FORE:My "foreign" passport was, of course, in French, of which language the man evidently knew not a word. Although I explained that this passport was the best one could get in The Netherlands, that I had paid six guilders and seventy-five cents for it, that I was a war-correspondent of De Tijd, it was all useless. I had to go with him to the guard-house, and the man kept the queer passportthe damning piece of evidencefirmly in his hand. All the inquisitive loafers, of which the frontier was full during those days, followed me, and so we went in procession to the guard-house, at some distance from the frontier. I heard all sorts of discussions behind me, and constantly caught words like: German, boche, deserter, franc-tireur, spy, and other complimentary niceties."Ah! That is good hearing. You came here tonight expecting to see Ghetti. But we took the liberty of using Ghetti's name. It is only by the merest accident that I am here tonight to carry out this work. My good friends here would have done it for me otherwise. But I was fortunate enough to escape from the gaol yonder, and here I am."
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