sufficed to prove that I was firmly considered to be a spy, and a
dangerous one at that. But even the re-examination came to a close at
last.

Now my heart nearly jumped out of my body. The chairman, picking up the
papers which had been taken from my pocket, withdrew a little book. It
was my diary, which was full of notes. The moment I saw its familiar
cover I cursed the inspiration which had prompted me to keep a diary. I
knew what it contained and I knew the cryptic notes therein would bring
about further explosions and protestations. I was not disappointed.
Opening the little book the Chairman enquired innocently:

"What do you mean by things being 'lively' in Berlin?"

"It is a British expression," I retorted, my brain working rapidly to
advance a conclusive reply as I recalled the phrase which I had jotted
down. "We term things 'lively' when say, as in my case, one is first
thrown out of a cab by a officer and shortly afterwards is flung out of
a restaurant!"

"Rather an unusual phrase to use when one recalls the political
situation which prevailed in the capital last Sunday, is it not?"

"Possibly from the German point of view, in the light of events."

"Then you had an enlightening chat with an officer? What was it all
about? How did you open conversation with him?"

"In the usual British manner. We just chatted about things in general."