The adventures of Heine
“Let the British Government make instant reprisals. Intern the aliens
in our midst! Imprison and shoot secret agents whose evil activity is
seducing the allegiance of our people, whose hands are discernible
even in the press itself.”
I laid down the paper and wiped the perspiration from my brow. I took
up a pen to indite the traitor’s dismissal, but on second thoughts I
put it down again.
After all, it was not my idea. Let Berlin do its own dirty work.
CHAPTER X.
THE GREY ENVELOPE
It has often been remarked by impartially-minded thinkers that the
German race produces more psychologists and more introspective
logicians than any other race in the world. It may be thought that I
make extravagant claims for Germans because I am of that chosen race.
It may be sneered that we only see one side of any question and that
is our own side, but as against that we Germans contend that there can
be only one side to any question and that is the side we are on.
For, as a race, and as individuals, we have that innate sense of
justice, that discrimination, that almost godlike balance of judgment
which enables us to see every fault that our blind and conceited
neighbours possess. When we Germans talk of “kultural extension,” we
mean that it is our object to extend our practice of reasoning for the
benefit of humanity. The English newspapers are notoriously stupid,
ignorant, and unreasonable. Very often they print in the short extract
from some exalted personage’s address to his troops a great and a
vital fact without realizing that the sentiment they so ignobly deride
is the basic truth on which civilization was founded, and from which
all nations but Germans are cast aside.
Forgive me, dear friend, if I depart from the plain narrative of the
curious happening which is chronicled below to wander at large in the
realms of metaphysics, but since this chapter deals largely with
psychology, it is meet that I should preface the story with a short
introduction worthy, I trust, of Mother Heidelberg which sent me to
the world, so well equipped with a knowledge of the sciences.
There is in Berlin, as you know, attached to the Intelligence
Department of the _Kriegsministerium_, the Psychological Branch, which
deals entirely with movements of national thought, especially enemy
thought, in its relation to Germany. I claim, and I would like to know
who would dare refute my claim, that I have rendered invaluable
service to the Herr Professor von Zollernborn, the head of that
department.
It was I who started the story of the Massacre of the 194th
Highlanders. It was I, who, through my trusty friends, put into
circulation that hint that France was conducting secret peace
negotiations which created so immense a sensation in knowledgeable
London circles. It was I, who, having received news that the British
had sustained a severe defeat at Ctesiphon, spread news within six
hours of my information coming to hand that the British had marched
into Baghdad, thereby preparing for a more profound feeling of
depression than had the news come without my preliminary planning.
We Germans neglect no opportunities. In a war between nations you must
strike at the civilian as well as at the soldier, and since we are
more qualified by reason of our mental equipment to exploit the
sciences of which we are so perfect masters, we enjoy advantages which
are denied to non-kultural races.
It was in 1917, in the early part of the year, that, as a result of
communications which had passed between myself and our agent in
Amsterdam, we decided upon opening the most elaborate, and though I
myself say it, one of the best planned campaigns against the morale of
the British that had ever been undertaken. The occasion was the
arrival amongst the enemies of the Fatherland of the United States of
America. The U.S.A., as everybody knows, came into the war owing to
the fact that the munition makers of America, who had spent millions
of pounds in plant, had found themselves faced with ruin. For this
they had to thank the perfidious behaviour of the British, who
cancelled their orders, well knowing that to keep all the American
munition factories running the American government would be compelled
to declare war.
I had this information from a dear friend of mine who is in the
secrets of Washington and was on terms of personal friendship with
many Senators and Congressmen, one at least of whom had openly exposed
the perfidious Wilson--such balderdash as his speeches has never been
uttered by serious statesmen!--and his nefarious plan.
I had not lived in America for nothing. I knew how deep-rooted was the
detestation felt in America against the English. I remember before
leaving New York I dined with two true-born patriotic Americans, the
Mr. Shauns O’Gorman and Mr. Adolph Dinklewurtt, who assured me
solemnly, that any movement of the President toward assisting the
English would result in revolution from one end of the country to the
other.
I felt therefore, that although the die had been cast, and Wilson had
committed the unforgivable and diabolical crime of plunging America
into war for chauvinistic aims--a responsibility from which the
unfrivolous mind reels in gasping horror--there was still an
opportunity for a man who could think quickly and act instantly,
providing always he had that genius for organization which so few of
my rivals possess.
It made it easier for me that America was intensely unpopular with the
English people. How they sneered at that expression of his “Too
haughty for war!” How they gibed at his notes and derided his
chauvinistic speeches! They refused to accept this impertinent man,
this ex-colonel of cowboy rough-riders, at his own valuation, or to
take his “big stick” speech in any but a frivolous spirit.
Knowing this uncompromising hatred of the American, it did not take me
very long to set my agents working. Within a week the country was
ringing with stories of the behaviour of American soldiers in
Lancashire. You, yourself, must have heard of the quarrel between the
English and American, which resulted in the American being thrown into
a river and drowned? It also probably reached your ears, that certain
American soldiers, refused liquor at a saloon, set fire to the house
and decamped, carrying with them the hotel keeper’s young daughter.
You may also have heard how all American soldiers speak despisingly of
England and boast that they have come in to finish the war. Some of
these stories were more widely spread than others, but all of them
fulfilled one excellent purpose--they brought annoyance to that
ridiculous person, Major Haynes--the so-called Intelligence Officer,
under whose nose the despised Heine worked so brazenly!
I do not pretend to know intimately the mentality of such men as Major
Haynes. I confess it is difficult for a plain-thinking German, blunt
and honest, to understand deceit for deceit sake (I justly absolve
myself of all acts of deception performed on behalf of the
Fatherland), or to lower his moral vision to the gutter wherein much
slimy kultur flows.
To me, it is abhorrent that men should be so frivolous that they
should engage themselves in despicable undertakings for wholly
despicable reasons.
That such a stigma applies to Major, or Mister, Haynes, I can prove by
his own words.
Some time after my last encounter with him, we met in a café in Fleet
Street. I had gone in to drink a cup of coffee and smoke a cigar when
the swing doors opened and I saw the somewhat drab and insignificant
figure of Haynes enter. He walked in furtively, almost apologetically.
How different, thought I, would have been the bearing of one of our
German officers! _He_ would have flung the door open with a crash and
have stood erect with flashing eyes and haughty mien surveying the
room ere he strode forward, his sword clanking with every movement of
his big earth-trembling German feet.
Major Haynes came in timorously and seeing me came toward me. My
throat went dry with hate, my hands shook with righteous anger and I
felt myself go pale at the thought of his perfidy.
But there was nothing to be afraid of as his first words assured me.
“Good evening, Heine,” he said, “may I sit down with you?”
Here again, what a contrast to a major of the Highest German Staff! He
would have ordered me to rise and go to the devil, and probably
honoured me with a good German cuff of the ear!
“Certainly, Major Haynes,” I said, “this is indeed a pleasure I did
not anticipate. May I order you some coffee?”
He nodded and I summoned the waiter.
“It is such a long time since we met,” I went on, “that I have almost
despaired of seeing you again. I began to fear that you had been sent
to the front.”
“I am afraid that must have given you some sleepless nights,” he said
foolishly.
Why should this conceited hound imagine that his departure for the
front would disturb my rest? Such arrogance!
“You may think I exaggerate,” I said earnestly, “but believe me, I
have been much impressed by your personality----”
“It is curious you should have said that,” said Major Haynes, “for I
was just on the point of remarking how much I had been impressed by
your personality. You see, Heine,” he went on, noting, I trust, my
modest surprise, “I have been watching you pretty closely (my blood
ran cold) and I realize how utterly trustworthy you are and how
different from other of the South American neutrals one meets. I
always had an admiration for the Latin races and it is such a joy to
meet a thorough-going South American with a German name, and
especially one so whole-heartedly in favour of the Allies as
yourself.”
“Major Haynes,” I said solemnly, “I have no interests but the
interests of the Allies. If I could shoulder a musket to-morrow----”
“You would look very silly,” said Major Haynes crudely, ignorant of
the fact that I was speaking in a figurative sense, because muskets
are no longer carried even by the German-trained native troops of West
Africa.
“Yes, I am sure you would fight, Heine, and I am certain it is only
the fact that you have a wife and family, that you are the sole
support of your ancient mother, and that you suffer from a weak heart,
which prevent your flinging yourself joyously into the battle.”
I inclined my head with a certain quiet dignity.
“You are pleased to jest, Major Haynes, for being an Englishman you
will have your joke, but I assure you in all seriousness that if ever
I could render a service to the Allies you have but to command me.”
Major Haynes looked at me for a long time. It would be true to say
that he stared very rudely before he spoke, but when he did speak his
words shocked me.
“That is exactly what I want you to do,” he said slowly.
I was all attention, curious, and at the same time apprehensive. If he
dared ask me to commit any action which would have injured my beloved
land I should have first smacked his face and then shot myself, if I
still lived.
“Command me,” I said coldly.
Major Haynes looked round, then he lowered his voice.
“The matter I am going to discuss,” he said, “is a delicate one. I
want you to upset one of the cleverest gangs of spies we have had in
this country, headed by a man who is without doubt the biggest genius
in the German Intelligence Department.”
If I blush with gratification, even though those words of praise were
from an enemy, can you blame me? If my pleasure overcame my fears, can
you wonder?
“There is a man in England,” Major Haynes went on, “who is directing
the real work of espionage. I am not referring to the hacks that
Germany employs to send her weather news and reports on the effect of
air-raids and movements of troops, but to the big gang, the men who