“We’ll put you in solitary confinement.”
“For how long?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“And what then?”
“You’re going to stay with us so long that you needn’t bother yet about the ‘what then.’”
“But aren’t you going to send me back to Ruhleben when I’m through with my punishment for escaping?”
“I’ve nothing to do with it and don’t know. But I’m pretty sure you’ll have to stay here till the end of the war.”
“That’s hard punishment for an attempt to get home!”
“Bless my soul, you’re not going to be locked up all the time! There are a number of Englanders here. Most of them are up and down these stairs the whole day.” With this he went out and shouted for some one. Another N.C.O. appeared. “Take this man to Block Twenty-three and lock him up. Here’s his slip.” The slip, I saw later, was a piece of paper stating my name and nationality, and marked with a cross which stood for “solitary confinement.” It was to be fastened to the outside of my cell door.