I went to the Café Americaine, that cosmopolitan place on the Boulevard des Italiens near the opera. My man had not yet come, I noticed, and I took my time about ordering luncheon, drank a “bock” and watched the crowd. Near by was a party of Roumanians, offensively boisterous, I thought. An American was lunching with a dancer then prominent at the Folies. Two Englishmen—obviously officers on leave—chatted at another table, and in a corner, a group of French merchants heatedly discussed some business deal. The usual scene ... almost commonplace in its variety. Slowly I finished luncheon, and when I turned to get my hat, I saw, as I expected, that there was another black derby beside it. I took the stranger’s derby, and when I reached my room in the Grand Hotel I lifted up the sweatband. There on thin paper were instructions that took my breath away. For the time being I was to be in charge of the “Independent Service” of the German Government in Paris—that is, the Strong Arm Squad. This so-called “Independent Service” is an interesting organization of cut-throats and thieves whose connection with diplomatic undertakings is of a distinctly left-handed sort, and is, incidentally, totally unsuspected by the members of the organization themselves. Composed of the riff-raff of Europe—of men and women who will do anything for a consideration and ask no questions—it is frequently useful when subtler methods have failed and when by violence only can some particular thing be accomplished. As an organization the “Independent Service” does not actually exist: the name is merely a generic one applied for convenience to the large number of people in all great cities who are available for such work, and who, if they fail and are arrested or killed, can be spared without risk or sorrow. Naturally in illegal operations the trail must not lead to the embassy; and for that reason all transactions with members of the “Service” are carried on through a person who has no known connection with the Government. To his accomplices the Government agent is merely a man who has come to them with a profitable suggestion. They do not question his motives if his cash be good. My connection with this delightful organization necessitated a change of personality. I went round to the Quai d’Orsay and paid a few farewell calls to my friends there. I was going home, I said; and that afternoon the Grand Hotel lost one guest and _Le Lapin Agile_ on the hill of Montmartre gained a new one. Acting under instructions I had become a social outcast myself.