Some of them, for the simple fact that they are journalists, are taken to Germany and interned there, and when the Embassies of the different countries protest and claim their subjects, the Government of Berlin answers that the captured journalists are not considered as prisoners, but are only detained for a certain time--that is to say, for as long as the news they have gathered remains important if made public.
Another variety of the so-called German Secret Service is the agent-provocateur, who generally speaks perfect French and Flemish, and gets a fixed sum for every arrest effected by the police on his initiative.
In Antwerp I saw one of these spies approach an old gentleman who had a Belgian rosette in his buttonhole. He was on a tramcar platform, and the spy said to him, "Very bitter weather for our poor little soldiers at the front, isn't it, sir?" The old gentleman evidently knew the identity of his companion, for he simply stared at the rascal and turned his face the other way.
The favourite ground of action of this army of spies is the railway carriage. There acquaintances are easily and quickly made. I very often saw people taken away at the station by two soldiers, while the hero of this beautiful deed was following at a short distance with his face wreathed in the happiest of smiles.
To travel in Belgium now is a complicated task; railways are completely taken over by the German War Office, and only Germans are employed. Not even the old porters are allowed in the stations. No tickets are given without a special pass from the Kommandantur of the town, saying where the applicant wishes to go, for how long, and for what reason. Then you pay for your ticket, provided you make yourself understood by the German employees, and you have the exact amount in marks and not in Belgian money. There are only third-class carriages at first-class fares--für Zivilpersonen--all the other first and second class carriages are marked Nur für Heeresangehorige--those who don't pay evidently.
Before arriving on the platform you are searched by very rude soldiers wearing a large crescent-shaped brass plate with the word "polizei" suspended to their necks by a chain, like a metal label on a brandy bottle.