official had vanished into an office leading off the Customs
Hall. He was, I surmised, the last instance, for several passengers,
including a very respectably dressed old lady, were driven into the side
office and were seen no more.

During all this scene of confusion no one had taken any notice of me. My
guard looked straight in front of him and said never a word. When the
hall was all but cleared, a man came to the office door and made a sign
to my sentinel.

At a table in the office which, despite the sunshine outside, was heated
like a greenhouse, I found the fat official. Something had evidently
upset him, for his brows were clouded with anger and his mastiff-like
cheeks were trembling with irritation. He thrust a hand out as I
entered.

"Your papers!" he grunted.

I handed over my passport.

Directly he had examined it, a red flush spread over his cheeks and
forehead and he brought his hand down on the table with a crash. The
sentry beside me winced perceptibly.

"It's not vised," the fat official screamed in a voice shrill with
anger. "It's worthless... what good do you think is this to me?"

"Excuse me ..." I said in German.

"I won't excuse you," he roared. "Who are you? What do you want in
Germany? You've been to London, I see by this passport."

"I had no time to get my passport stamped at the Consulate at
Rotterdam," I said. "I arrived there too late in the evening. I could
not wait. I am going to Berlin on most important business."

"That's nothing to do with it," the man shouted. He was working himself
up into a fine frenzy. "Your passport is not in order. You're not a
German. You're an American. We Germans know what to think of our
American friends, especially those who come from London."

A voice outside shouted: "Nach Berlin alles einsteigen." I said as
politely as I could, despite my growing annoyance:

"I don't wish to miss my train. My journey to Berlin is of the utmost
importance. I trust the train can be held back until I have satisfied
you of my good faith. I have here a card from Herr von Steinhardt."

I paused to let the name sink in. I was convinced he must be a big bug
of some kind in the German service.

"I don't care a rap for Herr von Steinhardt or Herr von anybody else,"
the German cried. Then he said curtly to a cringing secretary beside
him:

"Has he been searched?"

The secretary cast a frightened look at the sentry.

"No, Herr Major," said the secretary.

"Well