They were put into a carriage and driven away to Police Head-Quarters, and after a long wait were ushered into the presence of a high official, who looked worried and overworked. “Who and what are you? And what are you doing here?” he asked brusquely. Ray supplied him with the desired information. “Your passport?” “I have none, Herr Head-of-Police,”--he had no idea what his questioner’s standing might be, but knew that in addressing officials in Germany you can hardly aim too high. “I left London at almost a moment’s notice on Saturday morning, to bring this lady home to her mother. I did not know a passport was necessary.” “We have definite information that you are a spy.” “From the fat gentleman who insulted me in the train yesterday, I presume,” said Ray, with a smile. “He tried to sit on me and then called me names, and I called him Fat-Pig. He had already annoyed everyone in the carriage, and they all sided against him and told him what they thought of him. I am no more a spy than he is, mein Herr.... Stay--here is my return ticket to London dated, as you see, Saturday. My fiancée has been studying in Leipsic here for the last two years. She lived with Frau Helse, 119 Sebastian Bach Strasse. Have you your mother’s letter with you, Lois?”--and she got it out and handed it to the official. He read it carefully and seemed to weigh each word and seek between the lines for hidden treason. “And why is Fräulein Dare leaving so hurriedly?” “Her mother wished her at home and we judged there might possibly be difficulties for a girl travelling alone.” “Why?” “When there are rumours of war in the air, mein Herr, one’s best place is in one’s own country. That was how we looked at it.” “But the war--if it comes to anything--is far enough from here,” and he eyed Ray keenly, as though to penetrate his whole mind on the matter. “May it remain so!” said Ray earnestly. “But when a fire starts one never knows for certain how far it will spread.” “And you were going to Munich,--towards the danger in fact.” “Yes, we were going by Innsbruck and Tirol into Switzerland and so home. The traffic on the direct lines seems disorganised. The booking-clerk refused me a ticket via Cologne.” “I shall have to keep you awhile till I have made some further enquiries. If they are satisfactory you will be allowed to proceed. If not----” “Herr Head-of-Police,” pleaded Lois, in her best German, which was very good indeed, and in her prettiest manner, which was irresistible, “It is too ridiculous. Herr Luard is a student of law in London. He is the nephew of Sir Anthony Luard, who lives next door to us at home, and we are fiancés. That is why he came for me. He is no more a spy than I am. And Frau Helse will tell you all about me. Fräulein Luise and Ludwig were across at our home in London last year.”