The day after, as I was taking my walk, accompanied by my private secretary, a man took off his hat and addressed me. He spoke English with an accent.
'Pardon me; I do not know your name; but I know your friend, Pastor Lampe, one of the most learned of our young divines; I have seen you talking to him; I likewise recognised your companion at dinner last night, Mr. Cyril Brown; he is an American well known in Berlin. My name is Pastor X. I was formerly of Bremen. May I have a few words with you?'
'Certainly,' I said, interested, 'if you will walk to Friedericksberg.'
'Part of the way, sir,' he said.
My secretary whispered,—'Another spy? Shall I pump him?'
We had been frequently followed. Only a short time before, when I had escorted my wife and Frau Frederika Hagerup, lady-in-waiting to Queen Maud of Norway, for a short walk, we had been closely followed, by eavesdroppers. At the corner of the Amaliegade and Saint Anna's place, just opposite the Hotel King of Denmark, men had crawled up within earshot, and one had accompanied us the whole distance. Was this a similar case?
'Spy?' I said in French. 'Well let him talk!'
My young secretary shook his head; his way of dealing with suspected spies was to wring their necks, if possible. From a long experience with spies, it is my conclusion that much money is wasted on them. Some are very agreeable, and give the party of the second part much amusement. The German pastor, in his rusty black, looked so respectable, too! He took the right, which showed that he did not understand that I was a Minister. A well brought up German, who knew my rank, would have taken my left side even if he were about to strangle me!
'Bitte,' I said, 'but speak English!'
'I must beg pardon,' he answered; 'I could not forbear to tell you what I thought of your conversation at the restaurant last night. I should have interrupted you, but I was in the middle of my dinner.'