We got on famously at Utrecht and at the Arnhem station. In less time than it takes to tell it we were mounted on our cycles with our bags in front of us, and ready for the road.

“This is fine!” exclaimed Terence. And indeed it was. Charmed by the ease with which we had got along so safely, I felt a trifle elated over our linguistic victories, and had already begun to dream of fresh fields to conquer, when we drew near van Leeuwen’s villa on the Velperweg—a lovely spot.

We dismounted to make sure we were right, and then walked briskly up the avenue.

The door was opened by a timid-looking servant, who said: “Er is belet.”

It was the first time I had met the expression; yet it sounded oddly familiar. Ah, of course. For the last ten days I had been studying biljetten out of the railway-guide. There was apparently a slight provincialism in her way of the rendering the liquid in the middle of the word, but this didn’t matter. There was a ticket, then. Puzzling, very.

“Ja?” I said tentatively.

“Er is belet,” she repeated. The intonation was decisive; but as her manner was expectant, I took it for a question, had we tickets? Queer, certainly. Yes; I assured her we had,—“gewone biljetten, retour,—geldig voor Éen dag.”

She shifted her ground and said, “Mijnheer heeft belet.”

Now you know how hard it is to be sure what person servants are talking about when they say Mijnheer. Did she mean me or her master? “Welke Mijnheer?” I asked. “Ben ik mijnheer, of is Mijnheer mijnheer?”

Raising her voice she announced deliberately, but with increasing irritation: “Mijnheer van Leeuwen—heeft—belet.”

“Aha”, I whispered to Terence, “It’s my big letter she’s talking about. Well, I’m glad it came in time”.

“Uitstekend!” I hastened to say. “Dat biljet is van mij. Dus mijnheer verwacht mij, niet waar?”

She nervously closed the door a bit. “Ik heb al gezaid—vanmorgen heeft mijnheer expres belet gegeven.”

“Mag ik het hebben, dan”, I enquired politely; “Mijn brief—dat geschreven biljet?”

“HÉ?” she said, visibly relieved, opening the door widely as she spoke. “Neem mij niet kwalijk, Mijnheer. Ik wist niet dat u van de belasting was. Komt u om het beschrijvingsbiljet?”

She retreated a step, timidly, into the hall, and glanced at an elderly butler, who in silence had been standing at a discreet distance listening to our colloquy. The butler moved forward, and in an apologetic tone murmured, “Mijnheer, het beschrijvingsbiljet is nog niet klaar. Of komt u met een aanslagbiljet?”

As I had a newspaper in my hand full of talk about a ‘moordaanslag’ I repudiated the latter idea indignantly. “Geen denken aan!” I said.

The butler came out and stood on the steps, enquiring “Is U soms een schatter.”

Schatter? (Schat, a treasure; schatter, a treasurer. I reasoned.) “Wel nee: geen schatter ben ik, alleen Eerlijk Secretaris van de Studenten-Club”.

In the hall a loopmeisje and a seamstress stood transfixed with curiosity. How could I get this mad interview terminated?

The deferential butler began to grow suspicious.

“Komt U niet van de belasting?”

“Ik weet het niet,” I replied.

That was enough.

“Mijnheer geeft belet altijd ‘s morgens,” he said, adding, evidently with reference to my eerlijk secretaris. “Wij zijn allemaal eerlijk hier!”

We appeared to be dismissed!

“Terence,” I said quickly; “Look if b-e-l-e-t is in the dictionary. They always hark back to that.”

In a minute he gave a mild shout: “It’s here; it means hindrance. Ah, I see. Van Leeuwen is hindered seeing us. Hadn’t we better go?”

“De belet is niet erg, hoop ik?” I said to the servant; “ik hoop dat Mijnheer spoedig beter zal worden, als het een ziekte is.”

Now at last we had mastered the mysteries of belet? No such thing!

Turning to go, I thought I might as well enquire when van Leeuwen could be seen. “Wanneer kan ik soms Mijnheer zien?” Her reply confounded me: “Vandaag of morgen, maar U moet belet vragen.”

Vragen! surely not ask for an obstacle. “U bedoelt weigeren, niet waar?” I suggested.

“Nee: belet vragen, anders zal mijnheer u niet ontvangen.”

“Oh Terence!” I exclaimed. “This is too awful! He has this obstacle; he has given it to us; now we must ask it again. And I don’t even know what it is!”

“Take care, Jack. Don’t ask anything else, or you’ll get us into a worse mess.”

“One moment,” I said, appealing to the stolid butler. “Moet ik verzoeken om weggestuurd te worden? Of wat?”

“Ja Mijnheer, ik verzoek jullie maar weg te gaan. Alstublieft!”

The solemn man looked like an archbishop. He cleared his throat and added courteously: “Maar, als U Mijnheer van Leeuwen wil spreken, moet U belet laten vragen. Anders krijgt U belet als U komt.”

“Schei uit!” I cried in dismay. “Terence, let us fly! for my brain won’t stand it.”

“No, no!” he interposed hastily. “Don’t be silly or hysterical, now. Look here. I’ve been working the thing out in my head and think I can see some sense in it. Perhaps it’s all very simple. Van Leeuwen may be only occupied for the moment, and so can see us if we wait. Just ask if they mean that he’s merely engaged. He mayn’t be sick at all. There’s the word for engaged.”

And he reached me the dictionary with this thumb opposite: geengageerd, verpanden, verloofd.

Yes, I thought. There was wisdom in his calm suggestion, though really I was sick making these curious enquiries. But it seemed plain sailing now. So with an ingratiating smile I just asked in a matter of fact sort of way: “Mijnheer is soms geengageerd? Is het wel?”

“Verloofd?” I added taking the next word, as there was no manner of response forthcoming to the first question.

“Verpanden?” whispered Terence with his eye on the dictionary.

The company—there were some six of them now clustering round the butler for protection—retreated hastily into the recesses of the big hall, and left that majestic man to shut the door. This he did without delay, saying, somewhat nervously, “Maak dat jullie weg gaat!”

There was nothing left for us to do but to beat a dignified retreat.

I made it as dignified as possible by, expressing our best wishes for van Leeuwen’s speedy recovery.

“Komplimenten aan Mijnheer, hoor; een spoedige restauratie!”

We cycled off.