"Where was the spy reported?"
"He lives at Beermann's Hotel."
That was my hotel. The spy was watching me. I told him that I would take upon myself the responsibility of saying that there were the most urgent reasons why this spy must be caught, and that he must wire his principals that the utmost vigilance must be used.
"We already have the railroad covered at both ends. But we will increase our precautions," he replied. "The spy will surely be caught."
In Bremen at Hillman's Hotel I was again stopped by a detective who demanded my papers. Again my papers confounded and bewildered him.
"The description of the spy fits you exactly," he said.
Once more I urged that the headquarters of the secret police be commanded to catch the secret agent at any cost.
At the Trocadero, I sat with a bottle of wine in front of me. A provost officer with two men in uniform came up to me.
"Come with us. You are under arrest."
I flew into a rage at these repetitions of stupidity, as I thought them to be.