A little incident which came to my knowledge shows that even now the Germans have to exercise tact in dealing with the Turks. At the Hotel Tokatlian, in Pera, there was a daily foregathering of all the German and Austrian newspaper representatives in the city. One day I heard them discussing the fate of one of their number, Dr. Ledera, of the _Berliner Tageblatt_. I gathered that he had offended the Turks by describing how, owing to the state of the _Goeben_ and their own shortage of big guns, they had removed two of the largest from that vessel and taken them down for use against the English at Gallipoli. This information, which I brought to this country as early as last June, officially stated in so important a newspaper, intimated to the Russians and the British that the _Goeben_ was practically out of action. The Turks were greatly incensed, and promptly arrested Dr. Ledera. He was sent to an internment-camp in a distant part of Anatolia, where the conditions were far from luxurious. The German Ambassador, the late Baron von Wangenheim, had to exert the utmost possible pressure to secure the release of his indiscreet compatriot. After six weeks’ imprisonment the erring correspondent was brought back to Constantinople, escorted over the frontier, and ordered never to return to Turkey. In spite of this, each day leaves the Turk more hopelessly under the yoke of his German master. I have always had my own views about the German spy system in England. Of one thing I am certain, that it is thorough; but, as I have previously pointed out, it is not so perfect as so many people in this country are inclined to believe. The first essential for a travelling German or Austrian spy is to obtain by fair means or by foul a passport from a neutral country. Only with this can he hope to enter England, and return in safety. I encountered one of these spies, and the conversation I had with him is of considerable interest as throwing light on German methods. He was an Austrian, and we got into conversation during my journey from Vienna to the Swiss border. As we approached the frontier he made obvious efforts to discover my views and sympathies. I allowed him first to express his own, which were violently pro-German. Nevertheless, he said, “I have been among those _Schweinhunden_ twice in the last six months.” (The “Schweinhunden,” by the way, were the English.) “Fortunately, I did not allow the grass to grow under my feet during my seven years’ residence there, and I flatter myself I can speak English as an Englishman. Do you know any English?” he asked. “A little,” I replied, in order to draw him out. He then began to converse with me in that tongue, and he undoubtedly was justified in his boast that he could speak English perfectly. Furthermore, he looked a very excellent and presentable specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race, such as one sees any morning during the London season, before the war, of course, in Bond Street, Pall Mall or Piccadilly.