I set to work hunting carefully through my pockets for everything that might furnish the slightest basis for any charge against me.  Before coming to Brussels I had been warned not to carry anything that might be the least incriminating, and there was not much on me; but I did have a pass from the Belgian commander giving me access to the Antwerp fortifications.  I had figured on framing it as a souvenir of my adventures, but my molars now reduced it to an unrecognizable pulp.  Cards of introduction from French and English friends fared a similar fate.  Their remains were disposed of in the shuffling that accompanied the arrival of new prisoners.  This had to be done most craftily, for we never knew where were the spying eyes.

About six o’clock I was resting from my masticatory labors when Javert presented himself, accompanied by two soldiers.  I was led away into the council room where first I had been taken in the morning.  It was now turned into a trial chamber.  Javert, as prosecutor, was seated on one side of the table, while around the farther end were ranged some officers and a few men in civilian clothes who proved to be secret service agents.  I stood until the judge bade me take my seat at the vacant end of the table.

One by one my documents were disposed of—­an American passport issued in London; a permit from the German Consul at Maastricht, Holland, to enter “the territory of Belgium-Germany,” finally, this letter of introduction from the American Consulate at Ghent: 

Consulat Americain.

Gand le 22 Septembre, 1914. 
Le Consul des Etats Unis d’Amerique a Gand, prie Messieurs les
autorites de bien vouloir laisser passer le porteur de la presente
Monsieur Albert Williams, citoyen Americain.

Julius van Hee,
Consul Americain.

I pointed to the recent date on it, the 22nd of September, and to the signer of it, Julius van Hee.

Van Hee was a man who met the Germans on their own ground.  He informed the German officer at his hotel:  “If you send any spy prowling into my room, I’ll take off my coat and proceed to throw him out of the window.”  Shirt-sleeves diplomat indeed!  Another time he requested permission to take three Belgian women through the lines to their family in Bruges.  The German commandant said “No.”  “All right,” said Van Hee, taking out a package of letters from captured German officers who were now in the hands of the Belgians, and dangling the packet before the commandant, “If I don’t get that permit, you don’t get these letters.”  He got the permit.

After a few such clashes the invaders learned that when it came to this Schrecklichkeit business they had no monopoly on the article.  Van Hee’s name was not to be trifled with.  But on the other hand there must necessarily have existed a certain resentment against him for his ruthless and effective diplomacy.  It would no doubt afford Javert a pleasant sensation to take it out on any one appearing in any way as a protege of Van Hee.