The adventures of Heine
“Honesty and straight dealing with your fellow creatures is the surest
road to happiness and success,” I said. “How beautiful is the life of
the virtuous man who can look the whole world in the face, as the poet
says, and owe not any man!”
He thanked me very humbly and went his way. Neither Kister nor Kattz
put in an appearance, and I began to worry whether they had got into
some trouble, or whether, in some spirit of friendly rivalry, they had
gone outside my instructions and in good-hearted competition had been
practising their science upon some unfortunate pig-headed Englishman
or Englishmen.
When they had not turned up by the afternoon I am afraid I became very
angry. Was I to be kept waiting in my flat all day by two despicable
jail-birds? However, a diversion arrived in the shape of my assistant,
Mr. Wilhelm Peters, that amiable young man arriving after lunch with
my letters.
“I am sorry I am so late, Herr Heine,” he said, “but I had no idea
that you were not at the office.”
“Of course, of course,” I said genially, “you have been out of London.
Now tell me your news.”
He chatted away about various matters. He gave me a memorandum of the
amount of T.N.T. which was being made at ----, the big new English
factory, and told me of the trouble that had arisen because Woolwich
had rejected so many flawed shell-cases which were made in a certain
factory in the North of England. He also placed in my hand the
memorandum, compiled by our agent in Liverpool, of the cotton
shipments, and furnished me with particulars of certain petroleum
boats which were due to arrive in the Mersey.
“I saw Herr von Friedlander at Birmingham,” he said. “He has not been
able to find an agent in the small-arm factory, but he hopes----”
“He hopes!” I said irritably, “that infernal man may live on hopes,
but I can’t! I shall pack him straight back to America. Does he
imagine because he is well born that I must endure these harrowing
disappointments? I cannot find excuses for him any longer. You have
done very well, my dear Wilhelm Peters, and I shall report in terms of
favour.”
“I thank you for your gracious words, Herr Heine,” he said, going red
under my approbation. “I also took the liberty of calling at
Wednesbury to see how our convicts were progressing.”
I smiled.
“And how were they?” I asked innocently.
“They are behaving themselves,” said Wilhelm Peters, “and seem to like
the life. The red-headed one, Kattz, is quite amusing.”
“Red-headed one?” I said.
“Yes, the little one who has red hair. Don’t you remember I described
them after I had met them on the steamer, Herr Heine?”
“And what is the other man like--Kister?” I asked.
“He is a man with a long black beard and rather consumptive looking,”
said Wilhelm.
“Are you sure?” my hair almost stood on end.
“Quite sure. The only thing that worried them was a visit which was
paid them by two secret service officers last week--at least I
gathered they were officers of the English secret service by the
questions they asked.”
“Do you know what they looked like, the secret service officers?” I
said, endeavouring to control my voice.
Wilhelm Peters smiled like a fool.
“Don’t grin, stupid owl,” I said angrily.
“Pardon, Herr Heine,” said Wilhelm Peters, “but I was smiling because
I asked them that very question. One was a thin-faced man with lines
in his cheeks and the other was rather a stoutish man with a rosy face
and a little beard.”
“Secret service officers!” I breathed.
“Do you know them?” asked Wilhelm Peters.
“I have met them,” I said, and somehow at that moment I knew my stay
in England was nearly up.
CHAPTER XII.
THE PASSING OF HEINE
The British people, in their boastful, arrogant, and frivolous way,
have a saying that the British do not know when they are beaten. This
betrays their folly, their short-sightedness, and their inability to
grasp the obvious. We Germans, on the contrary, recognize facts. We
have no illusions, knowing that by reason of our superior kultur, our
educational system, our national discipline, our readiness for
sacrifice, we are necessarily the highest expression of man’s
development. We also are prepared to recognize our own shortcomings,
such as they are. From the largeness of our eyrie-view, comprehending
as it does the vast surface of known facts, we can distinguish the
failings of those less favoured nations which enjoy, because of their
lower attainments, a more circumscribed view. Because of this
circumscription we have the folly embodied in the British maxim which
I have quoted.
I had enjoyed a great innings. I had done useful work. I had served
the Fatherland with a loyalty and unselfishness which I trust will be
held as a shining example to the unborn generations of secret service
officers who will follow in my steps.
To continue in England would be folly. There were many reasons why I
should determine my residence. It was growing more and more difficult
to get into communication with the Fatherland. Trading steamers,
ostensibly engaged in peaceable commerce, but in reality maintained to
keep the communications open between England and Germany, were
constantly disappearing in the most ominous fashion. The wireless
stations which we had established with so much thought were being
eliminated and, worst of all, since the conviction was forced upon me
against my will, I had to confess to myself that there really existed
in Britain a secret service of a peculiarly deceitful kind.
I had been constantly coming into contact with its members, constantly
foiled by its machinations. Its officers were to be found in all ranks
and departments of public life; they included Members of Parliament,
and little shopkeepers, newspaper reporters and doctors, railway
officials of all grades, ships’ stewards and parsons. It was
unbelievable, and it took me nearly two years to be convinced.
And now I had the feeling that a well-prepared net had been stretched
and was gradually encircling me. I had a sense that I was being played
with as a mouse is pawed by a cat. I notified Headquarters that I was
retiring, gracefully, and one night I sat down and worked out the
details of my escape.
I had four passports, and my first move was to obtain the endorsement
of all these. That in itself was a difficult business, but the
original owners of the passports were well chosen. It was an American,
a Swede, a Chilian, and a Canadian, and had you seen the four
photographs attached to those four documents, you would have observed
that there was not a great dissimilarity in appearance between any of
the four.
I was due to leave England on May 15th, 1916. I actually left on May
14th. On the morning of that day, I took one of those bold steps which
the most daring spirits invariably find profitable.
I called at the War Office and asked to see Major Haynes, of the
Intelligence Department. I sent in my name, that is to say, my Chilian
name, and in a very short time I was ushered into a very large, bare
office, where the gallant major sat at a table which was covered with
documents of all kinds.
He rose and greeted me heartily.
“How are you, Heine,” he said, pulling a chair up for me to sit upon,
“and how are our friends Kattz and Kister?”
“Kattz and Kister?” I repeated, my face a blank.
“The scientific murderers,” said the major with a cheerful laugh, “the
bow-string expert and the stiletto specialist.”
In such a manner did this frivolous man speak. I know you will not
believe it is possible, and many to whom I have retailed this
conversation have doubted my word. I do not blame them. Flippancy and
sports-language would never pass the lips of a German officer in these
iron times.
“I do not understand you, dear major,” I said.
“I didn’t think you would,” said he, and pulling out a drawer removed
a box.
“Have a poisoned cigar,” he said, “one of our Kattz-Kister Perfectos.”
He simply roared with laughter. Such vulgarity!
“I certainly remember the two names now you mention them. They called
upon me with a hoity-toity plan which I was much too busy to discuss
with them. As a matter of fact, they had not been there long,” said I
with a cunning smile, “before I realized that they were members of the
great (I emphasized the word “great” with a little sneer) English
secret service, and I had an amusing evening pulling their several
legs.”
Major Haynes winked (he was not well born).
“What I like about you, Heine,” he said (again that objectionable
word, which I passed in silence), “is that you have a sense of humour.
So few of your fellow countrymen possess that sense.”
I laughed politely because I felt that it was what he expected me to
do.
“Why have you come now?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Mister Haynes,” I began.
“Major,” said he, “but go on.”
“Major Haynes,” I said, “it seems to me that my most innocent actions
are misconstrued, and as I am going to-morrow to Brighton to spend a
week-end, I thought it advisable to notify you, so that you may know
where you can find me.”
“So you are going to Brighton, are you?” he said after a pause. “What
an eccentric fellow you are!”
“Eccentric, Major Haynes!” I repeated.
“To go to Brighton, an hour’s journey from London to an ordinary man,
by such a roundabout route.”
“Which way do you think I am going!” I smiled.
“I am not sure,” he said, “but, judging from the fact that most of
your boxes went up yesterday to Liverpool under the name of ‘Heigl,’ I
gathered that you were making a round trip of it. Still,” he said,
rising and offering his hand, “I will wish you _bon voyage_. You have
entertained me vastly. Keep clear of the mine-fields and ’ware
submarines. They are dangerous little devils.”
Oh! Had he seen my mind? Had he known the embittered thoughts that
flocked through my brain like a flight of wild geese? Could he have
detected the harsh and cynical expressions which trembled on my
tongue, I do not think this fatheaded Englishman would have seen me to
the door with such awkward grace.
I saw his idea. For his own purpose he desired to keep me in England
until the moment came to strike, but my friend, thought I, as I walked
along Whitehall, in Heine there are four people and Liverpool is not
the only gate to the “dark sea flood.”
Another man might have taken a long time to consider his plans. Mine
were already made. He expected me to go back to my office, or to my
flat perhaps, under the supervision of his detectives. I walked to
Westminster Bridge Underground station, took a train to Charing Cross,
descended the moving escalator to the Tube, and rode as far as Oxford
Circus, where I changed for a city train which carried me to the Bank.
Here I changed again and rode to Waterloo, came up to the surface in
an elevator and caught a train on the elevated electric to Clapham
Junction.
From Clapham Junction I journeyed to Willesden, from Willesden by a
slow train to Rugby. Here I changed, leaving the North-Western station
and joining the Central line, found myself at half-past ten at night
at Sheffield.
I walked across to the station hotel, taking a packed trunk which was
waiting for me at the cloak-room, registered myself, filling up the
necessary form, and was conducted to Room 43.
I was no sooner in the room and was unbuckling the straps of my trunk,
when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was the chambermaid, I
said “Come in,” and the door opened--and admitted Major Haynes in
civilian dress.
“What time would you like your breakfast in the morning, Heine?” he
asked with such _savoir-faire_, that you might have thought he had
accompanied me and had only parted from me a few minutes before he
came into the room.
Not to be outdone in coolness, I replied:
“At nine o’clock.”