“An Englander.” “Trying to escape to Holland?” “Yes.” “Well, I only hope the trouble with Holland will come to a head. We’ll soon show those damned Dutchmen what German discipline means. We’ll sweep the country from end to end in a week. Did he get far?” “Close to the frontier.” “However did he manage that in that get-up?” and he sniffed disgustedly. The other incident was interesting in case of future attempts to escape. About an hour before the train entered Berlin, detectives passed along the corridors asking for passports. I began to wonder how I had managed to get as far as I had. We arrived in Berlin about 9 A.M. Before we proceeded to the prison, the soldier compassionately bought me a cup of coffee and a roll at the station buffet. I had had nothing to eat since 11:30 A.M. the previous day, except a roll the soldier had given me about midnight. This was at Alexander Platz Station, fairly in the center of Berlin. As we left the station, Alexander Platz was in front of us with the façade of the Polizei Präsidium on our right. Turning in this direction, we entered a quiet street along the right side of which the arches of the railway accommodated a few small shops and storage places underneath them. On the other side a wing of the Polizei Präsidium continued for a hundred yards or so. The next building was plain, official-looking but of no very terrible aspect, for the four rows of large windows above the ground floor were not barred on the outside. In its center a large gateway was closed by a heavy wooden double door. “Here we are,” said my escort, as he pressed the button of the electric bell. One half of the door was opened by an N.C.O. of the army. Inside the gateway on the left a corridor ran along the front of the building, terminating at a door bearing the inscription “Office,” on an enameled shield. A motion of the hand from the N.C.O. directed us toward it. We entered. Another N.C.O. was sitting at a table, writing. My soldier saluted, reported, then shook hands with me and departed. “Your name, date of birth, place of birth, and nationality?” said the N.C.O. at the table, not unkindly. I looked at the plain office furniture of the irregular room before answering, feeling very downhearted. Having given him the information he wanted, I asked apprehensively: “What are you going to do with me?” “We’ll put you in solitary confinement.” “For how long?” “Couldn’t tell you.” “And what then?” “You’re going to stay with us so long that you needn’t bother yet about the ‘what then.’” “But aren’t you going to send me back to Ruhleben when I’m through with my punishment for escaping?” “I’ve nothing to do with it and don’t know. But I’m pretty sure you’ll have to stay here till the end of the war.” “That’s hard punishment for an attempt to get home!”