He _verstehened_. Being an underling he understood so well that after a few moments he returned all the letters he had appropriated and instantly changing his manner, he facilitated the rest of the inspection. After my baggage was examined by more soldiers (and those soldiers did their duty, even going through the pockets of clothes in my trunks) I was told I might go. "_Gute reise_," the police agent called--"Good journey." Although treated with all courtesy I was afraid somebody might change his mind, so hurrying out of the last room of the long wooden shed I proceeded down the platform to the train at a pace that must have shown signs of breaking into a run. There in my compartment the thoughts that came to me were in this order: There must be reason for such a rigid inspection; no doubt spies must have been caught recently trying to enter Germany at Warnemunde. If I hadn't lost the courier in the crowd there would have been plain sailing. The minutes passed. It was nearly time for the train to start. Where was the courier? Presently, rather pale, nervous in speech, but as reserved and cool as ever he limply entered the compartment and threw himself on the cushions. "They took everything," he announced. "All they left me was a pair of pajamas." "What! You mean they have your papers?" "All of them," he smiled. "Likewise a trunk full of letters and a valise. Oh, well, they'll send them on. They took my address. Gad, they stripped me through!" I began laughing. The courier could see no mirth in the situation. "You," I gasped, "you, who by all rights should have paraded through, from you they take everything while they let me pass." "Do you mean to say," he exclaimed, "that they didn't take your letters." "Not one," I grinned. "Well, I'll be damned!" he said. Locked in the compartment we nervously watched the door, half expecting that the police spy would come back for us. We could not have been delayed more than a few minutes, but it seemed hours, before, with German regard for comfort, the train glided out of the shed. It must have been trying on my companion's good humor, but the absurdity of stripping a courier of everything he carried, was irresistible. Perhaps it was our continued laughter that brought the knock on the door. Pushing aside the curtains we saw outside--for it was one of the new German wagons with a passageway running the entire length of one side of the car--a tall, broad-shouldered, lean man with features and expression both typical and unmistakable. "An Englishman!" We saw him smile and shake his head. I hesitatingly let fall the curtain and looked at the courier. "Let him in," he said. "He's got the brand of an English university boy all over him. We'll have a chat with him. You don't mind, do you?"