We found Charlie Kuhn at the office the next morning. He was a tall quiet fellow with a keen sense of humor, whom I had first known when we had been fellow students at Harvard back in the twenties. During the intervening years we had met only at infrequent intervals. He had remained to teach and had become an outstanding member of the Fine Arts faculty in Cambridge, while I had gone to a museum. His special field of scholarship was German painting and it was this attribute which had led the Roberts Commission to nominate him for his present assignment as Deputy Chief of the MFA&A Section. He had already been in the Navy for two years when this billet was offered him. Notwithstanding his obvious qualifications for his present job, he had so distinguished himself in the earlier work upon which he had been engaged—special interrogation of German prisoners—that it had required White House intervention to “liberate” him for his new duties. No closeted scholar, Charlie chafed under the irritations of administrative and personnel problems which occupied most of his time. That morning at Versailles he was fresh from his adventures in the field, and we buttonholed him for a firsthand account. Yes, the trucks had been located. They had been abandoned by the roadside, but everything had been found intact. The reports had not been exaggerated: the trucks had contained some of the finest of the Vienna pictures and also some of the best tapestries. They were now in a warehouse at Salzburg and would probably remain there until they could be returned to Vienna. As to their condition, the pictures were all right; the tapestries had mildewed a bit, but the damage wasn’t serious. It was hard to settle down to the humdrum of office routine after his recital of these adventures. Charlie said he wanted to ship us off to Germany as soon as possible because there was so much to be done and so few officers were available. It turned out that we weren’t destined for nearly so swift an invasion of Germany as we had hoped. Later that afternoon Charlie received a letter from the Medical Officer at Naval Headquarters in Paris informing him that Lieutenants Howe and Smyth had not completed their course of typhus shots, and that he would not recommend their being sent into Germany until thirty days after the second and final shot. Charlie wanted to know what this was all about, and we had to admit that we had not been given typhus injections before leaving the States, and had only received the first one in London. After deliberating about it most of the following morning, Colonel Webb and Charlie decided that, if we were willing to take the chance, they’d cut the waiting period to ten days. We were only too willing.