The mystery was solved that same evening by Enderby, who dropped in about half past ten.
We talked over a number of things and, as Enderby was quite himself again after our little tiff at the ‘Uitspanning’, I just said, “Do you happen to know of the Hiernaasts in the Hague?”
“People called Hiernaast”, I explained, as he seemed not to catch my meaning. “They appear to be rather well-known. The father I think is a Government Official—a member of the Tweede-Kamer, I imagine, or something of that sort. I’m told he lives opposite a large gate-factory. The queer thing about the family is that, if you ask about them, everybody gives you a silly answer.
EASY WHEN YOU KNOW IT.
“Is he not in society, or what? Is his name like the word for lightning? May I not refer to him?”
“O’Neill”, exclaimed Enderby, rising suddenly off his seat, “you are surely not quite well!”
“What is it?” he said, “were you out long in the sun? That appelmoes must have gone to your head! Tell me all that happened to you.”
I told him the whole day’s adventures; and then I learnt that Mijnheer Hiernaast is—not necessarily an Official of the Government or a member of the Tweede Kamer; indeed that he is no particular person at all; but—just the gentleman who lives next door to you, wherever you happen to be.
Well; that’s easy enough, when you know it. But when you don’t, what are you to do?