The adventures of Heine
The foolish fellow smiled feebly.
“Alas, Herr Heine, I did not bring it with me, and I cannot recall the
word!”
“Stupid owl!” I thundered, “is it thus you neglect your work? Is the
Fatherland and its welfare of such small importance that you commit
such an act of carelessness?”
He was very apologetic and agitated, and I forgave him. You
understand, of course, that he was not a man of great intelligence. He
was a German who had married an Englishwoman and the English had not
interned him for some mad reason--you know what the English are!
I reached Paddington just before midnight, and took a cab to an
apartment in Bayswater, where a friend of mine had once stayed, but
where I was unknown to the landlord. I had previously telegraphed to
him from Bath to say that I was coming, and I found him sitting up for
me, a tall, gaunt-looking man, with long black hair and a straggling
black beard. He showed me up to my room and left me for the night.
My apartments were on the first floor, and consisted of a sitting and
bedroom, and I was up betimes in the morning, busy with the writing
material I had bought at Bath, reorganizing the service from which I
had been so rudely torn.
I dare not, naturally, go to my old offices, and it was not safe to
trust the post to communicate with my agents in London. But Heine is
no ordinary man, and there are many more ways of choking a cat than by
feeding it with butter-milk, as the old saying goes.
It was whilst I was at work that there occurred the incident which was
to so considerably affect my plans, and I would say to those
supercilious critics who are so ready to condemn from the critical
arm-chair the active workings of the executive officer (so easy it is,
my dear critics, to sneer and carp at hard-working and conscientious
men performing the holiest services for the Fatherland!) that in
pursuit of a design even as infallible a man as Heine may fall into an
error or be guilty of a false side-step.
It is the intention, the dominant underlying spirit of patriotism
which counts. I was turning over my papers when I came upon an
advertisement booklet which had been packed in a small parcel of
biscuits and chocolate, which I had purchased at a grocer’s in Bath. I
suppose when I was eating my frugal meal in the train I had
mechanically put the booklet into my pocket and had piled it on the
table with the rest of my papers--it is my methodical custom to clear
my pockets every morning and examine the contents, in which ways I
have very often saved most important memoranda from destruction.
It was one of those gaudy advertisements of crude colours, such as the
English printers produce, advertising somebody’s whisky. But what
attracted my justifiable wrath was the design. It was a map of the
world, decorated as is the arrogant British custom, with patches of
red to represent her downtrodden colonies, whilst in the centre of the
map was a picture of a bottle. Over the design were the words, “The
whisky that has made the British Empire famous.”
Such frivolity! Such lowness! I looked with proud disdain upon this
shameless picture.
“British Empire!” I cried, and to make the well-deserved castigation
more apposite, I spoke in English. “The world’s curse! Be sure we
shall destroy thee, limb by limb, thou devastating and conscienceless
robber of the world!” and saying this I slashed the picture with my
pen.
As I did so a voice said behind me:
“Well done, you never spoke a truer word.”
I turned with a start, cursing my folly that I had spoken my thoughts
aloud. The tall, gaunt man was standing behind me. He had entered
noiselessly and had closed the door.
“Give me your hand, brother,” he said, and at that moment there came
to me all that my friend from Bath had told me the night previous. I
gripped his hand, and as I did so, I felt his thumb touch one of my
knuckles in a peculiar way. It was the grip, and instantly with true
German agility of mind, I responded.
“You are one of us?” he said eagerly.
I hesitated a second. If I admitted that I was a member I should
betray myself.
“No, I am not yet,” I said boldly, “but I hope to be one of you.”
“You shall, you shall,” he said, “the lodge meets to-morrow night.”
He picked up the advertisement with a sneering smile, and tore it in
two.
“You think I am a fanatic,” he said, “but I have seen so much of the
ruin and desolation----”
“Say no more,” I said, “I understand.”
I would have spoken about Ireland then and there, but I was not quite
sure of my ground. New Irish societies rise every week, and each has a
different and generally more violent programme than the last. It would
not do for me to show any lukewarmness.
“Believe me,” I said earnestly, “nothing will give me greater pleasure
than to be enrolled in your noble society which is to free the world
from the oppressor of centuries.”
He shook my hand, and I could see the emotion which my words had
evoked glistening in his eyes.
“You realize,” he said, “that you must pledge yourself----”
“Believe me,” I responded instantly, “I will take the oath without a
tremor. Your great enemy shall be my great enemy.”
We shook hands again and parted. When he had gone, I congratulated
myself. What good fortune had brought me here? Yet stay, was it not
rather my own acumen? Had I not specially chosen this boarding-house a
year ago for one of my agents? I forget what consideration had induced
me, but there the fact remained, it had been my choice.
I spent the rest of the morning writing. My first act, of course, was
to send a letter to Major Haynes. I must be on the safe side, and if I
were ever detected, in court it would count in my favour that I had
technically surrendered myself to him the moment I had reappeared in
England. My letter, a copy of which I have, may be given since it is,
I think I may say in all modesty, a fine example of what I might term
an alibi letter.
It began thus:
“Sir Haynes (though I knew he was not noble, I thought it might
tickle the fellow’s vanity to address him in terms of lordliness).
Here am I like a naughty penny, turning up again under your nose! But
quite unwillingly! You have doubtless learnt that the gallant
ocean-liner upon which you placed me is no more! She was sunk by a
German U-boat! Though I swam about looking for survivors, desiring to
rescue as many poor Englishmen as possible from the wicked and
mistaken policy of dirty old von Turnips” (may heaven forgive me for
this jest at the expense of that great patriot), I was not successful.
I swam about in the water for ten hours and was picked up by a passing
steamer! We arrived in London this morning and I am now in a terrible
dilemma. I dare not give you my address, for I am in fear of arrest!
Guarantee to me by your power-compelling word that I shall not be
punished. If you will insert an advertisement in the _Daily
Megaphone_, like this:
‘From H. to H. All well.
‘See me at my office’
I will immediately report myself. In the meantime, dear Sir Haynes,
thanking you for your past favours, and hoping by a constant attention
to your wishes to merit the continuance of your patronage.
“I am,
“Yours faithfully,
“Heine.”
I calculated that it would take two days for this to reach him,
another day before the advertisement appeared, and I then had a fourth
day before I replied in person--and in four days much service could be
rendered to the Fatherland.
I was determined to get as much out of this secret society as I
possibly could. All that afternoon I formulated my plans. Through a
call office I got into touch with Kriessler, who was one of our
subsidiary agents in London, and had rendered me and the Fatherland
great services.
We met by appointment that night at the Marble Arch, and almost the
first question he asked me was whether I had got into touch with the
Sons of Irish Freedom? When I told him I had, he was astonished.
“You don’t lose much time, Herr Heine,” he said admiringly.
“That is very true, Kriessler,” I said gravely, “and I appreciate your
compliment.”
Kriessler was in a position to pass through any information collected
in England. I, of course, had been the supreme medium, but I dare not
exercise any of the old machinery of transmission. It was very
dangerous. It might be, and probably was, very dangerous for
Kriessler, but for the sacred cause of Germany we must take risks, so
I let Kriessler take them.
I arranged for him to send to my house on the following morning for a
brief report which I told him must be sent to Headquarters with the
least delay.
“You see, my dear Kriessler,” I said, at parting, “I know all there is
to be known about this secret society. But I am anxious to check my
knowledge. You will please tell me all you have heard, and if I do not
interrupt you to point out your mistakes, you will understand that it
is not desirable that the subordinate officials should know as much as
their superiors.”
“I quite understand that, Herr Heine,” said Kriessler, “but I do not
pretend to know a great deal about the Sons of Irish Freedom. One
knows that they have meetings and passwords. I also know that the
police are actively searching for their lodges, but so far without
success. I am told they are very desperate and dangerous men, and I
believe that there is only one lot in London. They hate England----”
“That I know,” I smiled.
I went home and wrote a very full report on the constitution and
working of the Sons of Irish Freedom. Blame me not, dear friend, for
my innocent deceit, for I had never heard of the Sons of Irish Freedom
till I arrived at Bath, nor think harshly of me that I wrote with
elaborate detail to Potsdam upon their ritual and objectives.
That same night I sent off my letter to Major Haynes, and finished my
report on the secret society, which was given to the messenger whom
Kriessler sent soon after breakfast. I took my meals alone in my
sitting-room and my strange, gaunt friend, whose name was Clarkson,
only saw me once and did no more than to smile mysteriously and say:
“At eight o’clock to-night.”
I nodded gravely. I did not expect to hear any more about the matter,
being well aware that my host would not care to discuss so weighty a
secret, and I was surprised in the afternoon to receive a visit from
Mr. Clarkson, who was accompanied by a short, stout man, who was also
very pale and wore powerful spectacles.
“This, sir,” said he, “is my friend, Mr. Moore, who will act as your
sponsor to-night.” He turned to Mr. Moore. “This gentleman,” said he,
“will become one of us.”
Mr. Moore bowed.
“You realize, of course,” he said, a little pompously, I thought,
“that you must absolutely surrender your allegiance to the World’s
Terror, and that from this night forward you may count upon the moral
support of a band of brothers, and that you will give yourself heart
and soul to our sublime task.”
“Have no fear,” I said, seizing his hand too, and wringing it, “until
the tyrant is crushed I will be a loyal comrade.”
“Good,” said Mr. Moore, and after a few commonplaces about the
weather, they departed.
At seven o’clock that night I dressed myself with care, soberly and
unostentatiously. What cared I for the oaths or for these fanatical
conspirators, with their absurd secrecy, their passwords, their grips
and the like!
Mr. Clarkson knocked at my door at a quarter to eight and we sallied
forth together. I suggested taking a taxi-cab, but he would not hear
of it, and we went by bus to Camden Town.
It was just as we were turning into Baynam Street that we noticed a