Even in his panic von Preussen was curious. He could form no satisfactory theory on the matter. How was his presence known, since it was reasonable to conjecture that the authorities knew he had gone on the fishing expedition that had been so unpropitious to his temporary companions? Obviously the notice offering a reward for his apprehension had not been issued before his visit to Auldhaig; and since he, with others, was missing and presumed to be drowned, why go to the length of advertising for his arrest? Perchance U 247 had been captured and the British prisoners released. Even in that case none of those knew the true facts. When they were sent below they were under the impression that he, von Preussen, was also a prisoner of war. In the absence of detail the newspaper notice was terrible in its gaunt wording. "I will have to find a different disguise," he decided. "But how? To purchase civilian clothing would be courting instant suspicion. I cannot get it myself, nor can I trust anyone to obtain it for me. Yet to persist in appearing in this Air Force uniform would be simple madness. It is equally futile to dye my hair and eyebrows. The people here would notice the difference instantly. And if I changed my hotel I would run fresh and possibly greater risks. _Himmel!_ What can I do?" He glanced suspiciously round the room. The players, deep in their game, paid no attention to anyone or anything else. "There's one blessing," he soliloquised. "I registered as Broadstone, not Fennelburt. I think I'll go to bed. It's safer." He went, placed his automatic pistol under his pillow, and found himself looking at the empty portmanteau. Then, switching off the light, he attempted to court slumber. It was in vain. For hours he lay wide awake, racking his ready brain for a solution to the apparently insurmountable difficulty. He heard the occupant of the next room retiring, the click of the electric light switch, and very soon after, the first of a series of loud snores. "At all events," thought the spy, "the fellow is luckier than I: he can sleep soundly." The sleeper and the empty portmanteau: subconsciously von Preussen connected the two. Why, he knew not, but gradually and with increasing lucidity a plan matured. Why not steal the sleeper's clothes, pack them into his portmanteau, and change in a remote country spot? "It may throw suspicion on me," he thought, "but it's worth trying. Given four or five hours' start, I'll throw them off the scent." Cautiously von Preussen got out of bed and opened the door. A light burned in the corridor. By its aid he could see pairs of boots standing outside the various rooms: either the servant responsible for the cleaning of them was late, or else the task of collection was left till early in the morning.