At about one in the morning we went to bed, and dropped asleep from sheer fatigue. At about four Kitty and I woke up and discussed the situation dispassionately. We got out of our beds and looked out of the windows. Rain was falling in sheets, and the world seemed a cold, cheerless, uninviting place. The soldiers guarding us paced up and down, up and down, in the wet. Vitality is low at 4 a.m., and we were as dejected as any two mortals could be. Stay at Gronau--remain in this God-forsaken place till the European conflagration burnt itself out, cut off from every soul we cared about and unable to communicate--impossible! Having arrived at this logical conclusion, we returned to our beds and went to sleep. At eight o'clock the examiners returned to the charge. We went into a long room with a raised dais. There were long tables ranged down it, covered with stained cardboard mounts for beer-glasses. Cigar ashes were in saucers, cigar ends on the floor. The smell of stale beer permeated the atmosphere. It was an engaging _mise en scène_. Kitty and I were greeted by the head of police, two sergeants (one of them the bucolic hero of the vanity bag), and one of the girl searchers. The wearisome process began afresh. By the time the turn of my trunk came, the men were clearly bored. I had quantities of papers,--notes, MSS., sketches for lectures, extracts, charts,--papers which would have caused wild interest the evening before, but excitement was on the wane. By eleven o'clock everything had been seen thoroughly. The chief of police beamed upon us kindly. "It has to be done," he explained. Later the burgomaster reappeared, more paternal than ever, and most kindly disposed. He was really sorry for all we had gone through, and promised he would do all in his power to get us over the border, and he certainly kept his word. Out of his pockets came all our confiscated belongings, and from some safe hiding-place was produced the fatal vanity bag!