The adventures of Heine
sixth sense due to our common kultur and to our higher human
development.
Headquarters could tell us nothing, and I thought I detected a certain
discouragement in the wording of the brief message which came through
to me, and drew my own conclusions. There were certain peculiarities
about Mr. Brown which strengthened my resolve, and von Kahn, who had
paid two visits to Glen Macintyre, was even more emphatic.
“It is not my desire, as you well know, von Kahn,” said I, “to intrude
myself into illustrious circles, but there is every reason, in view of
the fate of poor Koos, why we should get in touch with every friend we
can muster.”
There is only one other incident of my stay in Dundee to record, and
that is a curious one. In my rôle as a Chilian importer, I carried a
fairly large sum of money, and to emphasize my association with the
South American Republic, and the international character of my
business, it was my custom in every new town I visited to call either
on a money-changer or the principal bank, and request an exchange of
British money for my foreign notes.
Accordingly I went into the Dundee branch of the Bank of Tayside and
producing a small bundle of notes asked for their British equivalent.
There were, I remember, twelve hundred _peses_ notes of Chili, a
ten-condor note of Ecuador, a hundred-franc note of France and a
hundred-franc note of the Bank of Switzerland.
The teller took the money, counted it and jotted the totals down until
he came to the Swiss note. He looked at the note and then looked at
me. Then he pushed the note back.
“We cannot change Swiss money,” he said.
I scented a mystery--possibly some hidden diplomatic trouble with our
good Swiss neighbour.
“Why?” I asked. “The Swiss exchange is above parity.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the clerk decisively, “but we are not changing
Swiss notes.”
He added some lame story about a large number of Swiss forgeries being
in circulation, but I sought a deeper reason. There had been a
frontier incident. Two or three English newspaper correspondents had
been arrested at Bale and there had been certain hints in the Paris
newspapers that a member of the Swiss General Staff had been conveying
information to our own staff. Here was a matter on which I could very
well consult “Mr. Brown,” if von Kahn’s inquiries satisfied me as to
his bonâ fides.
I started off next morning, accompanied by von Kahn, who had left his
family at an East Coast watering place, fully determined to over-ride
the objections which Berlin had shown and to establish communication
with “the hermit of the Glen,” as I had, with a little touch of true
German sentimentality, described him.
We went across Scotland, changing at Stirling, and in the evening I
came to the little town which was the nearest point on the railway to
Mr. Brown’s residence.
Stirling was interesting. It was full of soldiers in their picturesque
kilts.
“Ah, my fine fellows,” thought I pityingly, “how little you know of
the humiliation in store for you!”
In six months’ time these proud regiments who were marching to the
station with bands and banners would come creeping back, possibly
under a German guard! Little did they think, these officers who sat
chattering so frivolously on the station, that the unobtrusive man in
knickerbockers and rough stockings, watching them so innocently, was a
member of the dominant race and an officer of that great secret
service which has no parallel in the world.
But to resume my narrative. The next morning, at six o’clock, I rose
and knocked on the door of von Kahn’s room. He was up and dressed, and
after a hasty breakfast we were soon flying through the morning
sunlight to our destination.
Four miles out of the town we left the main road and pursued a narrow
cart-track which led gradually up to the hills. The road crosses a
saddle of one of these ridges, then drops steeply into a broad green
valley, through which runs two rivers.
We stopped at the top of the hill and von Kahn pointed out the
shooting-box which stood on the crest of the farther rise--a little
white building.
“Our Mr. Brown is at home,” he said and pointed to the flag, a yellow
flag with a red lion in the centre, the same being the secret standard
of Scotland, which is always flown in defiance of the English, whose
banner is the Union Jack.
We had discussed our plans thoroughly the night before because,
obviously, nothing could be left to the last, and it would have been
extremely dangerous to have talked in the presence of the chauffeur of
our hired car.
I have always made it a point to have no dealings with anybody outside
our own service, and I had arranged with von Kahn to undertake all
negotiations with this stranger. I said good-bye to my friend and
wished him good luck, and I watched him as he descended a steep
footpath and walked along the little road that led to the farther
hill.
I sent the chauffeur back to the main road, telling him to rejoin me
at noon, and profitably spent the time of waiting by exploring ground
and coding a message on the Swiss incident, for transmission to
Germany. Through my glasses I could watch from time to time the
progress of my comrade. I saw him climb the hill and stand before the
door of the cottage, and presently a man came out. They talked
together for about ten minutes and then they both disappeared into the
interior.
It was not until half-past ten that von Kahn made his appearance
again. I saw him shake hands with his host and wave his hand cheerily,
and three-quarters of an hour later he rejoined me on the crest of the
hill.
“Well?” I asked.
There was no need to ask von Kahn. His eyes were gleaming with
triumph.
“I can only say,” said he, “that our Mr. Brown is a remarkable man.”
“In what way?”
“He speaks German, he reads German, and he is German,” said von Kahn
emphatically, “he has a library of all the German classics. I
discovered that when he was out of the room. His flag-post obviously
supports a wireless aerial in the night-time, and although he is bland
and uncommunicative, I have no doubt whatever about his character. He
is one of the Higher Service.”
I nodded.
“Did he give you any hint----?” I began.
“Not a word,” said von Kahn emphatically; “he speaks splendid English,
is well acquainted with Australia, and pretends that he is a wealthy
pleasure-seeker with no other interest than fishing and shooting.”
“I hope you were tactful,” I said suddenly.
Von Kahn smiled.
“My dear Heine,” he said, “you need have no apprehension. I whistled a
certain little tune you know, and he finished it without hesitation.
He is not only in the Higher Service, but he stands very high in the
Higher Service.”
To make absolutely sure, we returned that night, and in company with
von Kahn I crossed the valley and climbed the hill.
I was half-way up the hill when I heard a familiar sound. If you can
imagine the rattling of dried peas in a tin canister shaken at
irregular intervals, you know the sound that wireless makes, and that
a wireless message was being tapped from the cottage on the hill there
was no doubt. More than this, the unknown Mr. Brown had taken
elaborate precautions to avoid detection. We climbed the hill a little
higher and suddenly my foot caught an obstruction. I flashed my
electric lamp down and saw that I had snapped a tiny wire.
Instantly the “clickety-click” of the wireless ceased. There was a
stealthy footstep at the top of the hill and I guessed that the aerial
was being taken down and that it would be stowed and hidden, together
with the instruments, long before any intruder could reach the
cottage.
“Go up now,” I whispered to Kahn; “go quickly and reveal yourself.”
I handed him the message I had coded and which I had brought with me.
“Give him your official number, show him your credentials, and ask the
illustrious gentleman to send this message through.”
Kahn took the message without a word and began the ascent. I watched
him, not moving from my position and presently I heard him challenged
sharply.
“It is I,” said von Kahn’s voice and, like the bold fellow that he
was, he spoke in German.
Some one replied in the same language. There was a brief exchange of
question and answer, and the three--the Swiss valet was evidently
present--disappeared into the cottage, and a few minutes later I saw
the red glow of a light from the windows.
I was sorely tempted to creep up and listen. After all, there was no
reason why von Kahn alone should have an opportunity of meeting this
well-born gentleman who might be in a position to speak a favourable
word in the highest quarters regarding myself. Then, again, I was not
sure that von Kahn would fulfil his mission to my satisfaction.
We Germans trust nobody. Probably that is one of the reasons of our
phenomenal success in dealing with people of less kultural eminence
than ourselves.
I determined to risk it, and keeping as much in the shadow as
possible, and feeling gingerly for other wire signals, I made my way
to the little platform upon which the cottage stood. We had specially
put on rubber-soled shoes for the night’s work, and I moved
noiselessly. The door was closed, but there was no difficulty in
discovering the room to which von Kahn had been taken. I crept nearer
to the window.
The two men were talking and laughing and, thank heaven! their speech
was German.
“But how do I know,” I heard Mr. Brown say, “that you are not a member
of the British Secret Service?”
“For the matter of that,” said von Kahn jovially, “how am I to know
that your Excellency is not also of that phantom body?”
And they both laughed together.
I heard the clink of a bottle on a glass and two hearty “Prosits,” and
then Mr. Brown spoke again.
“Now what can I do for you? I suppose you know that you ought not to
have come anywhere near me? How did you find me out? Was it the
ever-to-be-condemned tune I whistled?”
Von Kahn chuckled.
“I have known about you for a long time,” he said, “and as I am in
need of help I thought I would take the bull by the horns and seek
this interview.”
“Are you alone?” asked Mr. Brown.
“Quite alone,” said von Kahn promptly.
“I mean, were you alone in making the discovery?”
“Quite alone,” said von Kahn again.
“Then you are a remarkably shrewd fellow,” laughed Brown.
I can tell you it made my blood boil to hear this swine-hound taking
all the credit for this discovery. Little he knew that I was standing
outside the window listening to his immodest perfidy! Could he not
have said, “No, Excellency; the credit is due entirely to my respected
chief, whose name I am forbidden to mention. I am merely an instrument
in a superior hand?” Oh, no! In his vanity and deceit he must take
full kudos to himself. Would he go any farther? Almost as I framed
this question he spoke.
“I would ask your Excellency,” he said, “if you ever refer to this
meeting to the illustrious Chief of Naval Intelligence that you will
give him a testimonial.”
I could hardly restrain myself. For one second it was in my mind to
rap sharply at the window and denounce this underling. But,
fortunately, I restrained myself, though I was boiling with rage. We
Germans have a keen sense of justice and are inherently, almost
transparently, honest, and nothing so distresses us, so angers us, as
duplicity and ingratitude.
“But surely,” said Mr. Brown’s voice, “you did not come alone
to-night.”
I waited.
Just as I had been anxious for von Kahn to give me full credit, so was
I now as anxious to hear him deny my presence. I do not know what it
was that brought this revulsion of feeling, whether it was something
in the tone of Mr. Brown or some instinctive flash of knowledge that