Moreover, little fishing hamlets on either side of the bridge harbored
more than one supposed Swedish fisherman but who in reality had his
name still on the German Naval register. In the event of trouble
these men, using explosives stored in the two houses in question,
could have blown the Middle Island to atoms.
After about three weeks I began to be suspicious of being followed.
Arriving home one night I noticed that my dress suit was arranged in a
different way to what I had left it. I called my landlady and
casually inquired if my tailor had been there. She said, "No,
Doctor."
"Well," I replied. "What reason have you then to rearrange my
clothes?"
Her face reddened and she seemed flustered.
"I wasn't in your room," she faltered. "I remember now. I believe
the tailor was here. One of the servants let him in."
I have no reason to shield Mrs. Macleod, for with true Scottish
thrift she got as much out of me as she could and then afterwards
declared in court that she thought I was a German spy a fortnight
after I had been in her house.
I made it my business to go around to my tailor's within an hour's
time and he contradicted her story. He had not been at the house. To
completely verify my suspicions that I was being shadowed, I went the
next day into the "F and F," a well-known caterer on Prince's Street.
In the writing-room I wrote some letters, one of which I purposely
dropped on the floor.
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