It happened on the 27th of April. All over Budapest it was forbidden for anybody to be in the streets after 10 p.m. The window blinds had to be drawn and if a light was visible in a window the ‘Terror Boys’ fired at it. Armed lorries were continually rushing about in the dark streets. The town listened with bated breath: hostages were being taken. Motors were racing up the castle hill: it was a hunt for human victims. When these had been collected a car crossed over to Pest and stopped on the bridge. The two Holláns were hustled out on to the lower quay. Probably it was there that their captors intended to do the deed, but for some unknown reason they ordered their victims back again into the car. They started off but stopped again at the pillar and obliged the tortured men to get off. The motor-car waited near by and those in it heard a violent altercation going on in the dark. Shots were then fired and there followed two splashes in the Danube. Nobody has seen the two Holláns since. The story of the happenings was told by Karátson, a Secretary of State and one of their fellow prisoners. Then, one does not know how, the news filtered out and is being whispered to-day behind the closed doors and windows of Budapest. Many know it, only poor Alexander Hollán’s wife is in ignorance. The Communists declare that her husband is in gaol, and at noon her little grey shadow waits day after day amongst the other women at the prison gate. She brings food and linen to her husband and sends messages, and thanks the terrorists at the gate for transmitting them. Meanwhile the Danube carries her dead gently towards the sea. The prisons are crowded with hostages awaiting their fate. Death perpetually hovers over them, for they are threatened daily with execution and daily one or another of them is led off to the prison yard. They blindfold him and fire over his head—for fun. The hangmen of to-day greatly enjoy gloating over their victims’ fear. Yet to produce terror is the delight of degraded souls. Hearsay reports hundreds who are the innocent inhabitants of prisons, but names cannot be ascertained. Yet we know there are Archduke Joseph Francis, Bishop Count John Mikes, Alexander Wekerle, the former Prime Minister, the president and the vice-president of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, several former Ministers, court dignitaries and members of parliament, generals, lord lieutenants, landlords, and many others, among them the aged Count Aurel Dessewffy, Lord Chief Justice, who was dragged by Red soldiers from the side of his wife’s deathbed to be cast into prison. There is the élite of the Hungarian nation, with many others whose names have not reached me. Many unknown people, students, women, farmers, manufacturers, even some workmen. They are all hostages—prisoners in their own country—pawns for the lives of Béla Kun, Számuelly, Pogány, Landler and other comrades. * * * * *