concealed firearms and illegal entry without valid identification papers”, were rather more serious charges. My complete and absolute innocence of them would take time to establish, and a lot of quite unpleasant things could happen in the interim.
The possibility that my innocence might not be established was something that, realist though I am, I was not just then prepared to contemplate.
After the fourth telephone call, the Commandant came out of his office, gave some orders to the security man who had been waiting in the passage, and then came into the lavatory.
“You are being sent at once to the garrison jail in Edirne,” he said.
“And the car I was driving, sir?”
He hesitated. “I have no orders about that yet. No doubt it will be wanted as evidence.”
Direct communication with Higher Authority seemed to have sapped a little of his earlier self-confidence. I decided to have one more shot at bluffing my way out. “I must remind you, sir,” I said loudly, “that I have already protested formally to you against my detention here. I repeat that protest. The car and its contents are within your legal jurisdiction. I am not. I was refused entry because my papers were not in order. Therefore, legally, I was not in Turkey and should have been at once returned to the Greek side of the border. In Greece, I have a permis de séjour which is in order. I think that when your superiors learn these facts, you will find that you have a lot to answer for.”
It was quite well said. Unfortunately, it seemed to amuse him.
“So you are a lawyer, as well as a journalist, a chauffeur, and an arms smuggler.”
“I am simply warning you.”
His smile faded. “Then let me give you a word of warning, too. In Edirne you will not be dealing with the ordinary police authorities. It is considered that there may be political aspects to your case and it has been placed under the jurisdiction of the Second Section, the Ikinci Büro. ”
“Political aspects? What political aspects?” I tried, not very successfully, to sound angry instead of alarmed.
“That is not for me to say. I merely warn you. The Director, Second Section, is General Haki. It will be his men who will interrogate you. You will certainly end by co-operating with them. You would be well advised to begin by doing so. Their patience, I hear, is quite limited. That is all.”
He went. A moment or two later the security man came in.
I was driven to the garrison jail in a covered jeep with my right wrist handcuffed to a grab rail, and an escort of two soldiers. The jail was an old stone building on the outskirts of the town. It had a walled courtyard, and there were expanded metal screens as well as bars over the windows.
One of the soldiers, an N.C.O., reported to the guard on the inner gate, and after a few moments two men in a different sort of uniform came out through a smaller side door. One of them had a paper which he handed to the N.C.O. I gathered that it was a receipt for me. The N.C.O. immediately unlocked the handcuffs and waved me out of the jeep. The new escort-in-charge prodded me towards the side door.
“ Girmek, girmek! ” he said sharply.
All jails seem to smell of disinfectants, urine, sweat, and leather. This was no exception. I went up some wooden stairs to a steel gate, which was opened by a man with a long chain of keys from the inside. Beyond it and to the right was a sort of reception room with a man at a desk and two cubicles at the back. The guard shoved me up to the desk and rapped out an order. I said in French that I didn’t understand. The man at the desk said: “Vide les poches.”
I did as I was told. They had taken all my papers and keys from me at the frontier post. All I had left in my pockets was my money, my watch, a packet of cigarettes, and matches. The desk man gave me back the watch and the cigarettes, and put the money and the matches into an envelope. A man in a grubby white coat now arrived and went into one
The possibility that my innocence might not be established was something that, realist though I am, I was not just then prepared to contemplate.
After the fourth telephone call, the Commandant came out of his office, gave some orders to the security man who had been waiting in the passage, and then came into the lavatory.
“You are being sent at once to the garrison jail in Edirne,” he said.
“And the car I was driving, sir?”
He hesitated. “I have no orders about that yet. No doubt it will be wanted as evidence.”
Direct communication with Higher Authority seemed to have sapped a little of his earlier self-confidence. I decided to have one more shot at bluffing my way out. “I must remind you, sir,” I said loudly, “that I have already protested formally to you against my detention here. I repeat that protest. The car and its contents are within your legal jurisdiction. I am not. I was refused entry because my papers were not in order. Therefore, legally, I was not in Turkey and should have been at once returned to the Greek side of the border. In Greece, I have a permis de séjour which is in order. I think that when your superiors learn these facts, you will find that you have a lot to answer for.”
It was quite well said. Unfortunately, it seemed to amuse him.
“So you are a lawyer, as well as a journalist, a chauffeur, and an arms smuggler.”
“I am simply warning you.”
His smile faded. “Then let me give you a word of warning, too. In Edirne you will not be dealing with the ordinary police authorities. It is considered that there may be political aspects to your case and it has been placed under the jurisdiction of the Second Section, the Ikinci Büro. ”
“Political aspects? What political aspects?” I tried, not very successfully, to sound angry instead of alarmed.
“That is not for me to say. I merely warn you. The Director, Second Section, is General Haki. It will be his men who will interrogate you. You will certainly end by co-operating with them. You would be well advised to begin by doing so. Their patience, I hear, is quite limited. That is all.”
He went. A moment or two later the security man came in.
I was driven to the garrison jail in a covered jeep with my right wrist handcuffed to a grab rail, and an escort of two soldiers. The jail was an old stone building on the outskirts of the town. It had a walled courtyard, and there were expanded metal screens as well as bars over the windows.
One of the soldiers, an N.C.O., reported to the guard on the inner gate, and after a few moments two men in a different sort of uniform came out through a smaller side door. One of them had a paper which he handed to the N.C.O. I gathered that it was a receipt for me. The N.C.O. immediately unlocked the handcuffs and waved me out of the jeep. The new escort-in-charge prodded me towards the side door.
“ Girmek, girmek! ” he said sharply.
All jails seem to smell of disinfectants, urine, sweat, and leather. This was no exception. I went up some wooden stairs to a steel gate, which was opened by a man with a long chain of keys from the inside. Beyond it and to the right was a sort of reception room with a man at a desk and two cubicles at the back. The guard shoved me up to the desk and rapped out an order. I said in French that I didn’t understand. The man at the desk said: “Vide les poches.”
I did as I was told. They had taken all my papers and keys from me at the frontier post. All I had left in my pockets was my money, my watch, a packet of cigarettes, and matches. The desk man gave me back the watch and the cigarettes, and put the money and the matches into an envelope. A man in a grubby white coat now arrived and went into one
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