The people of Capellen, who knew me very well by this time, hurried to the doors to see me pass. A few minutes afterwards we arrived in Antwerp. I was conducted to the Bourse, a large building, which had been struck and damaged by a bomb during the air raid of August 25. The Germans had established in the Bourse an office for the “control of foreigners.” I did not know of this as yet, but it was not long before I was made aware of it. I was taken into a large room on the door of which I had noticed the name of the officer in charge. He was Lieut. Arnins. I ask the reader to remember this name. I shall never forget it, nor the personage himself. In the office was a long table with a soldier at each end; an officer, small of stature, and with a puny face, and a non-commissioned officer, bigger in build than his companion. The officer addressed me, speaking with undue violence: “Sir,” said he, “you would have avoided the annoyance of being brought here, under military escort, if you had reported yourself, as it was your duty to do.” “I was not aware that I had to report,” I replied. “That’s false,” asserted the officer in a voice louder than before. “That’s false. I have had posted in all the municipalities of the Province of Antwerp a notice enjoining the subjects of countries at war with Germany to report themselves before a given date. You could not ignore this.” “Most assuredly I was not aware of it,” I said. “Will you please tell me where, in Capellen, you had this notice posted?” “At the Town Hall,” the officer answered. “Well,” I continued, “I reside at about one kilometre distant from the Town Hall, and I have no occasion to go there.” “It is useless for you to attempt to explain,” he declared. “You have knowingly and wilfully avoided military supervision, and take notice that this is a very serious offence.” “Sir,” I replied, “when you affirm that I have avoided military supervision, you are placing yourself in contradiction with the facts. What you say does not conform with the truth.” The officer jumped to his feet as if moved by a spring. “What is that you say?” he demanded. “Simply that I never had any intention to disobey the regulations you have posted up,” I answered calmly. “You take it in a rather haughty manner,” he said. “Do you think we are not aware that you are a British subject?” “I never thought so,” I replied. “You are a British subject, are you not–you are a British subject?” “You are quite right–I am a British subject.” “It is well for you that you do not deny it.”