It is Saturday night and they have hot water, but before I take advantage of it I must recount the thrilling experiences of the day. After a sidewalk breakfast of “oofs” and so-called café in Bordeaux, I went to keep my engagement at court. It was apparent that I was not the only suspect. The walk outside and the room within were crowded with shipmates, most of them from the second cabin, all looking scared to death. I stood in line till I realized that I must make it snappy if I wanted to catch the eleven-five for Paris; then I butted my way into the august presence of Him of the Beard. He recognized me at once and told me with his hands to go up-stairs. In a room above I found the English-speaking cross-examiner, with the accent on the cross. He waved me to a chair and began his offensive. “Monsieur Laudanum,” he said, “when I asked you yesterday how you expected to get to Belgium, you said something about a taxi. That answer was not satisfactory. You have not explained anything to us. I do not believe we can allow you to leave Bordeaux.” “All right, sir.” I arose. “Sit down!” he barked. “Now tell me if you have any explanations to make.” “Nothing beyond what I said yesterday. I have come here to write. I want to go to Paris, and when I arrive there I will find out where else I will be permitted to go.” “It seems very strange to me that you have no papers.” “Yes, sir.” “Have you any?” I searched my pockets and produced a used-up check book on a Chicago bank. The ogre read every little stub and I felt flattered by his absorbed interest. When he had spent some five minutes on the last one, which recorded a certain painful transaction between me and a man-eating garage, he returned my book and said: “You don’t satisfy me at all. You will have to stay here.” “Suppose,” said I, “that the American consul vouches for me.” “That will make no difference. You do not seem to realize that we are at war.” “Not with America.” “I don’t know your nationality.” “I thought,” said I, “that my passport hinted at it.” “You will have to stay in Bordeaux,” was his pertinent reply. “Thank you, sir,” I said, and arose again. “Sit down,” said he, “and wait a minute.” He was out of the room five years. “If he ever does come back,” I thought, “it will be in the company of five or six large gendarmes.” But when he came back he came alone. “Here,” he said abruptly, “is your passport. You will be permitted to go to Paris. We will keep track of you there.” And he bowed me out of the joint. The crowd down-stairs seemed as great as ever, and as scared. I picked my way through it with my head held high, a free man.