I could not help wondering why the Allies’ aviators weren’t “on the job.”  A dozen, backed up by an intelligent Intelligence Department, could so obviously settle the fortunes of the war by blowing out the brains of their enemy.  Perhaps that is why the whereabouts of the Great Headquarters is guarded as a jealous secret.  The soldiers at the front don’t know where it is, nor the man on the street at home, and, of course, its location is not breathed in the German press.  Theoretically, only those immediately concerned are “in the know.”  Visitors are not allowed, neutral foreign correspondents are told by the authorities in Berlin that “it is impossible” to go to the Grosser Hauptquartier.

Two aeroplane guns are mounted on the hills across the river at a point immediately opposite the Kaiser’s residence, while near them a picked squad of sharpshooters is on the watch night and day for hostile fliers.  To further safeguard not only the person of the Kaiser but the brains of the fighting machine the spy hunt is kept up here with unrelenting pertinacity.

“We went over the town with a fine-tooth comb and cleaned out all the suspicious characters the very first day we arrived,” said a friendly detective.

“There are no cranks or anarchists left here.  Today the order is going out to arrest all men of military age—­between 18 and 45—­but there are few, if any, left.  We also made a house-to-house search for arms and collected three wagonloads, mostly old.

“Our Kaiser is as safe here now as he would be anywhere in Germany.  We know every one who arrives and leaves town.  It seems impossible for a spy to slip in and still more to slip out again through the lines—­but we are always on the watch for the impossible.  The fear of spies is not a delusion or a form of madness, as you suggest.  Here is one case of my personal knowledge:  A German Boy Scout of 16, who had learned to speak French and English perfectly at school, volunteered his services and was attached to the staff of an army corps.  This young chap succeeded in slipping into Rheims, where he was able to locate the positions of the French batteries and machine guns, and make his way back to our lines with this invaluable information.  For this feat the boy received the Iron Cross.  After being in the field for six weeks he got home-sick, however, and has been allowed to go home for a visit.”

From a spectacular point of view the Great Headquarters is rather disappointing.  A few mixed patrols of Uhlans, dragoons, and hussars occasionally ride through the principal streets to exercise their horses.  Occasionally, too, you see a small squad of strapping grenadiers, who break into the goose step on the slightest provocation as when they pass a General or other officer of the Great General Staff, whom you recognize by the broad red stripes on their “field gray” trousers.