Expecting he would follow this up by saying that he was an American I looked inquiring and when he sought to turn the subject I asked: "Neutral? What country?" "Denmark," he smiled. "But your accent?" I persisted. "I do talk a bit English, do I not? I had quite a go at it, though; lived in London a few years, you know." Nerve? I marveled at it. Stark foolhardy courage, or did a secret commission from Downing Street make this the merest commonplace of duty? Charming company, he hurried along the time with well-told anecdotes of the Russian capital and Paris, in both of which places he said he had been since the war began. As we drew near Lübeck, where a thirty-five minute stop was allowed for dinner in the station, and the stranger showed no signs of going back to his own compartment, I could see that the courier was becoming annoyed. Relapsing into silence he only broke it to reply to the "Dane" in monosyllables; finally, to my surprise, the courier became downright rude. As the stranger, from the start, had been extremely courteous, this rudeness surprised me, more so, as it seemed deliberate. Bludgeoned by obvious hints the stranger excused himself, and as soon as he was gone my companion leaned towards me. "You were surprised at my rudeness," he said, and then in an undertone; "it was deliberate." "I saw that. But why?" "Because," he explained, "seeing we are Americans that fellow wanted to travel with us all the way through. He must have known that American company is the best to be seen in over here these days. He might have made trouble for us." "Then you think he's English?" "Think! Why, they must have let him through at Warnemunde for a reason. He has a Danish passport right enough. I saw it in the inspection room. But I'll bet you anything there's a police spy in this train, undoubtedly in the same compartment with him." One felt uncomfortable. One thought that those police spies must dislike one even more now. "That means we may be suspected as being confederates," I gloomily suggested. Whether he was getting back for my having guyed him about losing his papers I do not know, but the courier said we probably were suspected. Whereupon the book I tried to read became a senseless jumble of words and our compartment door became vastly more interesting. When would it open to admit the police spy?... Confound the luck! Everything breaking wrong. IV--STORY OF A RIDE FROM LÜBECK TO HAMBURG