in a very high estimate of the intelligence
of the police of Zerbst."

"I trust you will pardon us," was the gruff man's reply, bowing. "It
was the very fact that you were an Englishman that caused suspicion to
rest upon you. It is an Englishman who is wanted for extensive jewel
robberies. His name is Ewart."

"A very common name in England," was my reply. "But will it not appear
a little too high-handed if you arrest every Englishman who rides in a
motor-car in any part of Germany on suspicion that he is this thief
Ewart? How do they describe the car?"

"Pale-blue," he admitted.

"Well, mine is scarcely that--is it?" I asked, as he stood beside me.

The "bonnet" was open, and by the light of the policeman's lantern he
was admiring the six bright cylinders.

"No," he responded. Even now, however, the bearded fellow seemed only
half convinced. But German officials are a particularly hide-bound genus
of mankind.

He saw, however, that I had now grown exasperated, and presently, after
putting a few further questions to me, he expressed his regret that I
should have suffered any delay or inconvenience, and politely wished me
a pleasant journey to my destination.

A lucky escape, I thought, when once again I was out on the broad high
road to Magdeburg, my head-lamps showing a stream of white light far
along the dusty way.

Instead of getting into Magdeburg, as I believed, I found myself, an
hour later, in a dark, ill-lit town upon a broad river, and discovered
that I was in Schoenebeck, on the main road to Hanover. The distance to
the latter city was one hundred miles, and, as I could get away from
there by half a dozen lines of railway, I decided to push forward, even
though for the past eighteen hours I had only had a piece of bread and
a mug of beer at Dessau.

About eleven o'clock on the following morning, after two tyre troubles,
I was passing out of the quaint mediaeval town of Hildesheim, intending
to reach Hanover before noon. I had come around the Haupt Bahnhof and
on to the highway beyond the railroad, when my heart gave a leap as a
policeman dashed out into the road in front of me and held up his hand.

"Your name?" he demanded gruffly.

"William Hartley--an Englishman," was my prompt response.

"I must, I regret, insist on your presence at the police-office," he
said authoritatively.

"Oh!" I cried, annoyed. "I suppose I must go through the same farce as
at Zerbst last night."

"You were at Ze