I put all my hope on a car that loomed up in the distance. It was assisting in the reprovisioning of Brussels, and only for that reason had the carman got permission to use it. I signalled to him, and he stopped鈥攁 big lout of a man who evidently had had a drop too much; he would not allow me to ride on with him, because he preferred to remain alone on his car than to help a spy. "I am a Belgian, a Belgian, and not a traitor, not a traitor of my country," he assured me, with a lot of beery tears. In any case the man meant well, and probably he had tried to drown his troubles in drink..