The adventures of Heine
work in the dark, who go after the big coups.”
I nodded again, not I trust with any evidence of self-complacence, but
certainly in a spirit of pride, for I seemed to realize more of my
importance to the state when I heard my work recounted in the cold and
passionless language of a man whom I regarded at that moment as one of
the most intelligent Englishmen I had ever met.
“They are the people we are anxious to get,” said Major Haynes, “and,
I might add,” he said, “to shoot.”
I shivered, but hid my shiver in a laugh.
“Go on, dear Major Haynes,” I said, “you interest me.”
“I know the man I am after,” said Haynes. (I clutched at the
table-cloth.) “But I have not been able to catch him. He has a dozen
aliases, but his real name is Professor Zollernborn.”
“Zollernborn?” I said in astonishment.
I think it was at that moment that my quick German brain grasped the
situation. Professor Zollernborn was in Berlin. The clever Major
Haynes did not know that only that morning I had received instructions
from the Herr Professor. I saw the trap plainly, but from my impassive
face Major Haynes would never have known the rapid, lightning-like
thoughts which were flashing and crackling in my brain.
It was a trap for Heine! Beware and walk warily, thou faithful servant
of government! Match thy wits against this dull Englishman and put him
in the soup!
“Indeed,” I said.
“I have reason to believe,” this so-called Intelligence Officer went
on, “that a document of a very important character, which in some
mysterious way recently disappeared for twenty-four hours from the
papers of the Director-General of Recruiting, will be transmitted to
Berlin--or rather a copy of that document which is in such a code that
it cannot be forwarded by wireless.”
“In what way can I help you?” I asked, playing my part in the farce
with admirable _sang-froid_.
Major Haynes leant back and thrust his hands in an ungentlemanly
manner in his trousers’ pockets.
“I am going to put all my cards on the table, Heine, all except the
ace,” he said. “It cannot have escaped your notice that you have been
associated with people who have been very naturally the objects of
suspicion. Two or three gentlemen with whom you have had dealings--in
a perfectly innocent manner, I am sure--have paid the penalty for
espionage. I know what you are going to say,” he said, checking my
indignant protest with a shake of his head, “that you know nothing
about their nefarious work? Quite right, I can believe it. But for
some reason or other, Heine, they think, these enemies of the
government, that you are favourably disposed to help them.”
“Then they make a very great mistake,” I said firmly, “and if they ask
me to assist them I shall be extremely annoyed.”
He nodded.
“So I think. And yet they will ask you to assist them. The document in
question will pass from hand to hand. Sooner or later it will fall
into your possession and on the envelope will be the address of
another agent to whom you will deliver it. It will probably be thrust
into your pocket while you are walking along the street and somebody
will whisper in your ear ‘Frieburg,’ which means, ‘you have something
which must be passed on without delay.’”
As he proceeded the perspiration was pouring from me--indeed that
night when I came to change my undervest (it being Friday) I found it
quite damp. “Frieburg” was the password which we used in the sense
that Major Haynes had stated. What traitor betrayed his Fatherland and
placed this stupid officer in possession of our code will perhaps one
day be known and his name will be execrated from one end of Germany to
the other.
“But,” I said, calming myself, “how should I know what ‘Frieburg’
meant if you had not told me?”
“You would probably be notified by letter,” said the Major suavely,
“at any rate, you will know.”
“What am I to do?” I asked.
The scheme was now to me as plain as daylight. I was suspect, and this
was a trap for me. How was the trap to be sprung?
“The moment you find yourself in possession of that letter you will
bring it to me,” said Major Haynes. “Of course, I could have you
watched all the time but I could not be searching you every five
minutes, and I could never know, unless you assisted me, when you were
in possession of this interesting document. I could even have you
arrested now,” he shrugged his shoulders cold-bloodedly, “but that
would not help, because another agent would be found.”
“You want me to bring you the letter as soon as I receive it?” I said.
“That is all I ask,” said Major Haynes.
I offered him my hand and smiled.
“On the word of a sportsman and a gentleman,” I said, “I will bring it
to you.”
I walked down Fleet Street whistling a tune. Even in that moment of
danger Heine’s well-balanced mind was not seriously perturbed.
“I shall know no danger until I am blind,” said Schiller, and so might
I say, for with my eyes open to the plot which was being laid against
me half the danger vanished.
The cleverness of it, the cunning underhandedness of it! I was
suspect. They had no evidence against me and they wanted to secure
proof that I was a dirty-devil of a German. A police agent would hand
me the envelope. I should probably find the name of a comrade
inscribed. I would be watched all the time and if I attempted to
escape with the spurious document I should be arrested.
I have a much better plan, dear Mister, or Major, Haynes! Into thy
blood-guilty hands will I deliver this fake, or dud, document, and
shall stand with quiet, smiling contempt, watching thy confusion, when
thou discoverest that Heine, with bland innocence, has carried out thy
wishes!
Two days later I was called up on the telephone and a strange voice
speaking with a German accent said:
“Be prepared for ‘Frieburg’ to-day,” and immediately rang off.
I chuckled my amusement. So this was the day for the plot to
materialize. I went about my work in the usual manner. I lunched at a
fashionable restaurant in the Strand, returned to my office, finished
up my work at 5.30, and strolled, as was my wont, westward.
It was whilst making the purchase of a paper at the bookstall at
Piccadilly Tube Station, that the thing happened. Somebody pressed
close to me. I heard the word “Frieburg” whispered in my ear, and when
I had disengaged myself from the crowd and carelessly put my hand in
my pocket, I found a somewhat bulky envelope, which as I felt with my
fingers was heavily sealed.
I walked down Piccadilly and turned into the park, and presently found
my way to a quiet spot. Making sure that I was free from observation,
I pulled the envelope from my pocket, pretending to take out a
handkerchief which I had previously pocketed, and examined the letter.
It was enclosed in a big grey envelope and was addressed in English:
“Deliver without delay to our agent at Southampton.”
I put the envelope and handkerchief back. The solution of Major
Haynes’s plot became ridiculously simplified. It was not only a test
for me, but it was an attempt to discover who was the agent of the
government at Southampton. Could you not imagine me driving off to
Waterloo followed by Secret Service men, and shadowed until I met and
betrayed the brave fellow who overlooked the interests of Deutschland
in Southampton?
Five minutes later I was out of the park, hailing a taxicab.
“Drive me to the War Office,” I said in a loud voice, for the benefit
of a skulking loafer who was near by, and who was probably a detective
in disguise.
Immediately on my arrival, I sent up my card and was ushered in to
Major Haynes’s office. He jumped up as I entered.
“Have you got it?” he said eagerly.
For answer I handed him the grey envelope, and he seized it.
“Sit down, Heine. Excuse my agitation,” he said, “but I had a feeling
that they would try you.”
I looked at him in wonder for, for the first time in his life, the
major was agitated. He pressed a bell and a soldier came in.
“Will you ask General Brackenhurst if he can come,” he said.
If Major Haynes’s excitement was astonishing, what shall I say of a
staid and veteran staff-general, who tore the wrappings from the
envelope, eagerly scanned the unfolded pages and gave a loud and
vulgar cry of joy.
“It is the original, Haynes!” he said. “Thank God we’ve got it!”
“They haven’t taken a copy, you think?”
“It was the copy they sent back,” said the general, wiping his
forehead, “it is impossible to make a copy of this. That is how we
detected the theft. This is the original. In this code a pin-point’s
difference in the position of the letters would have made all the
difference. That is why they are trying to send it to Germany, because
they couldn’t translate it here.”
He turned and looked at me.
“Is this the gentleman who assisted us?” he asked, and shook me warmly
by the hand. “We owe you a great debt of gratitude, sir,” he said. “As
Major Haynes has told you, this document, if it fell into the hands of
the enemy, would have been of inestimable value to the Germans.”
If it was acting it was good acting. My German instinct told me that
it was not acting at all. I knew by the trembling of my knees that I
had misjudged the position, and I left the War Office like a man in a
dream.
Only one thing remained to be done. I left that evening for
Southampton, and was fortunate enough to see our agent in the
vestibule of a theatre.
I whispered “Frieburg” in his ear, and put my hand in his pocket, but
I did not leave any letter.
Let him explain it if he can!
CHAPTER XI.
THE MURDERERS
In the latter days of March, 1915, I had received a communication
from Headquarters which was contained in a box of Dutch cigars
forwarded to me from Rotterdam. It was written to me on the usual grey
paper and was neatly sandwiched between the two thin pieces of wood
which formed the bottom of the box. You would never think of splitting
the bottom of a cigar-box into two shavings in order to discover a
message from the Political Intelligence Department, would you? Such
was German ingenuity.
The communication may be given in full:
Kriegsministerium,
Berlin.
_March_ 12, 1915.
By order of Section 10, Politik, Great General Staff.
There go to England, on March 16, two men
(1) Carl Jan Kattz
(2) Rudolph Kister
convicts from the Imperial Prison at Dresden under sentence for (1)
Murder and robbery, (2) Dangerous wounding and burglary. These two men
speak English and are acquainted with English life and conditions.
They are released on condition that they place themselves at the
disposal of the Chief of the Intelligence Bureau in London. These men
may be depended upon to perform the most desperate acts. They will be
placed on the pay-list of the C. of I., London, at 20 marks each per
diem and 10 marks each per diem for normal expenses. The C. of I.,
London, will not hesitate to shoot either man in the event of his
failure to carry out orders.
Here is an instance of the common spirit of sacrifice which runs
through our dear Deutschland! All for the Fatherland! Noble born, well
born, _burglich_, peasant--even the convict in his sad and gloomy cell
pleaded to serve the Empress of Nations, the new Byzantium of Kultur!
Yea, from the very dungeon rose the cry of the patriot; into the deeps
of misery had the clarion call reached, and roused from the slimes of
decadence the pure flame-soul of Germanism!
I confess that my first care was to keep this precious pair of rascals
as far away from me as possible. I could not have such hang-dog
cut-throats haunting my office, and I sent Wilhelm Peters to meet them