I said that I was just returning from a most important visit, and showed him the document which I had obtained at the War Office (the Kriegsministerium Pressbureau) in Vienna, and which had already many times saved the situation. “Well, if you can satisfy the frontier authorities,” he replied, “I have nothing to say.” I became very uneasy, but I decided to proceed. It would indeed be an irony if I were to be discovered within hail of safety. I slept very little that night, and when we arrived at Feldkirch, on the following afternoon, I braced myself up for a final struggle with the authorities. I looked about me anxiously to see if the official whom I had encountered in the train had come on to Feldkirch, and I was greatly relieved that he was nowhere to be seen. We were all ushered into a large waiting-room, the same waiting-room that I had entered a few weeks previously when setting out on my journey. One by one the other passengers were admitted to the adjoining room, just as they had been admitted previously, and at the same table were to be seen five military officers, smoking, and sitting in judgment. As I entered the room I felt like a prisoner going up the steps to the dock at the Old Bailey to receive sentence. However, the good fortune that has attended me throughout my journey did not desert me at the last moment, for my examining officer was a very nice young Hungarian, who was so interested in the narrative of my journey, and what I had seen in Constantinople, that he subjected my papers to a very cursory examination. The papers themselves were, thanks to my careful precautions, in perfect order save for the absence of the ridiculous and unnecessary superscription by the police at Vienna. This young officer then accompanied me to the train, gave me his card, and asked me to look him up next time I was in Buda Pesth. Needless to say I shall not do so, but he was not in the least to blame for passing me through. The worst he could have done would have been to send me back to Vienna that my passport might be signed by the police, and my friend the Hofrat would have seen that no difficulty would be allowed to arise in that direction. Once over the frontier at Buchs in Switzerland, I breathed as a prisoner might be expected to breathe on regaining his freedom. For seven weeks I had been in constant danger of discovery, and during that time I had been forced to act and dissimulate, and for ever watch myself and others lest some chance remark of mine might arouse suspicion in the minds of those about me. The mental strain had been tremendous, and this had reacted upon the body, for during those seven weeks I lost more than a stone in weight.