But Meloy was not content with only one companion. He must have others who would expand the picture of innocence abroad. One of his neighbours in the suburb on the Jersey Coast where he made his country home was a wealthy woman known widely in America for her interest both in the peace and suffrage movements. Meloy telephoned to her and asked her to see him at his home. This lady drove over one summer evening in her motor car, accompanied by two women friends. The friends sat in the open car while she sat on the porch talking to Meloy. Meloy is very deaf; the lady had to talk loudly to make him hear. Meloy differed from most deaf people, who usually speak in a lower tone than those who hear well--he went rather to the other extreme, and spoke louder than most folks do. The women in the car heard the conversation, and they heard it a second time when their friend repeated it to them on the way home. And the Government heard it also, from the lips of all three. The burden of the conversation was this: Meloy was taking his wife to Europe for a vacation; they were going to Holland, where so many forward-looking movements for the good of mankind made their international headquarters; he would be drawn aside a great deal by business affairs and Mrs. Meloy would be lonesome; he was anxious to provide companionship for her, if the lady would accompany them, he would pay all her expenses, he would assure her that her journey would be made _de luxe_, he would (he put it more delicately) even add a money consideration, he would see that the journey included a visit to war-bound Germany, now so difficult of access, that in Germany she should have _entrée_ to social circles so exclusive that they were inaccessible even to the American Ambassador, and that, to crown all, she should be presented to the Kaiser. The lady said she would think it over. It was an attractive invitation, but she did not just like it--perhaps it was too attractive. She talked it over with her friends: they advised against it. She telephoned Meloy next day and declined. Meloy repeated the invitation to several women. All declined. Then, as the _Noordam_ was to sail on August 3d, and he had no more time, he decided to take his secretary, a Miss Brophy. Rintelen was now thoroughly alarmed. The Government’s refusal to grant his fraudulent application for a passport indicated that it knew about him. The Government was getting “warm” in its investigation of the incendiary bombs. The Government was taking an unpleasant interest in Labour’s National Peace Council. Rintelen felt irresistibly the pangs of _Heimweh_, the longing for home. He must go, at any risk. He would chance it as Gasché again.