In Sarayevo one half of the population is paid to spy upon the other half. Ask any man in Bosnia or in Herzegovina his opinion of his neighbour, and he will tell you to beware of him, as “he is a spy, and will denounce you to the authorities.” Ask the accused about his accuser, and he will tell you exactly the same thing. The whole place simply swarms with secret agents. In the country, peasants are given cows in payment for information about their neighbours, which is, of course, very often false. Stories are manufactured for the sake of reward. Expense is nothing. Agents follow you everywhere—in the town, in the country, and even beyond the frontier. Oh yes! Bosnia, with all her natural beauties of scenery, is a truly delightful place under the present régime. The Government have their spies in private houses in the guise of domestics—for, by preference, they employ women and priests. Every pavement in the towns carries a spy, therefore silence here is certainly golden. The spy system is more complete and elaborate than either in Russia or in France, and a good deal more costly—all energies being devoted against the unfortunate Serbs. In such an oppressed and persecuted country it goes without saying that the stranger is well looked after. From the moment I crossed the frontier of Herzegovina, to the moment I left Slavonia at Zimony, I was never lost sight of. Perhaps because I was known to be the bearer of Government despatches, I was suspected of being a British agent in disguise. My passport was never asked for until I desired to leave Austrian territory and cross the Save to Belgrade, yet with the marvellous secret system I was, while in Bosnia, a marked man. Each time I strolled in the streets of Mostar or of Sarayevo, a spy dogged my footsteps—sometimes a man, sometimes a woman—and my every movement was carefully noted. A gentleman, apparently staying in the hotel and speaking excellent French, volunteered to be my guide about Sarayevo. He was a pleasant, nonchalant fellow, and represented himself to be a commercial traveller. I accepted his kind offices, well knowing him to be a spy, and was rather amused at the idea of the authorities providing me gratuitously with such an excellent cicerone. Wherever I went, so also did he. By all kinds of clever ruses he endeavoured to discover the reason of my visit; and I, in order to aggravate him, managed to elude his questions and so increase his suspicions. In my travels in various out-of-the-world corners of the Continent I have had a wide experience of spies and their ways, therefore I set myself to puzzle my inquisitive friend by adopting the self-same methods as he himself was adopting.