Like Achiles in the tent.

When two people fall out
The third party rejoices.

* * * * *

I stared at this nonsensical document in silence. My thoughts were
almost too bitter for words.

At last I spoke.

"What's all this rigmarole got to do with Francis, Dicky?" I asked,
vainly trying to suppress the bitterness in my voice. "This looks like a
list of copybook maxims for your Dutch friend's advertisement cards...."

But I returned to the study of the piece of paper.

"Not so fast, old bird," Dicky replied coolly, "let me finish my story.
Old Stick-in-the-mud is a lot shrewder than we think.

"'When I read the writing,' he told me, 'I think he is all robbish, but
then I ask myself, Who shall put robbish in my invoices? And then I
read the writing again and once again, and then I see he is a message.'"

"Stop, Dicky!" I cried, "of course, what an ass I am! Why
_Eichenholz_...."

"Exactly," retorted Dicky, "as the old Mynheer was the first to see,
_Eichenholz_ translated into English is 'Oak-tree' or 'Oak-wood'--in
other words, Francis."

"Then, Dicky...." I interrupted.

"Just a minute," said Dicky, putting up his hand. "I confess I thought,
on first seeing this message or whatever it is, that there must be
simply a coincidence of name and that somebody's idle scribbling had
found its way into old van U.'s invoice. But now that you have told me
that Francis may have actually got into Germany, then, I must say, it
looks as if this might be an attempt of his to communicate with home."

"Where did the Dutchman's packet of stuff come from?" I asked.

"From the Berlin Metal Works in Steglitz, a suburb of Berlin: he has
dealt with them for years."

"But then what does all the rest of it mean ... all this about Achilles
and the rest?"

"Ah, Desmond!" was Dicky's reply, "that's where you've got not only me,
but also Mynheer van Urutius."

"'O oak-wood! O oak-wood, how empty are thy leaves!'.... That sounds
like a taunt, don't you think, Dicky?" said I.

"_Or_ a confession of failure from Francis ... to let us know that he
has done nothing, adding that he is accordingly sulking 'like Achilles
in his tent.'"

"But, see here, Richard Allerton," I said, "Francis would never spell
'Achilles' with one 'l' ... now, would he?"

"By Jove!" said Dicky, looking at the paper again, "nobody would but a
very uneducated person. I know nothing about German, but tell me, is
that the hand of an