The adventures of Heine
which he had extinguished, and placed the envelope under its rays.
“Look at this,” he said.
I looked. In a firm hand was written on the top of the envelope, with
a neat red line ruled beneath:
“(1) Statement signed by William II. Emperor of Germany, on July 5th,
1914, expressing his intention of making war.
“(2) Letter from Emperor William II. of Germany to Emperor Francis
Joseph to the same effect.
“(Original documents).”
I did not speak. I was incapable of speech. Within this envelope lay
documents in the very writing of the All-Highest Supreme War Lord!
Documents of greatest national interest! Historical documents which in
the enemy’s hands might damage the beloved Fatherland and our Noble
and Glorious Kaiser!
I was clear-headed and cool. Those documents should be restored to
their Imperial owner. What reward would await the gallant and
enterprising gent. who delivered these papers into the hands of our
Supreme and Noble Master! I grew dizzy with the thought of the
emoluments and the honours which might be showered upon me. No office
was too high for the man who could render that magnificent service to
the State!
My hand trembled as I touched the secret dossier.
“I must get rid of this at once,” said Lord Seabury. “It is too risky
to keep it here--put it back in the safe, Smith.”
Dare I do it? Half-a-dozen steps separated me from the desk to the
steel door in the wall. I half-glanced at his lordship. He was looking
at a document which he had half-finished before dinner. Quick as
lightning I slipped the envelope under my coat and under my arm,
slammed to the door of the safe, locked it and handed the keys back.
He thanked me and put them in his pocket.
“You may go now, Smith,” he said.
The perspiration was trickling down my forehead and I walked
unsteadily down the passage to my room. I closed and locked the door
behind me, took the envelope from my pocket and sat down on the bed.
There was a small writing-table in my room which had been placed there
at my request, and a supply of stationery. To enclose this large
envelope in one larger was the work of a second. I wrote a brief note
to Kriessler telling him that it was a matter of life and death that
the enclosed should be sent forward by the safest channels and should
be placed in the hands of the All Highest himself.
I then began the most important letter I have ever written in my life:
“All Highest Majesty.
“Your humble and obedient servant has the honour to transmit to Your
All Highest Majesty a document which I have extracted from the safe of
the English Cabinet Minister, Lord Seabury, at great risk and with
much labour, though I count no labour too great if I am to serve Your
All Highest Majesty. My name, as Your All Highest Majesty’s Minister
of Intelligence will tell Your All Highest Majesty, is Heine.”
I added a number of other interesting details about myself, where I
could be found, what was my salary, and this paragraph, which I regard
as one of my finest efforts:
“Though no decoration blazes upon my humble coat, and no patent of
nobility has been granted me, though I am a poor man with no more than
my official pay to sustain me, I am nevertheless proud and happy to be
of such service to Your All Highest Majesty as will merit Your All
Highest Majesty’s approval. I seek no rewards, no decorations, no
monetary grants--I do this for the Fatherland, and for Your All
Highest Majesty, who is the epitome of Germany’s greatness.”
I placed this and the dossier inside a large envelope, and in the
middle of the night I tip-toed back to the study in my stockinged feet
and found a larger covering in which to enclose the letter which I had
addressed to the Emperor. On the outer envelope I wrote Kriessler’s
English name and address, and soon after daylight I let myself out of
the house and walked in the direction of the village of Hebleigh which
was distant about a mile from Stoney Cottage.
I dropped the big envelope into the village post-box, retraced my
steps and reached my room without my absence being detected. I had to
risk his lordship discovering the disappearance of the letter, but
fortunately throughout the next day he showed no intention of going to
the safe, and beyond a reference to Bilbury, he scarcely spoke a word.
All day long we were inditing letters to every part of the world,
which his lordship sealed with his own hands, and which he packed away
in a leather satchel. How he posted them or whether he sent them to
London, I did not know, but I presumed that a Foreign Office messenger
attended discreetly and performed this duty.
Half-past eight that night, immediately after dinner, his lordship
went to his study and suggested, when I attempted to follow him, that
I should have a little fresh air.
“You need it, my friend,” he said, “you have been playing a part
to-day in the government of England, in the direction of affairs of
the world. Surely that merits a little recreation.” He smiled almost
paternally.
I walked through the little panelled hall, opened the front door, and
stepped out. A man was standing by the gate. It was Bilbury’s man,
Tarakanova. To whom he was talking I did not know, but somebody stood
in the shadow and I heard his quiet laughter.
I shrugged my shoulders. I had nothing to fear from Bilbury, indeed I
was curious to learn what the agent of this mysterious person had to
say to me. So I walked boldly up the garden-path, humming a little
tune, and Tarakanova turned to meet me. He was, as I say, a thickset
man, clean-shaven, so far as I could see in the dusk, and not the sort
of man you might imagine would engage in espionage work.
“Good evening,” he said, as I came up.
“Good evening, sir,” I replied politely, “it is fine weather for this
time of the year.”
“You’re a trite devil,” said a voice in the half-darkness.
I turned to face the man who had spoken, and with whom Tarakanova had
been in conversation. I did not faint. I pride myself that I retain my
self-possession with remarkable sang-froid.
“Good evening, Major Haynes,” I said, not to be outdone in
cool-collectedness.
“Having a nice time, Heine?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed, Major Haynes,” I replied; “you got my letter?”
“I am sorry I did not reply, but I have been rather busy, and learning
you were down here, I thought I would look you up. How is his
lordship?”
“Very well indeed,” I replied with great politeness.
Tarakanova laughed.
“I presume you know,” I said, as the thought struck me, “that this
gentleman is an employee of Bilbury.”
“I know that very well,” said Major Haynes, “though he is not exactly
employed by Bilbury, but by the gentlemen who are administering Mr.
Bilbury’s estate. You see, Heine,” Major Haynes went on in his
fearfully monotonous voice--how that man irritates me!--“the
plutocratic Mr. Bilbury, who is a very rich gentleman, went off his
head about four years ago.”
“Went mad?” I said.
“Went mad,” said Major Haynes, nodding, “not dangerously so, but just
enough to be a nuisance. His pet illusion is that he is Lord Seabury.”
“Oh, yes,” I said faintly.
“He spends all his time,” Major Haynes went on, “writing despatches
for important personages, and generally in running the war. Mr.
Jacobson here, is, if I may put it crudely, his keeper. I suppose he
has told you all his secrets?”
“Oh, yes,” I said carelessly.
“I wonder if he showed you that dossier of his about the Kaiser. I
hope you haven’t by any chance pinched it and sent it to His Imperial
Majesty,” said Major Haynes with coarse brutality, “because it happens
that there is nothing more interesting in it than a pamphlet on the
remarkable quality of Bilbury’s Pills.”
“Major Haynes,” I said in a husky voice, “I surrender.”
“Not at all,” said Major Haynes, “look me up any time you are in
London, and I will see what I can do for you. Now,” said this long,
cool devil, with true British wit, “you had better run back to his
lordship. He will be wanting you for a new offensive, or maybe to send
an ultimatum to Sweden.”
I made no reply. With dignity I returned to the house, walked up to my
room, and packed my bag.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SYREN
I have mentioned in an earlier chapter an organization known as the
Sons of Irish Freedom. I do not pretend that this is the name of the
society which at one time threatened to create the most serious
difficulties for the British Government, but which was dissolved owing
to the base and ungentlemanly treachery of Major Haynes, an
Intelligence Officer, who got himself elected a member of the
principal lodge, and by cunning artfulness induced the members to give
a grand dinner to celebrate the first anniversary of its foundation.
The members allowed this spurious and treacherous brother to order a
dinner which was given at one of the best hotels in London. Everything
was of the best, winter strawberries, most rare and wonderful wines,
beautiful flowers, and a magnificent entertainment to follow. The
dinner, of course, was not announced as one by the Sons of Irish
Freedom, but had a much more innocent excuse. When the bill was
presented for payment, the cunning Major Haynes, having identified
certain prominent Irish personages who were present with the
responsibility for the festival, it was found that it absorbed all the
funds of the lodge and about £200 in addition.[7]
The unfortunate and down-trodden Irish are cursed with that deluded
sense of humour which no German can ever understand. Else how could
you imagine that so frivolous a reason can bring about the disillusion
of a great political organization. We Germans would have repudiated
the bill and, if necessary, have sent secret letters to the hotel
proprietor telling him that his premises would be blown up if he did
not mend his manners.
I do not profess to understand either the mentality of the Irish or
that of such men as Major Haynes. I have tried many times in the
silent watches of the night to reduce this officer (and I wish I could
add gentleman) to an understandable formula. I have never believed
that there was a secret service in England. I never shall believe that
anything like the magnificent and forethoughtful department which
German genius has organized could come into being in a dull-thinking
country like Britain. The man himself was the negation of all good
German qualities. He had not the seriousness which distinguishes men
of my own department. He lacked that haughty obedience-compelling
manner which we look for and expect in the true Prussian officer. His
voice was a gentle drawl. He was always laughing with his eyes, full
of jokes which a gentleman, that is to say a Prussian gentleman, would
consider it beneath his dignity to utter.
I have seen him speak to quite common people as though they were his
equals, and for this reason I long suspected that he was a Socialist,
and that is a view which I still hold, and, believe me, Heine makes
very few mistakes.
But it would be unknightly in me if I did not pay this tribute to the
man; whether he secured his information by luck or by judgment, he
knew a disgusting sight too much.
I had returned to England, as you know, after being deported by Major
Haynes, but I had had the good sense and vision to write to him
announcing I was in England. By the sheerest accident he discovered me
and requested that I should call at his office or, as he put it, “look
me up.”
Be assured, Major Haynes, I shall not only look you up, but look you
down! You may not see the carefully-veiled insolence in Heine’s eye or
the sneer behind his teeth. You will not know the bitter and insulting
thoughts which crowd one on top of the other in Heine’s teeming brain.