Lots of people had seen me, of course, and when I landed I had quite a reception at the hands of the police, some soldiers and other gapers, all of whom very naturally mistook me for a German officer. I was arrested amid much fussation and great babble of tongues and hauled off to the mayor of the town, after having arranged for the safe-keeping of the machine.
He was a fat jovial little man with twinkling, merry eyes, and when I told him my story, he laughed over the telephone incident until the tears literally streamed down his cheeks and I feared he'd have an apoplectic fit.
He was Anglophile to the finger-tips, made me consent to remain the night in his house, promised to see to the return of the bus, and found me a rig-out of clothes; but stuck when I suggested the return of Vibach's uniform also. He declared that nothing should induce him to part with such a delightful memento of the incident.
I spent a jolly evening with him. He brought in a few congenial friends and I had to tell the story over again, to the running accompaniment of shouts of laughter, prodigalities of Schnapps, and comments on the Germans which would have meant ages of penal servitude if uttered on the other side of the frontier.
Most of his friends turned up at the station the next day to see me off to Rotterdam; and the train steamed off amid a storm of cheers, waving of hats, and cries of good luck. Then some one started "God save the King," which they were all yelling at full lung power until I was out of hearing. I might have been His Majesty himself, judging by the enthusiasm; and my fellow passengers looked as if they thought I was some important big-wig.
I reached Rotterdam late in the afternoon, got the name of Nessa's hotel after a little trouble at the Consulate, and was going to 'phone to her, when an irresistible temptation seized me.
I was fearfully bucked over my lucky escape and I simply could not help trying a last wheeze with her as a good wind up. I hunted up a good barber's shop, bought a black, glossy-haired wig and a toothbrush moustache and imperial to match, darkened my eyebrows and made up with a few wrinkles and little artistic touches of the sort.
It was quite a good disguise; and a pair of black cotton gloves, two sizes too large, and a sort of lumpy gamp umbrella helped to suggest the character I had in my mind. Then I scribbled on a dirty piece of carefully crumpled paper a note introducing myself.
"You can trust the bearer, Van Heerenveen by name, a true friend in need to us both. Jack."
I went to the hotel in the dusk and sent in the name, saying I wished to see her on important private business; a tip secured me the sole use of what was called the Reception Saloon, a dingy little room with one window; I dimmed the already poor light by drawing the blind half down, and chose my seat so that my back should be to it.