THE GENTLEMAN FROM LONDON
Months had passed since the affair of the six new novels.
In Hamburg Bindo had left me and gone to see the old Jew in Amsterdam,
while I had driven the "forty" south through Lueneburg, Brunswick, and
Nordhausen to Erfurt, where, passing as an English gentleman of means, I
remained for three weeks at a very comfortable hotel, afterwards moving
on to Dresden.
At regular intervals the Count sent me money, but he was, as usual,
travelling constantly. I wrote to him to a newspaper-shop in the
Tottenham Court Road, reporting my movements and my whereabouts;
therefore I knew not from one day to another when I should receive
sudden orders to rejoin him.
The London papers had been full of the affair of the six novels, for it
was now well known that the person who had abstracted the jewels was the
same who had executed such a neat manoeuvre at Gilling's. One or two
of the papers actually published leaderettes upon the subject, severely
criticising the incompetency of the police in such matters. I have
since heard, however, that at Scotland Yard there is a proverb that the
wealthier the thief the less chance of his being caught. Bindo and his
friends certainly did not lack funds. The various hauls they had made,
even since my association with them, must have put many thousands into
their pockets.
They were a clever and daring trio. They never met unless absolutely
necessary in order to arrange some ingenious piece of trickery, and they
could all live weeks at the same hotel without either, by word or sign,
betraying previous knowledge of each other. Indeed, Count Bindo di
Ferraris was the very acme of well-dressed, well-groomed scoundrelism.
Under the name of Ernest Crawford I was idling away some pleasant weeks
at the Europaeischer Hof, in the Alstadt, in Dresden, where I had made
the acquaintance of a fair-haired Englishman named Upton, and his wife,
a fluffy little woman some five years his junior. They had arrived at
the hotel about a week after I had taken up my quarters, and as they
became friendly I often took them for runs. Upton was the son of a rich
Lancashire cotton-spinner, and was, I believe, on his honeymoon.
Together we saw the sights of Dresden, the Royal Palace, the Green
Vault, the museums and galleries, and had soon grown tired of them all.
Therefore, almost daily we went for runs along the Elbe valley,
delightful at that season of the vintage.
One evening, while we were sitting at coffee in the lounge and I was
chatting with Mrs. Upton, her husband was joined by a friend from
London, a tall, rather loud-spoken, broad-shouldered man, with a pair of
merry, twinkling eyes and a reddish moustache. He was a motor-expert, I
soon discovered, for on the afternoon following his arrival, when I
brought the car round to the hotel, he began to examine it critically.
I had invited him to go with us to the Golden Hoehe, about six miles
distant, and take tea at the restaurant, and he sat at my side as I
drove. While passing through the little village of Raechnitz, Mr.
Gibbs--for that was his name--suddenly asked--
"What make of car is yours?"
No wonder he asked, for so constantly had its identity been disguised
that it nowadays bore about as much resemblance to a Napier as it did to
a Panhard. I had always before me the fact that the police were on the
look-out for a forty "Napier"; therefore I had managed to disguise it
outwardly, although a glance within the "bonnet" would, of course,
reveal the truth.
"Oh," I replied lightly, "it's quite an unknown make--Bellini, of Turin.
I've come to the conclusion that small makers can turn out just as good
a car as, and perhaps even better than, the larger firms--providing you
pay a fair price."
"I suppose so," he said rather thoughtfully. "From her general build I
took her to be an English Napier."
"She has the Napier cut," I remarked. "I think Bellini imitates the
English style."
It was fortunate, I thought, that the "bonnet" was strapped down and
locked, for the engines were stamped with their maker's name.
"You travel about a lot on her, I suppose," he went on. "It's a fine
car, certainly. Did you come across the Continent?"
"Yes. I've been about Europe a good deal," I answered. "Saves railway
fares, you know." And I laughed.
We were travelling quickly, and, the dust being troublesome, we pulled
up, and then, after all four of us goggling, went forward again.
After tea at the Golden Hoehe Mr. Gibbs again evinced a keen interest in
the car, examining it carefully, and declaring it to be a most excellent
one. Then, on the run back, he again turned the conversation to motoring
topics, with a strenuous desire, it seemed, to know my most recent
movements.
A couple of days passed, and I found Upton's friend a most congenial
companion. Each afternoon we all went out for a run, and each evening,
after dining, we went to the theatre.
On the fourth day after Mr. Gibbs's arrival a messenger brought me a
note which, to my surprise, I found to be from Blythe, who directed me
to meet him in secret in a certain cafe in the Grosse Garten at eleven
o'clock that night.
Then I knew that something further had been planned.
In accordance with the request, I went to the cafe at the hour
appointed. It was crowded, but I soon discovered him, smartly dressed,
and seated at a table in the corner. After we had finished our beer I
followed him out into the park, where, halting suddenly, he said--
"Ewart, you've placed yourself in a pretty fine predicament!"
"What do you mean?" I asked in surprise.
"Well, I saw you yesterday afternoon driving down the Prager-strasse
with the very gentleman to whom you ought to give the widest berth."
"You mean Gibbs?"
"I mean that cunning old fox, Inspector Dyer, of Scotland Yard."
"What!" I gasped. "Dyer--is that the famous Dyer?"
"He is. I once, to my cost, had occasion to meet him, and it's hardly
likely that I'd forget his face. I saw you coming along with him, and
you could have knocked me down with a feather."
"But I--well, I really can't believe that he's a detective," I declared,
utterly incredulous.
"Believe it, or disbelieve it--it's a fact, I tell you. You've been
given away somehow, and Dyer has now just got you in his palm."
Briefly I explained how I had met Upton, and how Mr. Gibbs had been
introduced.
"Upton may not be what he pretends, you know," Blythe replied. "They
want us very badly at Scotland Yard, and that's why the affair has been
given over to Dyer. He's the man who generally does the travelling on
the Continent. But you know him well enough by reputation, of course.
Everyone does."
Mr. Gibbs's intense interest in the car and its maker was thus accounted
for. I saw how completely I had been taken in, and how entirely I was
now in the renowned detective's hands. He might already have been round
to the garage, unlocked the "bonnet" with a false key, and seen the name
"Napier" stamped upon the engine.
How, I wondered, had he been able to trace me? No doubt the fact that we
had shipped the car across from Parkeston to Hamburg was well known to
Scotland Yard, yet since that night it had undergone two or three
transformations which had entirely disguised it. I was rapidly growing a
moustache, too, and had otherwise altered my personal appearance since I
posed as Bindo's chauffeur in Scarborough.
"The Count, who is lying low in a small hotel in Duesseldorf, wants you
to meet him with the car in Turin in a fortnight's time--at the Hotel
Europe. A Russian princess is staying there--and we have a plan. But it
seems very probable that you'll be waiting extradition to Bow Street if
you don't make a bold move, and slip out of Dyer's hands."
"Yes," I said thoughtfully. "If Gibbs is really Dyer himself, then, I
fear, that although I've been discreet--for I make a point of never
telling my business to strangers--yet he has more than a suspicion that
the car is the same as the one I drove daily on the Esplanade at
Scarborough."
"And if he has a suspicion he has probably wired to England for one of
the witnesses to come out and identify you--Gilling himself, most
probably."
"Then we're in a most complete hole!" I declared, drawing a long face.
"Absolutely. What are you going to do?"
"What can I do?"
"Get out of it--and at once," replied Blythe coolly. "If Dyer discovers
and tries to prevent your escape, make a bold fight for it," and from
his hip-pocket he drew a serviceable-looking plated revolver, and handed
it to me with the remark that it was fully loaded.
I saw that my position was one of peril. Even now, Dyer might have
watched me keeping this appointment with Blythe.
"I shall leave for Leipzig in an hour," my friend said. "You'd better
return to the hotel, get the car, and make a dash for it."
"Why should I get the car?" I queried "Why not slip away at once?"
"If you tried to you'd probably be 'pinched' at the station. Dyer is an
artful bird, you know. Once up with you, he isn't likely to lose sight
of you for very long."
As he was speaking I recognised, seated at a table before the cafe some
distance away, my friend Upton, idly smoking a cigar, and apparently
unconscious of my proximity.
"That's all right," declared Blythe, when I had pointed him out. "It
proves two things--first, that this Mr. Upton is really one of the
younger men from the Yard, and, secondly, that Dyer has sent him after
you to watch where you went to-night. That's fortunate, for if Dyer
himself had come it's certain he would have recognised me. I gave him a
rather nasty jag when he arrested me four years ago, so it isn't very
likely he forgets. And now let's part. At all hazards, get away from
Dresden. But go back to the hotel first, so as to disarm suspicion. When
you are safe, wire to the address in the Tottenham Court Road. So long."
And without another word the well-dressed jewel-thief turned on his
heels, and disappeared in the darkness of the leafy avenue.
My feelings were the reverse of happy as I made my way back to the
Europaeischer Hof. To obtain the car that night would be to arouse
suspicion that I had discovered Mr. Gibbs's identity. My safety lay in
getting away quietly and without any apparent haste. Indeed, when I
gained my room and calmly thought it all over, I saw that it would be
policy to wait until next day, when I could obtain the car from the
garage as usual, and slip away before the crafty pair were aware of my
absence.
The reason they had not applied to the German police to arrest me could
be but one. They had sent to London for someone to come and identify me.
This person might arrive at any moment. Dyer had been in Dresden already
four days; therefore, every minute's delay was dangerous.
After long and careful consideration, I resolved to wait until the
morrow. No sleep, however, came to my eyes that night, as you may well
imagine. All the scandal of arrest, trial, and imprisonment rose before
me as the long night hours dragged on. I lit the stove in my room, and
carefully destroyed everything that might give a possible clue to my
identity, and then sat at the window, watching for day to break.
Surely Dyer and Upton had achieved a very clever piece of detective work
to discover me as they had. I had done my utmost, as I thought, to
efface my identity and to give the car an entirely different appearance
from that which it had presented at Scarborough. The only manner in
which I had been "given away" was, I believed, by means of some English
five-pound notes which Bindo had sent me from Stettin, and which I had
cashed in Dresden. If these had been stolen--as most probably they had
been--then it would well account for the sudden appearance of Mr. Upton
and his very charming wife, who had come holiday-making to Germany.
Upton had, in his turn, sent information to his superior officer,
Inspector Dyer, who had come out to see for himself.
What an awful fool I had been! How completely I had fallen into the
cunningly baited trap!
At last the grey dawn came, spreading to a bright autumn morning. The
roads outside were dry and dusty. I meant, in a few hours, to make a
breakneck dash out of Dresden, and to hide somewhere in the country. To
attempt to escape by rail would be folly. But if either man was on the
watch and invited himself to go for a run with me? What then?
I grasped the weapon in my pocket and set my teeth hard, recollecting
Blythe's words.
At eight I ordered my coffee, and, drinking it in feverish haste, went
down to the rear of the hotel where the garage was situated. While
crossing the courtyard, however, I met Upton, who had a habit of early
rising, and was apparently idling about. I purposely did not wear my
motor-cap, but my pockets were stuffed with all my belongings that were
portable.
"Hulloa!" he cried cheerily. "What are you doing to-day--eh?"
"Well," I said, with apparent indifference, "I'm just going to look
round the car before breakfast. Perhaps I'll go for a run later on. The
roads are still in perfect condition."
"Then I'll go with you," was his prompt reply. "My wife has a bad
headache, and won't go out to-day. Gibbs, too, is full of business in
the town. So let's go together."
Instantly I saw the ruse. He had been awaiting me, and did not mean that
I should go for a run unaccompanied.
"Certainly," I replied promptly. "Shall you be ready in half an hour?"
"I'm ready now. I've had my coffee." His response was, to say the least,
disconcerting. How was I to get rid of him? My only chance lay in
remaining perfectly calm and indifferent. A witness to testify to my
identity was, no doubt, on his way out from England, and the two
detectives were holding me up until his arrival.
Together we walked to the car, and for nearly half an hour I was
occupied in filling the petrol-tank and putting everything in order for
a long and hard journey. A breakdown would probably mean my arrest and
deportation to Bow Street. My only safety lay in flight. During the
night I had studied the road-book with infinite care, and decided to
make a dash out of Dresden along the Elbe bank as far as Meissen, and
thence by Altenburg across to Erfurt. Upton's self-invitation to go with
me had, however, entirely upset my plans.
At last I returned to my room, obtained my motor-cap, coat, and goggles,
and, having started the engine, got up at the wheel. My unwelcome friend
swung himself up beside me, and we glided out into the Prager-strasse
and through the fine capital of Saxony.
My friend, in his smart motor coat and cap, certainly gave no outward
sign of his real profession. Surely no one would have taken him to be an
emissary of the Metropolitan Police. As he sat beside me he chatted
merrily, for he possessed a keen sense of humour, and it must have
struck him that the present position was really amusing--from his point
of view.
In half an hour we were out upon a fine level road running on the left
bank of the Elbe. It was a bright sunny autumn morning, and, travelling
swiftly as we were, it was delightfully exhilarating. Passing through
old-world Meissen, with its picturesque gabled houses, we continued on
another fifteen miles to a small place called Riesa, and when about
three miles farther on I summoned courage to carry out a scheme over
which, during the run, I had been deeply pondering.
We were in a lonely part of the road, hidden by the long row of poplars
lining the broad winding river. On the one side were the trees, and on
the other high sloping vine-lands. The road curved both before and
behind us, therefore we were well concealed.
Pulling up suddenly, I said--
"There's something wrong. One cylinder is not working--sparking-plug
broken, I suppose."
To allow me to descend he got down. Then having unlocked the "bonnet"
and pretended to fiddle with the plug, I again relocked it. Afterwards I
felt the axles all round, saw to the tyres, and, having watched my
opportunity, while he was at that moment standing with his back to me,
his face turned towards the river, I suddenly sprang into the wheel and
drew off.
In an instant, with a loud shout, "No, you don't!" he sprang forward
upon the step and raised himself into the seat he had occupied. Quick as
thought, I whipped my revolver out with my left hand, and, guiding the
car with my right, cried--
"I know you, Mr. Upton. Get down, or I'll shoot you!"
His face blanched, for he had no idea I was armed.
"Get down--quick!" I ordered. "I shan't ask you again."
The car was gathering speed, and I saw that if he attempted to drop off
he would probably be hurt. He glanced at the road and then at me.
"You won't escape so easily as this, Mr. Ewart!" he cried. "We want you
for several jewel robberies, you know. Don't you think you'd better go
quietly? If you shoot me you'll only hang for it. Now do you think
that's really worth while? Is such a game worth the candle?"
Without replying, I slowed down again.
"I tell you to get off this car--otherwise you must take the
consequences," was my cool response. Those were terribly exciting
moments, and how I remained so calm I cannot tell. My whole future
depended upon my extrication from that _impasse_. Perhaps that is why my
wits had, in that moment, become so sharpened.
"I shall stay with you," was the police-officer's defiant reply, as,
with a sudden movement, he grabbed my left wrist in an endeavour to
wrest the weapon from my grasp. Next second I had stopped the car,
pressed down the brake, and thus had both my hands free.
In a moment the struggle became desperate. He fought for his life, for
he saw that, now he had defied me, I meant what I threatened. No doubt
he was physically stronger than myself, and at first he had the
advantage; but not for long, because, resorting to a ruse taught me long
ago by a man who was a professional wrestler at the music-halls, I
succeeded in turning the muzzle of the weapon into his face.
If I had liked, I could have pulled the trigger and blown half his head
away. Yet, although I had become the accomplice of a daring gang of
jewel-thieves, and though one of them had given me the weapon to use in
case of need, I had neither desire nor intention of becoming a murderer.
For fully six or seven minutes we were locked in deadly embrace.
Upton, time after time, tried to turn the weapon upon me, and so
compel me to give it up under threats of death. In this, however,
he was unsuccessful, though more than once he showered at me fierce
imprecations.
He had his thin, sinewy hands in my collar, and was pressing his bony
knuckles into my throat, until I was half throttled, when, of a sudden,
by dint of an effort of which I had never believed myself capable, I
gave his arm a twist which nearly dislocated his shoulder and forced him
to release his hold. I still had the revolver tightly clenched in my
right hand, for I had now succeeded in changing it from my left, and at
last slipped it back into my hip-pocket, leaving both hands free. Then,
in our desperate struggle, he tried to force me backwards over the
steering-wheel, and would have done so had I not been able to trip him
unexpectedly. In a second I had flung my whole weight upon him and sent
him clutching at the air over the splashboard, and so across the
"bonnet" to the ground.
In a moment I restarted the car, but not before he had risen and
remounted upon the step.
"You shan't get away!" he cried. "Even if you leave me here you'll be
arrested by the German police before night. They already have your
description."
"Enough!" I cried savagely, again whipping out my weapon. "Get down--or
I'll shoot!"
"Shoot, then!" he shouted defiantly.
"Take that instead!" I replied, and, with the butt-end of the weapon, I
struck him full between the eyes, causing him to fall back into the
road, where he lay like a log.
Without a second glance at him, I allowed the car to gather speed, and
in a few moments was running across a flat, level plain at quite fifty
miles an hour. Upton lay insensible, and the longer he remained so the
farther afield I should be able to get without information being sent
before me.
Mine was now a dash for liberty. Having gone twenty miles, I pulled up,
and, unfastening one of the lockers within the car, I drew out the
complete disguise which Bindo always kept there for emergencies. I had
purposely halted in a side road, which apparently only led to some
fields, and, having successfully transformed myself into a grey-bearded
man of about fifty-five, I drew out a large tin of dark-red enamel and a
brush, and in a quarter of an hour had transformed the pale-blue body
into a dark-red one. So, within half an hour, both myself and the car
were utterly disguised, even to the identification-plates, both back
and front. The police would be on the look-out for a pale-blue car,
driven by a moustached young man in a leather-peaked motor-cap, while
they would only see passing a dark-red car driven by its owner, a
respectable-looking middle-aged man in a cloth golf-cap, gloves, and
goggles.
I looked at myself in satisfaction by aid of the little mirror, and then
I regarded the hastily-daubed car. Very soon the dust would cling to the
enamel, and thus effectually disguise the hurriedness of my handiwork.
There was, of course, no doubt that Upton and Dyer would move heaven and
earth to rediscover me, therefore in my journey forward I was compelled
to exercise all caution.
On consulting my road-book I found that the spot where I had pulled up
was about three miles from Wurzen, on the main Leipzig road, therefore
I decided to give the latter city a wide berth, and took a number of
intricate by-roads towards Magdeburg, hoping to be able to put the car
in safe keeping somewhere, and get thence by rail across to Cologne and
Rotterdam, in which city I might find a safe asylum.
Any attempt to reach Turin was now impossible, and when late that night
I entered the little town of Dessau I sent a carefully worded telegram
to Bindo at the little newspaper-shop in the Tottenham Court Road,
explaining that, though free, I was still in peril of arrest.
Shortly after midnight, while passing through a little town called
Zerbst, half-way between Dessau and Magdeburg, I heard a loud shouting
behind me, and, turning, saw a policeman approaching hurriedly.
"Where are you from?" he inquired breathlessly.
"From Berlin," was my prompt answer. "I left there at six o'clock this
evening." I know a little German, and made the best use I could of it.
By the light of his lantern he examined my identification-plates, and
noted the colour of the car.
"I'm sorry to trouble you, sir, but I must ask you to come with me to
the police-office."
"Why?" I inquired, with well-assumed indignation. "My lamps are all
alight, and I have contravened no law, surely!"
"You are an Englishman. I hear that from your speech."
"That is so. My name is Hartley--William Hartley, and I live in
Liverpool."
"We shall not detain you long," was his reply. "I am only carrying out
an order we have received."
"An order--what order?"
"To arrest an Englishman who is escaping on a motor-car."
"And am I the Englishman, pray?" I asked sarcastically. "Come, this
is really too huge a joke! Haven't you got the gentleman's personal
description? What has he done that you should be in search of him?"
"I don't know. The chief has all particulars. Let us go together."
"Oh, very well," I laughed reluctantly. "Just get up here, and I'll
drive you to the office. Which way is it?"
"Straight along," he said, climbing clumsily into the seat beside me.
"Straight along almost to the end of the town, and then sharp to the
left. I will show you."
As soon as he had settled himself I put such a move on the car that
his breath was almost taken away. Should I take him out into the
darkness beyond the town and there drop him? If I did so, I should
surely be arrested, sooner or later. No. The car was disguised by
its dark-red enamel, and though I had no intention of going into a
brilliantly-lighted office, I felt certain that, if I kept cool, I
could allay the suspicion of the police-official on night-duty.
Ten minutes later I pulled up before the police-office and got down. In
order not to enter into the light, I made an excuse that my engine was
not running properly, unlocked the "bonnet" and tinkered with it until
the official came out to inspect me.
He was a burly, fair-bearded man, with a harsh, gruff voice.
In his hand he carried a slip of paper, which he consulted by the light
of my glaring head-lamps. I saw that it was a copy of a telegram he had
received giving my description, for the previous identification-number
of the car was written there.
For a few moments he stood in silence with the man who had arrested my
progress, then, seeing from his face that he found both myself and the
car the exact opposite of what was reported, I said, in an irritated
tone of indignation--
"I must really object to being thus brought here against my will. As a
foreigner, I cannot entertain a very high estimate of the intelligence
of the police of Zerbst."
"I trust you will pardon us," was the gruff man's reply, bowing. "It
was the very fact that you were an Englishman that caused suspicion to
rest upon you. It is an Englishman who is wanted for extensive jewel
robberies. His name is Ewart."
"A very common name in England," was my reply. "But will it not appear
a little too high-handed if you arrest every Englishman who rides in a
motor-car in any part of Germany on suspicion that he is this thief
Ewart? How do they describe the car?"
"Pale-blue," he admitted.
"Well, mine is scarcely that--is it?" I asked, as he stood beside me.
The "bonnet" was open, and by the light of the policeman's lantern he
was admiring the six bright cylinders.
"No," he responded. Even now, however, the bearded fellow seemed only
half convinced. But German officials are a particularly hide-bound genus
of mankind.
He saw, however, that I had now grown exasperated, and presently, after
putting a few further questions to me, he expressed his regret that I
should have suffered any delay or inconvenience, and politely wished me
a pleasant journey to my destination.
A lucky escape, I thought, when once again I was out on the broad high
road to Magdeburg, my head-lamps showing a stream of white light far
along the dusty way.
Instead of getting into Magdeburg, as I believed, I found myself, an
hour later, in a dark, ill-lit town upon a broad river, and discovered
that I was in Schoenebeck, on the main road to Hanover. The distance to
the latter city was one hundred miles, and, as I could get away from
there by half a dozen lines of railway, I decided to push forward, even
though for the past eighteen hours I had only had a piece of bread and
a mug of beer at Dessau.
About eleven o'clock on the following morning, after two tyre troubles,
I was passing out of the quaint mediaeval town of Hildesheim, intending
to reach Hanover before noon. I had come around the Haupt Bahnhof and
on to the highway beyond the railroad, when my heart gave a leap as a
policeman dashed out into the road in front of me and held up his hand.
"Your name?" he demanded gruffly.
"William Hartley--an Englishman," was my prompt response.
"I must, I regret, insist on your presence at the police-office," he
said authoritatively.
"Oh!" I cried, annoyed. "I suppose I must go through the same farce as
at Zerbst last night."
"You were at Zerbst--you admit that?" asked the man in uniform.
The instant those words left his lips I saw that I was trapped. It was,
no doubt, as I had suspected. The superintendent of police at Zerbst had
seen stamped upon the engines the maker's name, "Napier," and this he
had reported by telegraph to Dyer in Dresden. Then a second telegraphic
order had gone forth for my arrest.
"Well," I laughed, "it is surely no crime to admit having been to
Zerbst, is it? There seems an unusual hue-and-cry over this mysterious
Englishman, isn't there? But if you say I must go to the police-office,
I suppose I must. Get up here beside me and show me the way."
The man clambered up, when, in a moment, I put on all speed forward. The
road was wide and open, without a house on it.
"No!" he cried; "back--into the town!"
I, however, made no response, but let the car rip along at a good fifty
miles an hour. She hummed merrily.
"Stop! stop! I order you to stop!" he shouted, but I heeded him not. I
saw that he had grown frightened at the fearful pace we were travelling.
Suddenly, when we had gone about seven miles, I pulled up at a lonely
part of the road, and, pointing my revolver at his head, ordered him to
descend.
He saw that I was desperate. It was a moment for deeds, not words. I saw
him make a movement to draw out his own weapon; therefore, ere he was
aware of it, I struck him a blow full in the face, practically repeating
my tactics with Upton. The fellow reeled out of the car, but before I
could get started again he fired twice at me, happily missing me each
time.
He made a desperate dash to get on the footboard again, but I prevented
him, and in turn was compelled to fire.
My bullet struck his right shoulder, and his weapon fell to the ground.
Then I left him standing in the road, uttering a wild torrent of curses
as I waved my hand in defiant farewell.
A mile from Hanover I threw off my grey beard and other disguise, washed
my face in a brook, abandoned the car, and at three o'clock that
afternoon found myself safely in the express for Brussels, on my way to
Paris, the city which at that moment I deemed safest for me.
From that moment to this I have not been upon German soil.