You are not allowed to take with you any writing of any kind, or printed matter, books etc., out of Germany without having them first censored. They have a place where the letters are read and sealed, and if you have a lot of books they send a soldier to your house. He looks over the books and packs your trunk and then seals it, and it is not opened again at the frontier. You pay the soldier one mark an hour for the work. You are not allowed to take anything that Germany might need, out of Germany--no tools, no instruments and no electrical apparatus; that is, if the things have been bought in Germany. If it is something of a foreign make you can take it with you. I had a little electric stove that I was very fond of, and I knew that if I ever went to the frontier with that stove they would take it away from me in a minute, as it was new and German make. I went to an influential man I knew in the Foreign Office and I asked him if he would seal up my stove for me. He laughed but said, "The German Foreign Office can't seal up a stove." I was disappointed but not daunted, and I inveigled the military division of the Foreign Office to help me in getting a permit to take my stove over the border. You are allowed to take one thousand marks out of Germany, so I got all my money over that amount changed into Swedish money. I took it to Dr. Roediger, the censor, and asked him to seal it for me. "How many marks have you?" he asked. "No marks at all," I answered, "that is Swedish money." As he was a nice, sensible, clever man, he asked no more questions but sealed it for me. It was Sunday when I left Berlin. The train was almost empty. I had my money in my hand grip, and in the other hand I had my precious stove which had a case like a kodak. At Rostock a man came through the train and asked to see our passports. He only looked at the passports of the Germans in the coupé with me, but he took my pass and wrote a long list about it on a slip of paper. The people in the coupé stared at me. At noon we came to Warnemünde. At the door of the military customs we were given a number. Mine was "J 19." Then we went into a room where a soldier called out the numbers. There were only about thirty of us in all, I was the only enemy--the rest were Germans and Danes. When the man called "J 19" I handed him my pass and my permit. "Oh, a _Passierschein_." he said. The passes were shoved through a little slot in the wall, and as soon as our pass examination was through, we were let into a room where our baggage was examined. As I entered the room, a soldier stepped forward. He had my pass in his hand. "What is your name?" he asked, and that question was the only question that I was asked when I crossed the frontier out of Germany.