Brothers -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; Spy stories; War stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- Secret service -- Fiction
"You smoke?" queried Clubfoot. "No!"--he held up his hand to stop me as
I was reaching for my cigarette case, "you shall have a cigar--not one
of our poor German Hamburgers, but a fine Havana cigar given me by a
member of the English Privy Council. You stare! Aha! I repeat, by a
member of the English Privy Council, to me, the Boche, the barbarian,
the Hun! No hole and corner work for the old doctor. _Der Stelze_ may be
lame, Clubfoot may be past his work, but when he travels _en mission_,
he travels _en prince_, the man of wealth and substance. There is none
too high to do him honour, to listen to his views on poor, misguided
Germany, the land of thinkers sold into bondage to the militarists! Bah!
the fools!"
He snarled venomously. This man was beginning to interest me. His rapid
change of moods was fascinating, now the kindly philosopher, now the
Teuton braggart, now the Hun incorporate. As he limped across the room
to fetch his cigar case from the mantelpiece, I studied him.
He was a vast man, not so much by reason of his height, which was below
the medium, but his bulk, which was enormous. The span of his shoulders
was immense, and, though a heavy paunch and a white flabbiness of face
spoke of a gross, sedentary life, he was obviously a man of quite
unusual strength. His arms particularly were out of all proportion to
his stature, being so long that his hands hung down on either side of
him when he stood erect, like the paws of some giant ape. Altogether,
there was something decidedly simian about his appearance his squat nose
with hairy, open nostrils, and the general hirsuteness of the man, his
bushy eyebrows, the tufts of black hair on his cheekbones and on the
backs of his big, spade like hands. And there was that in his eyes, dark
and courageous beneath the shaggy brows, that hinted at accesses of
ape-like fury, uncontrollable and ferocious.
He gave me his cigar which, as he had said, was a good one, and, after a
preliminary sip of his wine, began to speak.
"I am a plain man, Herr Doktor," he said, "and I like plain speaking.
That is why I am going to speak quite plainly to you. When it became
apparent to that person whom it is not necessary to name further greatly
desired a certain letter to be recovered, I naturally expected that I,
who am a past member in affairs of this order, notably, on behalf of the
person concerned, would have been entrusted with the mission. It was I
who discovered the author of the theft in an English internment camp; it
was I who prevailed upon him to acquiesce in our terms; it was I who
finally located the hiding place of the document ... all this, mark you,
without setting foot in England."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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