I told him to keep in communication with me and sent him off feeling what the English call in “good form.” I dispatched a courier by the morning train to the Continent, giving details of the British Expeditionary Force. Only two brigades were in France--and that after three weeks of preparation! In Germany every man was mobilized and at his corps or army headquarters weeks ago--every regiment had moved up to its order of battle position. Two brigades! It would be amusing if it were not pathetic! Besser came to me soon after lunch in a very excited state. “The whole of the English Expeditionary Force of three divisions is in France,” he said, “and, what is more, is in line.” I smiled at him. “My poor dear fellow, who has been pulling your foot?” I asked. “It is confidentially communicated to the Press, and will be public to-morrow,” he said. “Lies,” said I calmly, “you are too credulous. The English are the most stupid liars in the world.” I was not so calm that night when I ran down in my car to Gorselton, where our very good friend, the Baron von Hertz-Missenger, had a nice little estate. “Heine,” he said, after he had taken me to his study and shut the door. “I have received a radio through my wireless from the _Kriegsministerium_[1] to the effect that the whole of the British Expeditionary Force has landed and is in line.” “Impossible, Herr Baron,” I said, but he shook his head. “It is true--our Intelligence in Belgium is infallible. Now, I do not want to interfere with you, for I am but a humble volunteer in this great work, but I advise you to give a little more attention to the army. We may have underrated the military assistance which Britain can offer.” “The English army, Herr Baron,” said I firmly, “is almost as insignificant a factor as--as well--the American army, which only exists on paper! Nevertheless, I will take your advice.” It was necessary to humour the good baron who, although a naturalised British “subject” (which, of course, means absolutely nothing), is nobly born and is indeed a member of the Hesse-Hohenlohe princely-descended family. We talked a little while about the British. I told the Herr Baron what I had said about the British Secret Service, and he quite agreed. “I have been in this country for twelve years and I have met everybody of importance,” he said, “and I can assure you there is no Secret Intelligence Department such as we Germans have brought to such perfect efficiency. As you know, I am a racing man, and I meet with all sorts of people, good and bad, and I can endorse all that you say.” I went back to town and dispatched another courier, for as yet the Torpington Varnish Factory (about which I will tell you later) had not been equipped with Radio.