When I had finished packing I rang for the porter to strap my trunk, but he did not come. I continued ringing with much vigour, and finally the nice little housemaid appeared on the scene and a flood of volubility broke over me. The porter was busy. He could not come. All Russians in the hotel were being arrested as criminals, for Russians had fired on a frontier town and war was declared. The hotel had been full of detectives for several days, and one "criminal" had had the room next to our suite. This piece of information explained the noise in No. 140. The occupant had evidently rebelled at being arrested so early in the morning! When I passed his room his captors were waiting for him, and he was calmly finishing off his toilette. The big lounge of the hotel was like a hive of swarming bees, and poor Mr. Louis Adlon looked simply worn out with worry; but he was so kind and courteous! I shall never forget all the trouble he took for us. We got off at about 12.30 in a magnificent Benz, driven by one of the best-looking boys imaginable. The hand luggage was piled inside the car, so I sat outside. It was a lovely morning, and we all felt duly thrilled over our dramatic departure. The crowds were dense, and cars stacked with luggage like ours were shooting off in every direction. As on the previous day, the very air seemed charged with electricity, but when we were once in the country, all seemed peaceful and calm, and one asked one's self: "Why are we flying like this? What possible danger can there be?" There were just a few indications of the times--a troop of Lancers clattered past us, and a body of Uhlans leading peasants' horses with their labels attached. At Wannsee a car with the crown prince and princess flashed past. On the bridge over the Havel, overlooking Babelsburg, a tire burst, and we were delayed about half an hour. At Potsdam we made a halt at the telegraph office; but the news there was bad. No wires were being accepted for the "Ausland," and even local ones were not likely to get through.