into a room already nearly filled. We were told that it was our
temporary abode, and we were to make the best of it. It was an
administrative office of the Belgian Government now turned into a
prison. There were the usual fixtures, including a rug on the floor
and shelves of books. Ours was only one of many cells for
prisoners scattered through the building. The spy-hunters had
swooped down upon every suspect in Belgium and all who had
been caught in the dragnet were being dumped into these rooms.

We were thus informed by the officer whose wards we were. He
was a fussy, quick-tempered, withal kind-hearted little fellow, and
kept dashing in and out of the room, really perplexed over housing
accommodations for the night. The spy-hunters had been successful
in their work of rounding up their victims from all over the country and
corralling them here until the place was filled to overflowing. Our
official in charge was puffed up with pride in the prosperity of his
institution, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, petulantly belectured
us on adding ourselves to his already numerous burdens. This
was highly humorous, yet we all feared to commit lese-majeste
by expressing to him our collective and personal sorrow for
so inconveniencing him, and our willingness to make amends
for our thoughtlessness in getting arrested.

After more hesitation than I had hitherto observed, arrangements
for the night were completed and we were ordered to draw out
blankets from the pile in the corner. The new arrivals and the old
inmates maneuvered for the softest spots on the floor, which was
soon covered over with bodies and their sprawling limbs, while a
host of guards, fully armed, were posted at the door and along the
hall.