The adventures of Heine
The search was necessarily slow since we depended upon our flash
lamps, though we might have switched on the lights with impunity. In
one corner of the room was a large and an old-fashioned safe. It stood
about two metres high and a metre broad and had two narrow doors. Upon
this Heinrich got to work and in half an hour I had the satisfaction
of seeing the doors swing open.
What a tribute to my perspicacity! What a triumphant vindication of a
“Hun’s” foresight! Call us “Boches,” call us by every vile name that
your kultural deficiencies may suggest, but bear ungrudging witness to
the everything-foreseeing perfections of German organization!
For there, stacked neatly, one on top of the other, were six black
portfolios, bulky and bulging. There was no need to ask whose
properties these were. The golden “R.F.” on one, the arms of Savoy on
another, the crowned eagles on a third, advertized their ownership.
Very carefully I removed them, handing them to my assistants.
The safe contained nothing else except a battered tin cash-box. I
lifted it with difficulty, for it was heavy.
“No,” thought I, “we are not burglars. We do not require this haughty
Lord’s treasure. We Germans are not pot-house thieves, horse-holders
and cut-throat hangdogs, to steal from a house like burglars! Let my
Lordship keep his gold. I have something better!”
I gave the signal and we crept forth along the corridor to the trap.
We had closed it for fear that somebody passing through the hall
should notice the opening and give the alarm.
Hermann knelt down and tried to lift the slab, but without success. He
used his pocket-knife and did no more than break off the blade. I
cursed his bungling stupidity so furiously that he cowered before me.
What undependable swine these German working classes are! What
brainless idiots, with no other thought than eating and beer-drinking!
“Wretched owl,” I hissed in his ear, “if we were in Germany I would
flay you alive!”
“Herr Heine,” he whined, “it is not my fault. I wanted to bring up my
tools, but you refused to let me.”
I could not waste any time arguing with this scum. In half-an-hour the
dawn would be breaking. There was only one way out and that was
through the kitchen. We passed through one of the doors behind the
buffet and found ourselves in another stone corridor lighted by little
stone-framed windows, but heavily barred.
At one end of the corridor was another door and Heinrich, after a vain
attempt to pick the lock, said it had been bolted from the outside.
“Have you no bolt-removing instrument?” I asked.
“No, Herr Heine,” he said apologetically, “that requires an apparatus
of considerable complication. The only thing to do is to cut a hole
through the door, and as the door is sheeted with iron I do not think
it is possible.”
We went down the corridor to the other portal. This door yielded to
the turn of a handle and we found ourselves in what was evidently a
servery. Here there was one window which was also barred and a kitchen
door, which, like the one at the farther end of the corridor, was
bolted on the other side.
“What!” I said bitterly, “have I trusted my safety and the safety of
the Empire to a monkey with the brains of a gnat?”
He was silent under my rebuke, for what could he say?
There remained only one possible egress and that was a skylight in the
servery, and here Fortune was with us, for we found a step-ladder
which enabled us to reach the ceiling.
I insisted upon Heinrich going first because it did not look very
safe, and how my heart bounded when the skylight yielded to his touch
and he was able to hoist himself, with the assistance of Hermann,
through the aperture. I followed immediately afterwards.
We found ourselves on a sloping roof, and edging my way down to the
guttering, I looked down and found that we had a drop of no more than
a dozen feet. In three minutes we were on the ground, moving
stealthily from bush to bush unchallenged by the cordon of policemen,
and reached the outside road without mishap.
We were now on the other side of the house, far away from the ravine
and my waiting motor-car. The first pale light of dawn was in the sky
and I knew that we could not afford to take the risk of searching for
the road by which we had come. Yet without the motor-car I was in a
quandary. How might I get these portfolios of such world-shaking
importance away without detection? I could not carry them myself and I
could not trust my companions, for we Germans trust nobody, and by our
caution-dictated suspicion we have eliminated half of the dangers
which ordinarily threaten a modern state.
We were in a residential road. About Leatham Priory quite a
respectable suburb has grown up and this was one of those better-class
thoroughfares made up of detached houses standing in their own
grounds, or, as the English advertisements put it, “Houses with every
modern convenience.” In a flash I had made my plans. I knew that there
was certain to be in such a road as this an empty house, and sure
enough the third of the houses we passed bore in the garden a board
(or rather two boards) saying it was “To Let.” I beckoned my party to
follow me.
Heinrich opened the door in a trice--it was child’s play to this
mechanic--and we entered the house, our footsteps sounding hollowly.
It was not wholly unfurnished, I discovered to my surprise, for on the
first floor there was a bedroom containing a few articles of
furniture, but apparently the room had not been used for some time.
The shutters were tightly fastened over the window and I guessed that
the room had been used by a caretaker until the owner had got tired of
paying his wages.
This view was fully confirmed later when I looked at the board
outside, for the words “Apply to caretaker” had been painted over and
a new address had been given at which the key might be obtained. In
this room there was a big cupboard, the key of which was in the lock
and into the cupboard I bundled the portfolios, locking the door, and
put the key into my pocket.
“Now,” I said to my comrades, “each will go his own way but avoid
observation as far as possible.”
“What about the car and the tools in the passage?” asked Hermann.
“I have told the car not to wait beyond daybreak,” I said (German
forethought again!) “and as for the tools you may collect them after
dark to-night.”
I got back safely to my apartment and turned up at ten o’clock at my
office, very well pleased with my night’s work. At the office I found
a messenger waiting for me. I recognized the man as the Herr Baron’s
valet, a trustworthy Bavarian who had naturalized himself at the same
time as my well-born patron. I opened the letter. It was from Baron
von Hertz-Missenger.
It read:
“By this time you have probably understood the little riddle I set
you. Don’t forget that it is of the utmost importance that certain
things should be secured. I myself am working night and day _to obtain
results_. _Leave no stone unturned._ If you fail notify me
immediately. The Conference will last two more days. If you fail I am
in a position to make the attempt myself.”
I put the letter down with a smile. With what joy would the good Baron
receive my news. If I failed; if I, Heine failed, the idea was
amazing!
I say here, before I proceed to the end of this incident, and I cannot
give too great emphasis to my words, that it would be well if the
Department in which I have the honour to serve--which is in other
respects conducted with serious cleverness--implicitly trust the
proved genius of their officers and would not allow amateurs, however
distinguished, to interfere with the operations of regular
departmental officers.
I burnt the letter and sent the good baron’s servant on his way
rejoicing with half-a-crown. It is always as well to keep the servants
of the high-born in good temper and favourably inclined.
Then I rang up Messrs. Hedley and Riddle. Yes, I had carefully noted
the name of the house agents. I got them on the ’phone and asked to
speak to the proprietor.
“You have a house to let near the village of Leatham Priory,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” he responded in the servile accent of an English house
agent.
“I would like to see the house. May I call to-day for the key?”
“Which house is it?” he asked.
Here again my forethought served me.
“It is the house called ‘Fairlawn.’”
“Certainly,” said the man, “my assistant has charge of this
department. He is at lunch now, but when he comes in I will tell him
to meet you at the station.”
“Don’t trouble,” said I; “will you have the key ready for me? You will
remember, it is ‘Fairlawn,’ and I want to have the first refusal, so
do not let anybody else see the house until I come.”
“Certainly not, sir,” said the servile hound.
I hung up the receiver and rubbed my hands, and at that moment there
came a knock at my door. I walked over to the door and opened it. An
officer with the green tabs of the British Intelligence Department
stood smiling on the mat and I recognized my treacherous “friend” of
other days, Mister Haynes or rather Major Haynes.
“Good morning, Major,” I said jovially, “have you come to ‘warn’ me
again?”
“Not a bit,” he said, walking inside and shaking hands, “I have just
come to ask you if you know anything about the Baron von
Hertz-Missenger.”
I pricked up my ears.
“I know the good Baron,” I said carelessly, “just a casual
acquaintance.”
“How unfortunate you are,” said Mister Haynes (I should say Major
Haynes) in tones of sadness.
“Why unfortunate, major?” I asked.
“All your friends seem to get into trouble,” sighed the major;
“perhaps you don’t know that a number of important documents were
stolen from Leatham Priory last night.”
“Great heavens, you don’t mean to say that,” I said with
well-simulated astonishment.
“Yes, fortunately, the most important, including secret cases, were
left behind. They were in a steel cash-box and the thief or thieves
did not trouble to examine its contents.”
I did not swoon. Nobody seeing me would imagine what thoughts were
swimming through my brain.
“The robbery was discovered this morning and naturally suspicion
attached to the Baron,” the major went on.
“Why to the Baron?” I asked.
“Well, you see,” said Haynes, “he has been hanging about the
neighbourhood and we discovered some time ago that he had arranged
with the clerk of a house agent to occupy a room in a house which was
ostensibly to let.”
My flesh went cold and like a goose’s.
“From his headquarters,” Mister Haynes went on, “he apparently sallied
forth from time to time making a very careful reconnaissance of the
Priory. He must have known that an important Conference was to be
held. We have established the fact that two of Lord Leatham’s servants
were in his pay, and so, naturally, when the portfolios were missing
we searched his lodging.”
“Oh, naturally,” said I weakly.
“And we discovered the stolen property.”
“How strange!” I said in a hollow voice.
“And you don’t know him,” said Mister Haynes, I mean Major Haynes.
“No, sir, I do not,” I said with firm determination.
“Well, you are unlucky,” said the major; “for if you don’t know him
now you never will know him,” and with those ominous words he left me.
CHAPTER VII.
THE WORD OF A PRINCE
If there was a moral to these narratives which were originally
written not so much for publication as to convey a true record of an
adventurous career, to one who was inexpressibly dear to me, the
learned and beautiful Miss Kathleen O’Mara, secretary (honorary, for
she would not accept payment for performing a national service) of the
German Gaelic League of Chicago, the most implacable, the most bitter
enemy proud Albion has ever had.