And there was the kind of caravan before me--the Essen barges.
It sounded lunacy, for I guessed that munitions of war would be as jealously guarded as old Hindenburg's health.

All the safer, I replied to myself, once I get there.

If you are looking for a deserter you don't seek him at the favourite regimental public-house.

If you're after a thief, among the places you'd be apt to leave unsearched would be Scotland Yard.
It was sound reasoning, but how was I to get on board?
Probably the beastly things did not stop once in a hundred miles, and Stumm would get me long before I struck a halting-place.

And even if I did get a chance like that, how was I to get permission to travel?
One step was clearly indicated--to get down to the river bank at once.
So I set off at a sharp walk across squelchy fields, till I struck a road where the ditches had overflowed so as almost to meet in the middle.