"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 educated German? Is it Francis' handwriting?"

"Certainly, it is an educated hand," I replied, "but I'm dashed if I can
say whether it is Francis' German handwriting: it can scarcely be
because, as I have already remarked, he spells 'Achilles' with one 'l.'"

Then the fog came down over us again. We sat helplessly and gazed at the
fateful paper.

"There's only one thing for it, Dicky," I said finally, "I'll take the
blooming thing back to London with me and hand it over to the
Intelligence. After all, Francis may have a code with them. Possibly