t the time of his arrest occupied a
very prominent position in one of the foremost banking institutions.

This man felt his humiliation acutely. He paced his cell from morning to
night, peevish and nervous, brooding deeply over what he considered to
be an atrocity. He was a well-known man and on intimate terms with many
of the foremost members of the Government and of the Services. He wrote
to every man whom he thought capable of exerting powerful and
irresistible influence upon his behalf, but without any tangible
results. The fact that this man, apparently more Teuton, from his long
residence and associations in the country, than British, had been thrown
into prison brought home to us the thorough manner in which the Germans
carried out their task of placing all aliens in safety. It was
immaterial how prominent the position of the Britisher, his wealth, or
his indispensability to the concern with which he was identified. Into
prison he went when the general rounding up of enemies order was
promulgated.

The Cockney who had been imprisoned for horse-stealing badgered this
superior fellow-prisoner unmercifully. He was incessantly dwelling upon
the man's descent from a position of comfort and ease to "quod" as he
termed it. He would go up to the prisoner, pacing the exercise yard, and
slapping him on the back would yap:

"Now then, old sport! Don't get so down in the mouth about it!"

The prisoner would venture some snappy retort.

"All right, Cocky! Crikey, you'd look mighty fine stuck up against a
wall with half a dozen bloomin' Prussian rifles looking at yer. Blime if
I don't believe you'd dodge the bullets by caving-in at the knees!"

A fierce look would be the response to such torment.

"Gawd's trewth! My fretful bumble-bee, I'd write to old Tight-Whiskers
about it if I was you. Get 'im to come an' bail yer out!"

At first we wondered who the personality so irreverently described as
"Tight-Whiskers" was, but subsequently we were enlightened. He was
referring to Von Tirpitz, "Th' bloke wot looks arter th' Germin Navy!"

When the Cockney, who appeared to be downright proud of his ability to
keep his "pecker up," found banter to be unproductive, he would assume a
tone of extreme sympathetic feeling, but this was so obviously unreal as
to be more productive of laughter than his outspoken sallies.

Once a week there was a sight from which, after my first experience, I
was always glad to escape. On this day the