The German has always laughed, and still is laughing up his sleeve at the courteous American diplomat.  The imperial authorities have never hesitated to throw dust in his eyes and to outwit him when the occasion suited their purpose.  Indeed, they scheme deliberately and unceasingly to side-track him and to prevent the true conditions and affairs penetrating to his knowledge.

I had one striking instance of this carefully premeditated and unscrupulous gulling and thwarting of the American Embassy.  The accidental discovery of the circumstance that the baseless charge of espionage levelled against me was still hanging over my head somewhat worried me.  I ascertained one exceedingly disturbing fact which was communicated to me within the camp.  Had I committed any offence, no matter how trivial, while in the camps, I should not have been arraigned upon that particular delinquency, but, in all probability, would have had the original charge retrumped up against me.  I learned that this was the German practice.  Moreover, the old charge was liable to be trotted out at any odd moment at the caprice of my oppressors.  The authorities had never acquitted me of being a spy.  On the other hand they had never pronounced me guilty.  I was forced to accept the former interpretation from my transference to the internment camps, as if I had been merely a detained civilian.  My reasons for believing that I had been acquitted of the grave charge were supported by the fact that in Germany, a person who has been found guilty of espionage, and who escapes the death penalty, is condemned to solitary confinement in a military prison.

The charge of espionage being in a condition of suspended animation as it might be termed, coupled with the fact that no one knew whenever, wherever, and how it might suddenly be revived to my detriment, did not conduce to my peace of mind.  On one occasion I received a pretty rude shock.  I filled up an application for release upon medical grounds, but upon being summoned before the authorities I was told point-blank that I should be kept a prisoner until the end of the war, exchange or no exchange.

The uncertainty became intolerable.  I wrote a lengthy letter to the American Ambassador explaining my unfortunate and doubtful position and expressing the hope that he might be able to bring the matter to a decision.  In common with my fellow-prisoners, I had always cherished the belief that a letter addressed to the American Embassy was regarded as confidential and inviolable; at all events was not to be opened, except with the express permission of the prisoner or the Ambassador.  But my faith was rudely dispelled.  I dispatched my communication only to receive a curt summons to appear before an officer, who bluntly informed me that my letter could not be sent to the Embassy because it was sealed.  It was handed back to me with the injunction that the envelope must be left open.