From our position on horseback close behind him we were able to see that our foreigner was reading a guide book and was studying a map of the fortifications through which we were passing.  Suddenly he called to the driver to stop for a moment while he lit a match for his cigarette.  The driver pulled up, and so did we.  The stranger glanced up to see that the man was not looking round, and then quickly slipped a camera from under the rug which was lying on the seat in front of him, and taking aim at the entrance shaft of a new ammunition store which had just been made for our Navy, he took a snapshot.

Then hurriedly covering up the camera again he proceeded to strike matches and to light his cigarette.  Then he gave the word to drive on again.

We followed close behind till we came to where a policeman was regulating the traffic.  I rode ahead and gave him his instructions so that the carriage was stopped, and the man was asked to show his permit to take photographs.  He had none.  The camera was taken into custody and the name and address of the owner taken “with a view to further proceedings.”

Unfortunately at that time—­it was many years ago—­we were badly handicapped by our laws in the matter of arresting and punishing spies.  By-laws allowed us to confiscate and smash unauthorised cameras, and that was all.

“Further proceedings,” had they been possible, in this case would have been unnecessary, for the suspected gentleman took himself off to the Continent by the very next boat.

But it took a good deal to persuade my staff-officer friend that the whole episode was not one faked up for his special edification.

It is only human to hate to be outwitted by one more clever than yourself, and perhaps that accounts for people disliking spies with a more deadly hatred than that which they bestow on a man who drops bombs from an aeroplane indiscriminately on women and children, or who bombards cathedrals with infernal engines of war.

Nobody could say that my native spy in South Africa, Jan Grootboom, was either a contemptible or mean kind of man.  He was described by one who knew him as a “white man in a black skin,” and I heartily endorse the description.

Here is an instance of his work as a field spy:—­

Jan Grootboom was a Zulu by birth, but having lived much with white men, as a hunter and guide, he had taken to wearing ordinary clothes and spoke English perfectly well:  but within him he had all the pluck and cunning of his race.

For scouting against the Matabele it was never wise to take a large party, since it would be sure to attract attention, whereas by going alone with one man, such as Grootboom, one was able to penetrate their lines and to lie hid almost among them, watching their disposition and gaining information as to their numbers, supplies, and whereabouts of their women and cattle, etc.

Now, every night was spent at this work—­that is to say, the night was utilised for creeping to their positions, and one watched them during the day.  But it was impossible to do this without leaving footmarks and tracks, which the sharp eyes of their scouts were not slow to discover, and it very soon dawned upon them that they were being watched, and consequently they were continually on the look-out to waylay and capture us.