"Well," he said, "of course we think you people are friendly to us, otherwise you wouldn't be able to get a pass at all. We conclude," he continued, "that you are friends, from what we see in the newspapers." I replied, "Well, that's about all a person has to go by, just what he sees in the newspapers." I left him to draw his own conclusions, while I caught the train.
CHAPTER XXVIII SHADOWED AT LIÉGE
At Liége I felt the German espionage system. This city became world famous in a week's time when the Hun was pounding at the gates. It was the first the world knew of the war. The place was fearfully "strafed." It was Sunday afternoon when I arrived. Before I could get off the train, or rather out of the depot, I had to let the German soldiers search me, and they went through my clothes with a marvelous thoroughness. When I went to a hotel and was eating my supper I found there two Germans in the dining room, one of whom was a soldier and one a railroad conductor, talking together. I will not mention the name of the conductor because if this was reported of him it might mean his execution. After a few minutes the soldier went away.
I went on with my supper but before I had finished a violent pounding sounded on the door. The proprietor, a Belgian, started to answer it, while his wife peeped out and saw that two burly German officers were there. She became excited and rushed back, seized my grip, turned out the light in the dining room, and bundled me off upstairs with my heart pounding like a steam engine.
I did not know what was up.
Now, either the German Secret Service had shadowed me all the way from Brussels, or perhaps every step of the way since I entered the country, or else that soldier had gone out and reported me. Those officers demanded of the proprietor if there was an American in his house and if so what he was doing there. I don't know what answer he gave them, but after a while they went away.
I then had the most enlightening and frank talk with that civilian German conductor that I have ever had with a German since this war began. The Belgian hotel proprietor had known him for several months as a guest, and told me that I could trust the man.
In the conversation the German said, "War is a terrible thing. It is no good for common men like me."