But the policeman was not to be fooled. He put his big paw on my shoulder and said in the most matter-of-fact tone, 'No, sir! You are Lieutenant Spindler, and your friend is Winkelmann from Donington Hall, aren't you?' And I answered in the same matter-of-fact tone, 'Yes, sir, you are right! I congratulate you.'
My answer struck the policeman as being so funny and at the same time so satisfactory, that he now treated us with marked politeness, and begged us to follow him. There was nothing else for it. We were caught again, and our fine schemes had come to naught. And so near success, too! We could not suppress a loud curse.
I had foreseen at the commencement, and had agreed with W. before we escaped, that there was no object in denying facts if a policeman should arrest us. In such a case excuses would be useless, for without papers to prove our identity we should not be set free. And it was only necessary to telephone to Donington Hall to get an English officer to come over and identify us.
We had not far to go to the police station—it was only a hundred yards from the seat we had selected under the trees.
What followed can be told in a few words. At the police station we had to undress and hand over all our belongings. Only a handkerchief was given back to us. When the inspector saw our flying-kit he nodded approvingly and said, 'Yes, we had expected that! The aerodromes had been warned!'
After a short time we were put in a 'Black Maria' and taken across the town. On the way we stopped at various police stations to take more passengers on board. They were all English soldiers in uniform. Their first question on getting in was: 'Are you absentees?' Desertion seemed to be taken as a matter of course here. The policeman who caught us assured me that they collected twenty or twenty-five deserters every morning, which was very pleasant news for us.
The van stopped outside the police headquarters. We got out and were taken to the court cells. These, as well as the passages, were guarded by strong iron bars. A couple of detectives rushed at us and poured out their hatred of Germany on us in the most abusive terms. We had only a compassionate smile for these wretches.
Then the chief constable arrived, a very pleasant, fine old gentleman. He expressed his admiration for our very clever escape, and asked if there was anything we wanted. I asked him to let us pay for a warm breakfast and a few cigarettes out of the money taken from us, a request which he immediately granted. My complaint in regard to the conduct of the detectives evidently pained him, and he promised me relief as well as the punishment of the offenders. They kept a respectful distance from us after that. Shortly afterwards we were taken to the Guildhall—purely as a formality. We had to sit on the same seat with men and women accused of theft and other crimes. On a raised bench in front of us sat the chairman and other magistrates, reporters, detectives, and policemen. The seats on both sides were filled with spectators. It had evidently been noised abroad that the two 'Hun officers' had been recaptured.
A number of offenders were summarily dealt with, and then it was our turn. There was a general movement in the court-room. We had only two or three questions to answer. The mayor refused to believe that we had escaped on Thursday, as the Commandant of Donington Hall had expressly stated that we had broken out on Saturday. The explanation was obvious, and the consequence was that later on the English Parliament occupied itself with the question for a whole week, and asked for an explanation of the fact that two German officers had been able to escape in spite of the strong guard and the electrified wire fence. As a matter of fact, the electric arrangement had been out of action for a long time. I answered all questions without hesitation. But I avoided, then and afterwards, giving any explanation of the manner of our escape.