When Tower and I had talked _ad nauseam_ on such fiercely neutral
subjects as Dutch cheese and Swiss scenery, I felt an impelling
desire to "get even" with the intruder, and began to complain to
Tower of the injustice of the British not allowing me to return to
America via England, which I wished to see for a few days. He took
the cue readily, and accused me of being "fed-up like all neutral
correspondents in Berlin." He frankly expressed his disgust at the
enthusiasm which he declared that I had been showing for everything
German since I met him in Holland. As the train pulled into the
Hague, where I prepared to leave him, he concluded by saying,
"After all, you ought not to blame the British authorities for
refusing you permission to go to England. I have done my best and
have failed; there is nothing more that I can do. I did get one
concession for you, however. You will not be roughly handled or
otherwise maltreated when your vessel touches at Falmouth."

I had to make a serious effort to keep a straight face while
leaving the train with this last realistic touch of "British
brutality" ringing in my ears. Tower, I might add, had voiced the
extraordinary myth one hears in the Fatherland about the terrible
manner in which the British treat passengers on neutral steamers
touching at their ports.

The man with the reddish hair followed me to the office of the
Holland-America Line, where I made application for a reservation on
the boat which would sail in a week or ten days. From there I went
to a small restaurant. He seemed satisfied and left me, whereupon
I followed him. He hurried to the large Cafe Central, stepped
straight to a table in the front room, which is level with the
street, and seated himself beside a thin, dark German of the