The next morning, at seven o'clock, only the two civilians came back, and told me to dress as quickly as possible, and follow them to the Kommandantur. I said I was quite ready to please them, but, to teach them a little patience, had a comfortable bath, polished my nails to the highest possible brightness, spent as long as possible in shaving, dressing, and having my _petit déjeuner_, while the chambermaid was packing my luggage.
When I followed the two polizeiern I said to her, "I hope you don't believe I have taken anybody's pocket-book?" "Certainly not, sir," she answered quite seriously. "All well-to-do people in Brussels have been taken to the Kommandantur this year; _l'arrestation est très portée à présent_."
Reassured by the assertion of the witty maid, which I acknowledged with an extra tip, I went with my two companions to a smart motor-car waiting for us outside. I feel indebted to the Germans for the only motor ride I managed to have in Brussels, no public or private car being allowed on the road, unless for military or police service.
At the police station a new and long interrogatory, followed by the seizure of all the money I had on me. Then I was confronted with a spy who had followed me about in my pilgrimage all over Belgium for five days. Not a single one of my moves had been missed from the moment I landed in Antwerp. A sort of long affidavit was drawn up containing all the accusations against me (I do not know exactly even now what they were), as well as my declaration and a complete list of the papers, books, and money I had with me. I asked permission to communicate with one of the neutral Consuls who are still in Brussels, but this was denied me, so I had to wait four or five hours, after which, having had a filthy German meal, always accompanied by my two polizeiern, in the canteen of an infantry regiment, I was taken to the Kommandantur.
The canteen was prepared for the celebration of the Kaiser's birthday; flags and pictures of the War Lord were all over the walls, and in a passage were piles of little boxes, sent by the Berlin population to the troops as a homage to the Kaiser, and containing sweets, tobacco, chocolates, and dreadful-looking handkerchiefs with the whole royal family printed on them.