“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.”
IS MIJNHEER GEENGAGEERD?
“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.