There ensued the old familiar cross-examination and the request for credentials I didn’t have. The major asked the inspector whether I was carrying any papers.

“These,” said the latter, and showed him the pile of blank copy sheets.

The major dived for it.

“It’s all blank paper,” said the inspector, and the major registered keen disappointment.

Next to my suitcase lay a bag belonging to a gentleman named Trotter, and on it was a Japanese hotel label. The general glimpsed it and turned on me. “When were you in Japan?” he asked.

I told him never.

“That piece isn’t his,” said the inspector. “It belongs to a Mr. Trotter.”