Ransvestia

too obviously, I hoped, and wondered what it contained that would be a lot of use in jail. He paused, searching for the right words, making a steeple of his hands, underneath which I could see on the desk the cheque I had signed not so long before. Though I had used my brother's signature, with the initial only, it didn't honestly look very Dutch.

"Where did you get this from?" he finally asked. I decided to be vague, and told him, playing the silly foreign tourist to the limit. (It was clearly printed on the cheque, the office of origin.) I became voluble, and explained that I was from Australia, going north on tour of the country, then flying to a Pacific island, and back to Australia. I half proffered the book of cheques from which this first one had come. He ignored the offer. After a brief pause, I added that "they" had told me quite distinctly when issuing the cheques, that there would be no difficulty in cashing them anywhere. I ended on a puz- zled note, in as guttural an accent as possible, to indicate "genuine" perturbation. My tone and manner indicated that an ignorant female had been misled by the business (male) world in general and bank employees in particular. I said that I had run out of local currency sooner than anticipated, and that I was to receive some at my next destination (from GG) both true but that in the meantime I needed something to cover small expenses and had resorted to the foreign currency cheques. Were they really not legal here? I wanted to know.

He thought for a moment, then the question I had dreaded came. "Do you have a permit for the overseas currency in and out of the country?" Now that, I did have, right there in my handbag, and what's more, I could see in my mind's eye as clearly as if it were photographed, how it was worded and made out to "MR.

(full name) (and address). I knew that if he saw that, I was surely sunk. With a vague wave of the hand, I said, "Oh, that! Yes, I have it. Somewhere among my luggage in the car." I paused, and waited, before venturing as if helpfully, "Do you wish me to try to find it?" This was the crucial question. I did the wide-eyed innocent for all I was worth. He paused, then came to a decision. "No. It will be all right." He shuffled his feet, and made movements to indicate the interview was at an end. He had made a choice, be it right or wrong. "Sorry I have put you to some trouble," he added with total insincerity, that I took, however, at face value. "I had no idea there would be any difficulty," I said, with injured innocence. He made