Spy-catching was once one of my duties, and is perhaps the best form
of education towards successful spying. I had been lucky enough to
nail three and was complimented by one of the senior officers on the
Commander-in-Chief's staff. We were riding home together from a big
review at the time that he was talking about it, and he remarked, "How
do you set about catching a spy?" I told him of our methods and added
that also luck very often came in and helped one.
Just in front of us, in the crowd of vehicles returning from
the review-ground, was an open hired Victoria in which sat a
foreign-looking gentleman. I remarked that as an instance this was the
sort of man I should keep an eye upon, and I should quietly follow him
till I found where he lodged and then put a detective on to report his
moves.
From our position on horseback close behind him we were able to see
that our foreigner was reading a guide book and was studying a map of
the fortifications through which we were passing. Suddenly he called
to the driver to stop for a moment while he lit a match for his
cigarette. The driver pulled up, and so did we. The stranger glanced
up to see that the man was not looking round, and then quickly slipped
a camera from under the rug which was lying on the seat in front of
him, and taking aim at the entrance shaft of a new ammunition store
which had just been made for our Navy, he took a snapshot.
Then hurriedly covering up the camera again he proceeded to strike
matches and to light his cigarette. Then he gave the word to drive on
again.
We followed close behind till we came to where a policeman was
regulating the traffic. I rode ahead and gave him his instructions
so that the carriage was stopped, and the man was asked to show his
permit to take photographs. He had none. The camera was taken into
custody and the name and address of the owner taken "with a view to
further proceedings."
Unfortunately at that time--it was many years ago--we were badly
handicapped by our laws in the matter of arresting and punishing
spies. By-laws allowed us to confiscate and smash unauthorised
cameras, and that was all.
"Further proceedings," had they been possible, in this case would have
been unnecessary, for the suspected gentleman took himself off to the
Continent by the very next boat.
But it took a good deal to persuade my staff-officer friend that the
whole episode was not one faked up for his special edification.
It is only human to hate to be outwitted by one more clever than
yourself, and perhaps that accounts for people disliking spies with
a more deadly hatred than that which they bestow on a man who drops
bombs from an aeroplane indiscriminately on women and children, or who
bombards cathedrals with infernal engines of war.
Nobody could say that my native spy in South Africa, Jan Grootboom,
was either a contemptible or mean kind of man. He was described by one
who knew him as a "white man in a black skin," and I heartily endorse
the description.