It was an awe-inspiring spectacle,—apparently some kind of military drill to repel idle questions. I could only utter “’t Geeft niets—’t hindert niet—het komt er niet op aan! Doe geen moeite, Smeeris!” But he turned upon his heel and walked away without even saying ‘Vaarwel’!
Alas, I had failed again! I had displeased the Openbare Macht and had not got a hint as to the address of the official receiver of letters.
BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.
All this was more than usually mysterious, so I tried to extract some information from the landlady that evening.
“Waar woont Mijnheer Hiernaast?” I said to her casually after dinner.
“Hiernáást, mijnheer,” she replied with strong emphasis on the naast.
“Oh I don’t mind putting the accent on the final,” I murmured to myself. “Goed. Best.—Dan, waar woont Mijnheer Hiernáást?”
“Hiernáást,” she repeated, pointing through the wall!
Had the good woman lost her senses? Or was she trying to make fun of me? In either case I did not quite care to prolong the conversation. “Lamaar”, I interjected, “het heeft niets te beduiden—schei er uit,—zanik nou niet”. And I must say that effectually stopped her.