So far as he gave us his history, it related that he had graduated from the University of Calcutta, and had lived for a time in London, and later in Paris, before coming to the United States. He had heard that there was a warrant out for his arrest in India for sedition, probably due, he suggested, to his having written several articles on the subject of British Rule.
“Have you been to Germany recently?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he answered. “How could I get there, with the British watching for me? They would arrest me if I tried to go. Why do you ask that?”
“Because I wanted to know,” I answered. I had good reason to believe that he had been there because among his effects we found several exhibits which pointed toward such a trip. A letter from a woman in Florida dated December 13, 1915, said:
“I would never for one moment try to deter you from the effort or achievement of your lofty ideals and noble aims, for in this as in many other things my spirit accords with yours. Brother dear, do nothing, say nothing, trust nobody, without extreme caution. God speed you. God hasten your return to those who are interested in you, and in all in which you are interested. Bless you, precious brother.”
This indicated a journey, clearly. A cablegram dated Bergen, Norway, Dec. 23, 1915, addressed to Sekunna, read, “Safe arrival here,” and took him as far as the Continent, at least. Three postcards supplied the rest of the information; they were addressed by Sekunna to himself at a Berlin address, and bore the instructions, “Return to Sender, E. A. Sekunna, Omin Company, 417 E. 142nd Street, New York City”; postmarked Berlin in December and January, they suggested that Chakravarty had used them as part of a pre-arranged system of communication with America in which he did not wish his own name used.
I found among the papers a photographic print of Chakravarty wearing a fez, which I knew was not an orthodox head-dress for a Bengalese. Furthermore, it struck me that the print was of the size and finish usually used on passports for identification of the bearer. I showed it to him, with the remark:
“Why do you tell me you haven’t been in Berlin, when you used this photograph so you could get a passport as a Persian?”
He bit. “I see you got me,” he replied. “I lied to you. I want to tell you a different story—the real one. I did go to Germany.”
“Why?”