Once again my mind had been occupied with seeing Tabitha, seeing Mother, and England, and I’d been blissfully unaware of the nonsense going on behind my back. It was only years later that I learned some of the details. How someone in London had given orders to the Finnish police that I be arrested if I tried to cross their borders, and that I should be locked up in a Finnish jail, without informing the local British Embassy. How I traveled with Bullitt and Steffens, as one of their party, so the Finns let me through, unaware of who I was. How the Finns then arrested the agent tailing me, locked him in a jail cell without informing the local British Embassy, and refused to believe his protestations that he wasn’t Arthur Ransome.Even when I got to England the farce didn’t stop. The Secret Service lost track of me once or twice, as I crossed Scandinavia and caught a boat to Newcastle, though when I got to King’s Cross I was approached by a plainclothes man and asked to accompany him to Police Headquarters.At Scotland Yard, I was being grilled by the Chief Superintendent, a man named Thomson, when the phone on his desk rang.
