Pandemonium was let loose.  The blood spurted out, smothering my shirt cuff.  The customer raved and swore like a Fury, while the manager, losing his head, dashed up with a handful of powdered alum which he strove to apply to the wound, but made a sorry mess of the effort, because it fell in a shower over the customer’s immaculate clothes, causing him to present the appearance which would have ensued had he fouled a bag of flour.  I surveyed the scene of the disaster for a few seconds, but observing the customer to be absorbing the complete attention of the manager I unconcernedly invited the next customer to take the chair, which he politely declined.

In the course of a few minutes an unsuspecting individual entered and took the empty seat.  I lathered him well, and picked up a razor.  But my hand was now exceedingly unsteady.  I caught a glimpse of my soiled shirt cuff and decided to incur no further risks.  I seized my hat and bolted from the shop.

In my haste I inadvertently infringed another rigid regulation—­I boarded a tram-car in motion.  For this misdemeanour I was rated severely by the conductor.  But as I emphasised my deaf and dumb infirmity he ceased, doubtless feeling that his energy was being wasted.  To my consternation a friend of mine boarded this car, which was proceeding toward his home, and he at once commenced a conversation.  I was on my guard, and by a surreptitious whisper, I told him of my deaf and dumb subterfuge.  When we reached our destination I related my adventure, revealing my soiled and blood-stained shirt cuff as corroboration.  As I described the incident he burst into uncontrollable laughter, but then his face became grave.  He felt convinced that a complaint would be lodged, and that investigation would follow.  If I were detected in the street trouble would ensue, so he urged me to return to my new home and to lie low for a few days to permit things to blow over.

Another day I was alighting from a tram, when I heard a voice calling quietly but firmly, “Mein Herr!  Mein Herr!” There was no mistaking the tones.  They were so palpably official as not to raise a moment’s doubting.  I refrained from looking round, proceeding as if I had not heard the hail, although I did not quicken my step.  But the “Mein Herr!” continued to ring out persistently, and at last the speaker touched me on the arm.  I turned and, as I had anticipated, was confronted by an officer.

He demanded to know why I was walking about Cologne.  He saw that I was a Britisher and so responded to the call of his inquisitorial duty.  I produced my “pass” without a word of comment.  He looked at it and gave me a queer glance, but I never turned a hair, and while he was looking at me I calmly withdrew the “pass” from his hands and slipped it into my pocket.