We were in Germany.
The realization fell upon me like a thunderclap. I was in the enemy's country, sailing under false colours, with only the most meagre information about the man whose place I had taken and no plausible tale, such as I had fully intended to have ready, to carry me through the rigorous scrutiny of the frontier police.
What was my firm? The Halewright Manufacturing Company. What did we manufacture? I had not the faintest idea. Why was I coming to Germany at all? Again I was at a loss.
The clink of iron-shod heels in the corridor and an officer, followed closely by two privates, the white cross of the Landwehr in their helmets, stood at the door.
"Your papers, please," he said curtly but politely.
I handed over my American passport.
"This has not been viséd," said the officer.
With a pang I realized that again I was at fault. Of course, the passport should have been stamped at the German Consulate at Rotterdam.
"I had no time," I said boldly. "I am travelling on most important business to Berlin. I only reached Rotterdam last night, after the Consulate was closed."
The lieutenant turned to one of his guards.