That was joyful news to one held within the confines of a captive city, from which all exit was, for the time being, closely barred.
It was September 28th, my birthday, too. The necessity of celebrating this in utter boredom was a dismal prospect. Now this came upon me like a little surprise-party.
Picking up a bit of paper on which I had been scribbling down a few memoranda that I feared might escape my mind, I hastened into the hallway to meet a somewhat spare, tall, and extremely erect-appearing man. He greeted me with a smile and a bow—a rather dry smile and a rather stiff bow for an American.
So I queried, "You're an American, are you?"
"Not exactly," he responded; "but I would like to talk with you."
Without the shadow of a suspicion, I told him it would be a great relief from the tedium of the day to talk to any one.
"But I would prefer to talk to you in your room," he added.
"Certainly," I responded, stepping toward the elevator.
The hotel was practically deserted, so I was somewhat surprised when two men, one a huge fellow built on a superdreadnaught plan, followed us in and got out with us on the fifth floor. The superdreadnaught sailed on into my room, which seemed a breach of propriety for an un-introduced stranger. He closed the door rudely behind him. I was prepared to resent this altogether high-handed intrusion, when my tall guest said, very simply, "I am representing the Imperial German Government."
I rallied under the shock sufficiently to say, "Will you take a chair?"