We were allowed to choose our bedrooms, and Kitty and I elected to share one big one. Then we were told that we must be undressed and searched, so one by one we were taken off by two damsels, who were soon able to declare that we were not concealing anything criminal about us. The big man whose pockets had swallowed up our pass and tickets again appeared upon the scene, and proved to be the burgomaster of the town. He interviewed Lyra in one room--questioning and cross-questioning--and then he came to me. His suspicions seemed to be allaying, and his attitude was almost paternal. Although we had no passports, we were able to prove our identification very successfully--the girls by papers and letters, and I luckily had in my possession my permit to visit all the Italian galleries, with my photo pasted on to it. This proved me to be Conway Evans, living in Florence; but while the examination was going on, I wondered how long it would be before the question of my nationality would crop up. "Where is your husband?" "Florence, Italy." "Where do your father and mother live?" "Lausanne, Switzerland." "Where is your son?" "With my father and mother." "Where were you born?" "Georgetown, Demerara, South America." I have always loved my colonial birthplace and suffered gladly the epithet of "Mudhead," but I don't suppose I ever experienced the same relief from it as when I realized that the worthy burgomaster's geography did not locate it amongst the British possessions, and that he was willing to swallow me whole as an American if I could deny my Russian nationality! We were certainly very kindly treated. A supper of eggs and milk was prepared for us. While we were eating, the German girls sat with us and we got quite friendly. Bit by bit little things pieced themselves together like the pattern of a jig-saw puzzle. Our arrival at Gronau was no unforeseen event. We had been expected,--waited for,--and the fifteen men who had stood across the road to bar our progress had their fifteen guns ready to shoot if our stop had not been _instanter_. Information had been sent from Hannover that we were suspects. Who sent it we are never likely to know--the obsequious hotel proprietor, the owner of the blue eyes, the smiling boy officer, or the insolent waiter. No matter, we were suspects, and the worst conclusions were drawn when we arrived in a car without lights, and when I emerged into the flaring ring of light in a rose-red coat--a Russian colour, pregnant with criminality!! Had we realized our true position when that sudden halt was made, how frightened we should have been! As it was, it never occurred to us that we were in actual danger.