liable to duty. As may be imagined a rich harvest was garnered at the
expense of the luckless returning patriot. While the Customs were busy
the military officials, who appeared to be swarming everywhere, were
equally exacting. They boarded the train and literally turned it inside
out. Every man and woman and child was subjected to a close personal
investigation and cross-examination. Foreigners were handled with even
greater stress and with less ceremony. I saw four fellow passengers
sorted out and rushed under a military escort into the waiting room.

At last it was my turn for military inquisition. I presented all my
credentials, which were scanned from end to end, turned over, and even
held up to the light, lest there should be something interwoven with the
watermark. I followed the operations with a quiet amusement, confident
in my security, but could not resist remarking upon the thoroughness of
the search and the determination to leave nothing to chance. My passport
created the greatest interest. It was dated July 7th, 1914. The official
looked at me queerly in silent interrogation as he placed his finger
beneath the date. I nodded and made no comment.

With a slight smile of self-satisfaction the officer turned on his heel
and beckoned me to follow him. At the same moment two soldiers clicked
their heels behind me and I saw that I was already under severe military
suspicion. I was taken to a long-bearded individual sitting in state on
a pedestal. The officer handed to him the papers he had found upon me.
There was a hurried whispering, the superior individual eyeing me
narrowly meanwhile. They compared the date of the passport with August
2nd, Sunday, the day on which I was travelling, and also examined the
visé of the Russian Embassy in the corner.

Suddenly the long-bearded officer hurled a torrent of questions at me