I knew that he knew we had been telegraphing him since our arrest and my impotence made me speechless with rage. Douglas took advantage of my condition to beat a hasty retreat. As we were going through the doorway, the chief said carelessly, "By the way, how did you happen to find this house?" "I have been here before," Douglas replied. "Thank you. I was only curious." I could feel the spies' eyes on my back as we went down the path. "Mrs. Pierce--Mrs. Pierce, you must not lose your temper that way." "I don't care!" I cried. "I had no way to express what I felt." "I know," Douglas agreed thoughtfully. We hailed a droshky and got in. "I have a friend--a Pole," said Douglas. "For no reason except that he was a Pole, they made a _revision_ at his house, and among other things took away every calling card they found. They made a _revision_ then on each one of those people whose names they found. Though they found nothing incriminating in his possession, they make him report every day at the police headquarters. A year ago he was a giant in strength. Now he is a sick man. The uselessness of it. Nothing was found against him, and yet he is followed and watched. What are they driving at? They are wearing him to the bone with their persecution." He shrugged his shoulders and laughed suddenly. "Come, Mrs. Pierce, you can do nothing against them. But let me tell you what I will give you. It is a German helmet that a friend of mine brought from the Riga front. You can put it in your room and blow beans at it!" _October._ "Passports--passports, who's got the passports?" It's like a game--or _la recherche de l'absolu_. And it isn't as though you could hop into a cab and make the round of visits on the General Staff, Civil Governor, and the rest, all in one day, or even all in a week. Nothing so efficient and simple as that. What is an official without an anteroom? As well imagine a soldier without a uniform. And the importance of the official is instantly seen by the crowd waiting on him. Soldiers and Jews and patient, unobtrusive women in black wait at police headquarters; generals and ladies of quality crowd the anteroom of the General Staff. For days the faces vary only slightly when you enter and take your accustomed place. Patient, dull faces that light with momentary expectation on the opening of a door, and relapse into depression and tragic immobility when the aide walks through the anteroom without admitting any one to the inner office. I gained admittance to the Military Governor the other day. He is the successor of that over-cautious governor who moved all his household goods during the German advance, and was then relieved of office. His palace, set back from the street behind a tall iron fence, is guarded by soldiers with bayonets, and secret-service men. I laughed, recognizing my old friends the spies.