I considered long and earnestly whether I should out with the whole truth about the abduction. But I could not bring myself to believe that they would credit the story now. And if they did not, it would only serve to confirm and increase the suspicions already entertained.
Whether anything was being done to test the truth of what I had said, I could not ascertain. A man brought me some breakfast, but he would not answer the questions I put to him; and when I asked to see the chief, I was curtly told that I should see him when he wished to see me, and not before.
Some hours passed in this galling suspense. I was eating my heart out in the desire to know what was being done, when two men entered the cell and ordered me to strip. They examined the marks on my linen carefully, and fortunately it had my name in full.
"How is it you are wearing these things?" asked one, looking at me with a very singular expression.
"Because they are my own, of course."
He grunted and exchanged looks with his companion. They whispered together and then took the shirt away, telling me to put on the rest of the clothes.
I did not understand the reason for this proceeding, but hoped that the marks would be regarded as confirmation of my identity.
Presently one of them returned and led me to the office, where the chief was examining my shirt and looking very grave and important.
"Will you now give an account of yourself during last night?" he demanded in a pistol-at-your-head tone.
"I can say what I wish to say when I get to Berlin."