Metropole was never
returned to me and I know that my room was searched once, if not
twice, after my return to the hotel.

It would be interesting to see how all this tallies with the official
report of my case in the archives at Berlin. Perhaps some of these
surmises have shot far wide of the mark. Javert, for instance, may
not be a direct descendant of the ancient Inquisitor who had
charge of the rack and the thumb screws, as I believed. In his own
home town he may be a sort of mild-mannered schoolmaster and
probably is highly astounded as well as gratified to find himself
cast as the villain in this piece. Perhaps I may have been at other
times in far greater danger. I do not know these things. All I know
is that this is a true and faithful transcript of the feelings and sights
that came crowding in upon me in that most eventful day and
night.

PART II
On Foot With The German Army

Chapter V

The Gray Hordes Out Of The North

The outbreak of the Great War found me in Europe as a general
tourist, and not in the capacity of war-correspondent. Hitherto I had
essayed a much less romantic role in life, belonging rather to the
crowd of uplifters who conduct the drab and dreary battle with the
slums. The futility of most of these schemes for badgering the poor
makes one feel at times that these battles are shams and
unavailing. This is depressing. It is thrilling, then, suddenly to
acquire the glamorous title of war-correspondent, and to have
before one the prospect of real and actual battles.

Commissioned thus and desiring to live up to the code and
requirement of the office, I naturally opined that war-
correspondents rushed immediately into the thick of the fight. Later
I discovered what a mistake that was. Only very young and green
ones do so. The seasoned correspondent is inclined to view the
whole affair more dispassionately and with a larger perspective.
But being of the verdant variety, I naturally figured that if the
Germans were smashing down through Belgium onto Liege that
that was where I should be. By entering gingerly through the back
door of Holland, I planned to join them in their march down the
Meuse River.

To The Hague came descriptions of the hordes pressing down out
of the north through the fire-swept, blood-drenched plain of
northern Belgium. This could be seen from the Dutch frontier at
Maastricht. But passage thereto was interdicted by the military
authorities. Ambassa