“I have reason to believe,” he said, “that we have passed a portion of the British Fleet, and it will be my endeavour during the next few days to discover what units are at present in the region of Rosyth.” He told me this in the cab on the way to our hotel and he also gave me a great deal of information about the East Coast defences which it had been his business to investigate. “It is practically impossible to get near the important parts of the coast,” he said, “and I think you must give up all idea of establishing light-signal stations at X and Q.” This was a sad disappointment to me, which I did not attempt to hide. “My dear von Kahn,” I said testily, “you are getting hypnotised by the English. You are giving them credit for gifts which are not theirs. You are imagining that these people, these Scotch for example, have the same keen national sense of suspicion as we Germans possess.” We drove the rest of the journey to an hotel in silence. I registered here in the name by which I was known to the Chilian Legation. I had never been in Dundee before and I hope I may never see the town again, for reasons which will be sufficiently obvious to all the good friends who read my narrative. Dundee is a sad, grey town, so grim on the rainy morning I arrived, that I was filled with a strange sense of foreboding. It is a city of high chimney-stacks that stream smoke, and of clanging tramway cars. I don’t know whether it was my imagination, or due to the shock of poor Koos’ arrest, but it also seemed that it was a town of graveyards, for whichever way I went I seemed always to return to one drear space of tombstones and sad trees. My local agent here was a barber named Shmidt, and the first thing I did on my arrival at the hotel was to send for a barber! What was more natural than that a weary traveller should require shaving! Ah! do not smile, my friends! By such acts of forethought and detail was our great service built up and wonderfully established. Our good friend came with his little black-leather bag and was admitted to my room. The honest fellow was almost overcome by the sight of one whom he regarded as being a veritable link between himself and his Supreme War Lord. “It is beautiful to be able to speak our noble German tongue again,” he said; “think of it, Herr Heine! Here I am week in and week out talking Scotch--not even English.” He had much to tell me that I committed to memory. He even had had the good fortune to be called in professionally to an admiral who was passing through Dundee on the way to a certain town in the north. “Naturally,” said Shmidt, “I was extremely tactful and suspicion-avoiding. But, Herr Heine, not even the high officers of State know discretion. Reticence is not! “‘I wish you’d take me with you, Sir Jones,’ I said; he was well-born and had been created a Sir for war knowledge.