "No, Herr Major," said the secretary.

  "Well, take him away and strip him and bring me anything you find!"

  The sentry spun on his heel like an automaton.

  The moment had come to play my last card, I felt: I could not risk beingdelayed on the frontier lest Stelze and his friends should catch up withme. I was surprised to find that apparently they had not telegraphed tohave me stopped.

  "One moment, Herr Major," I said.

&nbs
p; "Take him away!" The fat man waved me aside.

  "I warn you," I continued, "that I am on important business. I canconvince you of that, too. Only ..." and I looked round the office. "Allthese must go."

  To my amazement the fat man's anger vanished utterly. He stared hard atme, then took off his spectacles and polished them with hishandkerchief. After this he said nonchalantly: "Everybody get outsideexcept this gentleman!" The sentry, who had spun round on his heelagain, seemed about to speak: his voice expired before it came out ofhis mouth: he saluted, spun round again and followed the rest out of theroom.

  When the place was cleared I pulled my left brace out of the armhole ofmy waistcoat and displayed the silver star.

  The fat man sprang up.

  "The Herr Doktor must excuse me: I am overwhelmed: I had no idea thatthe Herr Doktor was not one of these tiresome American spies that areoverrunning our country. The Herr Doktor will understand.... If the HerrDoktor had but said ..."

  "Herr Major," I said, endeavouring to put as much insolence as I couldinto my voice (that is what a German understands), "I am not in thehabit of bleating my business to every fool I meet. Now I must go backto the train."

  "The Berlin train has gone, Herr Doktor, but..."

  "The Berlin train gone?" I said. "But my business brooks no delay. Itell you I must be in Berlin to-night!"

  "There is no question of your taking the ordinary train, Herr Doktor,"the fat man replied smoothly, "but unfortunately the special which I hadready for you has been countermanded. I thought you were not comingagain."

  A special? By Jove! I was evidently a personage of note. But a specialwould never do! Where the deuce was it going to take me?

  "The Berlin train was to have been held back until your special wasclear," the Major went on, "but we must stop her at Wesel until you havepassed. I will attend to that at once!"

  He gave some order down the telephone and after a brisk conversationturned to me with a beaming face:

  "They will stop her at Wesel and the special will be ready intwenty-five minutes. But there is no hurry. You have an hour or more tospare. Might I offer the Herr Doktor a glass of beer and a sandwich atour officers' casino here?"

  Well, I was in for it this time. A special bearing me Heaven knowswhither on unknown business...! Perhaps I might be able to extract alittle information out of my fat friend if I went with him, so Iaccepted his invitation with suitable condescension.

  The Major excused himself for an instant and returned with my overcoatand bag.

  "So!" he cried, "we can leave these here until we come back!" Behind himthrough the open door I saw a group of officials peering curiously intothe room. As we walked through their midst, they fell back withprecipitation. There was a positive reverence about their manner which Ifound extremely puzzling.

  A waggonette, driven by an orderly, stood in the station yard, one ofthe Customs officials, hat in hand, at the door. We drove rapidlythrough very spick-and-span streets to a little square where the sentryat an iron gate denoted the Officers' Club. In the anteroom four or fiveofficers in field-grey uniform were lounging. As we entered they sprangto their feet and remained stiffly standing while the Major presentedthem, Hauptmann Pfahl, Oberleutnant Meyer ... a string of names. One ofthe officers had lost an arm, another was very lame, the remainder wereobvious dug-outs.

  "An American gentleman, a good friend of ours," was the form in whichthe Major introduced me to the company. Again I found myself mystifiedby the extraordinary demonstrations of respect with which I wasreceived. Germans don't like Americans, especially since they took toselling shells to the Allies, and I began to think that all theseofficers must know more about me and my mission than I did myself. Astolid orderly, wearing white gloves, brought beer and someextraordinary nasty-looking sardine sandwiches which, on sampling, Irealized to be made of "war bread."

  While the beer was being poured out I glanced round the room, bare andvery simply furnished. Terrible chromo-lithographs of the Kaiser and theCrown Prince hung on the walls above a glass filled with war trophies.With a horrible sickness at heart I recognized amongst other emblems aglengarry with a silver badge and a British steel helmet with a gapinghole through the crown. Then I remembered I was in the region of theVIIth Corps, which supplies some of our toughest opponents on theWestern front.

  Conversation was polite and perfunctory.

  "It is on occasions such as these," said the lame officer, "that onerecognizes how our brothers overseas are helping the German cause."

  "Your work must be extraordinarily interesting," observed one of thedug-outs.

  "All your difficulties are now over," said the Major, much in the mannerof the chorus of a Greek play. "You will be in Berlin to-night, whereyour labours will be doubtless rewarded. American friends of Germany arenot popular in London, I should imagine!"

  I murmured: "Hardly."

  "You must possess infinite tact to have aroused no suspicion," said theMajor.

  "That depends," I said.

  "Pardon me," replied the Major, in whom I began to recognize all thesigns of an unmitigated gossip, "I know something of the importance ofyour mission. I speak amongst ourselves, is it not so, gentlemen? Therewere special orders about you from the Corps Command at Muenster. Yourspecial has been waiting for you here for four days. The gentleman whocame to meet you has been in a fever of expectation. He had already leftthe station this morning when ... when I met you, I sent word for him topick you up here."

  The plot was thickening. I most certainly was a personage of note.

  "What part of America do you come from, Mr. Semlin?" said a voice inperfect English from the corner. The one-armed officer was speaking.

  "From Brooklyn," I said stoutly, though my heart seemed turned to icewith the shock of hearing my own tongue.

  "You have no accent," the other replied suavely.

  "Some Americans," I retorted sententiously, "would regard that as acompliment. Not all Americans talk through their noses any more than weall chew or spit in public."

  "I know," said the young man. "I was brought up there!"

  We were surrounded by smiling faces. This officer who could speakEnglish was evidently regarded as a bit of a wag by his comrades. Iseized the opportunity to give them in German a humorous description ofmy simplicity in explaining to a man brought up in the United Statesthat all Americans were not the caricatures depicted in the Europeancomic press.

  There was a roar of laughter from the room.

  "Ach, dieser Schmalz!" guffawed the Major, beating his thigh in ecstasy."Kolossal!" echoed one of the dug-outs. The lame man smiled wanly andsaid it was "incredible how humorous Schmalz could be."

  I had hoped that the conversation might now be carried on again inGerman. Nothing of the kind. The room leant back in its chairs, as ifexpecting the fun to go on.

  It did.

  "You get your clothes in London," the young officer said.

  He was a trimly built young man, very pale from recent illness, withflaxen hair and a bright, bold blue eye--the eye of a fighter. His leftsleeve was empty and was fastened across his tunic, in a button-hole ofwhich was twisted the black and white ribbon of the Iron Cross.

  "Generally," I answered shortly, "when I go to England. Clothes arecheaper in London."

  "You must have a good ear for languages," Schmalz continued; "you speakGerman like a German and English ..." he paused appreciably, "... likean Englishman."

  I felt horribly nervous. This young man never took his eyes off me: hehad been staring at me ever since I had entered the room. His mannerwas perfectly calm and suave.

  Still I kept my end up very creditably, I think.

  "And not a bad accomplishment, either," I said, smiling brightly, "ifone has to visit London in war-time."

  Schmalz smiled back with perfect courtesy. But he continued to starerelentlessly at me. I felt scared.

  "What is Schmalz jabbering about now?" said one of the dug-outs. Itranslated for the benefit of the company.
My resume gave the dug-outwho had spoken the opportunity for launching out on an interminableanecdote about an ulster he had bought on a holiday at Brighton. Thestory lasted until the white-gloved orderly came and announced that "agentleman" was there, asking for the Herr Major.

  "That'll be your man," exclaimed the Major, starting up--I noticed hemade no attempt to bring the stranger in. "Come, let us go to him!"

  I stood up and took my leave. Schmalz came to the door of the anteroomwith us.

  "You are going to Berlin?" he asked.

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Where shall you be staying?" he asked again.

  "Oh, probably at the Adlon!"

  "I myself shall be in Berlin next week for my medical examination, andperhaps we may meet again. I should much like to talk more with youabout America ... and London. We must have mutual acquaintances."

  I murmured something about being only too glad, at the same time makinga mental note to get out of Berlin as soon as I conveniently could.