The Man with the Clubfoot by Valentine Williams


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Page 52

He was a friendly fellow, pleasant-looking in an ugly way, with a button
nose and honest eyes.

"Say, but I like to think of the way we fooled them Deutschers," he
chuckled. He kept on chuckling to himself whilst I took off my boots and
began to undress.

"That there is your bed," he said, pointing; "the footman used to sleep
there but they grabbed him for the army. There's a pair of Mr. Gerry's
pyjamas for you and you'll find a cup of cocoa down warming by the fire.
It's all a bit rough, but it's the best we can do. I guess you want to
go to sleep mortal bad, so I'll be going down. The bed's clean... there
are clean sheets on it...."

"But I won't turn you out of your room," I said. "There are two beds.
You must take yours."

"Don't you fret yourself about me," he answered. "I'll make myself
comfortable down in the garage. I don't often see a gentleman in this
dawg-gorn country, and when I do I know how to treat him."

He wouldn't listen to me, but stumped off down the stairs. As he went I
heard him murmuring to himself:

"Gee! but we surely fooled those Deutschers some!"

I drank this admirable fellow's cocoa; I warmed myself at his fire.
Then with a thankful heart I crawled into bed and sank into a deep and
dreamless sleep.




CHAPTER XII

HIS EXCELLENCY THE GENERAL IS WORRIED


I sat with Monica in her boudoir, which, unlike the usual run of German
rooms, had an open fireplace in which a cheerful fire was burning.
Monica, in a ravishing kimono, was perched on the leather railed seat
running round the fireplace, one little foot in a satin slipper held out
to the blaze. In that pretty room she made a charming picture, which for
a moment almost made me forget the manifold dangers besetting me.

The doughty Carter had acquitted himself nobly of his task. When I
awoke, feeling like a giant refreshed, he had the fire blazing merrily
in the fireplace, while on the table a delicious breakfast of tea and
fried eggs and biscuits was spread.

"There ain't no call to mess yourself up inside with that dam' war bread
of theirs," he chirped. "Miss Monica, she lets me have biscuits, same
like she has herself. I always calls her Miss Monica," he explained,
"like what they did over at her uncle's place in Long Island, where I
used to work."

After breakfast he produced hot water, a safety razor and other toilet
requisites, a clean shirt and collar, an overcoat and a Stetson hat--all
from Gerry's wardrobe, I presumed. My boots, too, were beautifully
polished, and it was as a new man altogether, fresh in mind and clean in
body, that I presented myself, about ten o'clock in the morning, at the
front door and demanded the "Frau Gr�fin." By Carter's advice I had
removed my moustache, and my clean-shaven countenance, together with my
black felt hat and dark overcoat, gave me, I think, that appearance of
rather dour respectability which one looks for in a male attendant.

Now Monica and I sat and reviewed the situation together.

"German servants spend their lives in prying into their masters'
affairs," she said, "but we shan't be interrupted here. That door leads
into Gerry's room: he was asleep when I went in just now. I'll take you
into him presently. Now tell me about yourself ... and Francis!"

I told her again, but at greater length, all I knew about Francis, his
mission into Germany, his long silence.

"I acted on impulse," I said, "but, believe me, I acted for the best.
Only, everything seems to have conspired against me. I appear to have
walked straight into a mesh of the most appalling complications which
reach right up to the Throne."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 1st Dec 2025, 19:00