“No use wasting time or effort to save this man,” they told de Leval at the American Embassy, later.  “We’ve got a cast-iron case against him, with witnesses to back it up.”

Javert no doubt proved himself an invaluable ally of the Dutchman in fixing up the charges.  I don’t believe he would manufacture a story out of whole cloth, but once his mind was set in a certain direction he could build up a good one on very shaky foundations.  Perhaps he had an animus against these bumptious, undeferential, overcritical Americans, and thought it was time to give one of them a lesson.  Perhaps he was tired of trapping ordinary garden variety spies of the Belgian brand.  It would be a pleasing variation in the monotony of convicting defenseless, helpless Belgians if he could show that one of these fellows masquerading as Americans was a sham.  Especially one of that journalistic tribe that had been sending out reports of German atrocities.  Furthermore, it would redound greatly to his professional glory to hand me over to the General with a case proved to the hilt.

There was no trick in the repertory of a prosecutor that was unknown to Javert.  He now shifted to the confidential and dropping His voice very low, he said to me: 

“You know that if you make a full, complete confession, I’ll promise to do my very best for you.  And as a matter of fact you have been under the eyes of our Secret Service ever since you came to Belgium.  We are aware of everything that you have done.”

Was that a bluff or the truth?  If it was true then they knew about my capture near Louvain on the day before in suspicious observation of the signaling-balloon.  If this was a bluff, then my confession would be simply a case of gratuitously damning myself and likewise endangering my companion of yesterday’s adventure—­the British lieutenant with the American passport.  Yet again if Javert knew all he pretended to, silence about that episode would make it appear doubly heinous.  So while with my tongue I retailed a simple, harmless version of my doings in Belgium in my brain I carried on a debate whether to make an avowal of the Louvain escapade or not.

I came to the decision that Javert was just bluffing.  Later developments proved me right.  He knew nothing about it.  Even the German Secret Service is not omniscient.  Getting no results then from these wheedling tactics Javert shifted back to his bullying and essayed once more to browbeat me into a confession.  Calling to his aid two officers who had been but casual onlookers they began volleying charges at me with machine-gun rapidity.

“You know that you are a spy.”  “We know that you are a spy.”  “Why do you deny it?” “You know that you have been lying.”  “Better own up to all that you have done.”  “Out with it now!”