ESCAPING FROM THE CLUTCHES OF A VERY CLEVER LADY
DISGUISES--IMPORTANCE OF HANDS--SERVICE ON A BALTIC TRADER--"IDLE,
DIRTY, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SCAMP"--A TENDER-HEARTED LADY--A
FASHIONABLE GATHERING--THE ENGLISH DUDE--THEIR SECOND
MEETING--SUSPECTED--CLEVER FENCING--WHALES WITH IRON
SKINS--ALLIANCE OFFERED--A WOMAN SCORNED--MEDITATION--FLIGHT.
So many people imagine that anyone and everyone who is engaged in
detective or Secret Service work carries about with him a large
assortment of wigs, false hair, and other disguises. When any of this
work is reproduced on the stage or in moving pictures, or in the pages
of works of fiction, disguises of various kinds are generally well to
the fore. But, gentle reader, take it from me, who have been through the
real thing, and rest assured that any kind of disguise is always
attended with danger. To wear false hair or wigs, or even to have them
found in your possession, would mean death instantaneously, or at best
next dawn, in an enemy country; probable imprisonment in a fortress for
many years in a neutral one. The cleverest men I have met in the Service
rarely assume any artificial disguise, although I admit that there are
exceptional and urgent occasions when its aid must be sought of
necessity.
In fiction you will perhaps have observed the universal rule seems to
ordain that the assumer of disguises invariably endeavours to change his
outward appearance from juvenility to old age. That, to my way of
thinking, is merely adding to one's difficulties. In real life it will
be found far easier to play the part of a person much younger than you
really are than it is to play the part of one who is much older.
On such rare occasions as I had to make it part of my business to
disguise myself I selected for choice the transfiguration of my outward
appearance to a younger rather than an older person whenever the
circumstances so permitted. For example, I would enter a building to all
outward appearances a man of sixty years of age or upwards, and within a
very short space of time reappear as a man of not more than thirty.
These tricks may be attempted at night in artificial lights, but by
daylight the risks of discovery are not worth the small gain or
advantage that may be believed to be attained by their aid.
The common sailor, or working-man who is badly dressed, very dirty in
appearance and who has not shaved for many days, is generally an object
which most men avoid and few women find the smallest interest in; whilst
he can roam at pleasure in most public places, and if he has the price
of a drink in his pocket he invariably gathers around him a multitude of
friends ready to tell him anything they may know or to believe any
cock-and-bull story as to his own antecedents which force of
circumstances or a very vivid imagination may suggest.
All disguises and concealments of identity are of little avail unless
very thoroughly attempted and carried out.
Sir Robert Baden Powell, in his book "My Adventures as a Spy," speaks of
the importance of remembering the back view. He writes:
"The matter of disguise is not so much one of a theatrical
make-up--although this is undoubtedly a useful art--as of being able to
assume a totally different character, change of voice and mannerisms,
especially of gait in walking, and appearance from behind."
A Service officer, whether of the Army or Navy, would have far greater
difficulties to contend with in this respect than would any ordinary
civilian--which is probably one of the main reasons why Service men are
avoided when possible by the German Intelligence Department for active
executive work.
The face and body are easy to disguise, but the hands are not. For a
rough character rough hands are essential. Remember that it is a sure
test, when questioning a tramp or hobo before probably wasting one's
sympathies as well as one's substance in trying to help him, to demand
an examination of his hands. They tell at a glance whether he is a
genuine trier, or merely a chronic waster. Therefore, before undertaking
to appear as a unit of the working-classes, it is advisable to take on a
job which will put one's hands into the condition that would appear
compatible to one's outward appearance. Unloading or loading bricks into
a vessel, or a truck, is the quickest and surest way of accomplishing
this purpose. In a few hours, hands which are unaccustomed to this work
will crack up and blister beyond recognition. Its continuance for a
couple of days will pull the nails out of shape and give the full, true,
horny, hardened grip of a genuine son of toil. Want of soap and water
will complete a supreme finish to the seeming ideal.
Once upon a time there arose an occasion when I had to ship as deck-hand
and general knockabout on a small Baltic coasting craft of no classified
definition. It was rough work, rougher living, and roughest weather. But
one soon accustoms oneself to one's surroundings in life; and it really
is marvellous what a satisfactory clean-up one can make with the
assistance of a little grease and a tiny piece of cotton waste.
The cruise had been completed and the vessel was returning to a friendly
port when her skipper undertook to ferry a party of ladies and gentlemen
across from one small island to another. The deck hand--need I explain
that I acted in that capacity?--was indisposed. He sought his bunk
below, only to be sworn at and cursed, and ordered out again in a manner
which unfortunately brought him under observation, exactly the opposite
to that which his modest, retiring nature desired; more particularly so
on the occasion in question.
One lady, a bright-eyed, vivacious, sweet-faced woman of between twenty
and thirty years of age, remonstrated on behalf of this seemingly
ill-used and unfortunate mortal, and she pleaded with the skipper that
the poor man looked frightened and ill. Alas, poor me!
"D----d idle, dirty, good-for-nothing scamp," is the nearest equivalent
in English to a translation of his retort. I had been playing up for a
discharge, and plead guilty to the indictment.
* * * * *
A few days later a fashionable gathering took place. It was held in a
beautifully situated house, having extensive grounds, fine gardens, and
magnificent views of the surrounding seaboard. Everyone of any local
importance was there. Amongst the guests was an Englishman. Five
minutes' intercourse with him would have been amply sufficient to have
based the conclusion that he was one of those effeminate, lisping, soft,
silly slackers, who hang round tea-tables and curates' meetings, and who
have a horror of all things manly.
He was dressed in a neat suit of blue serge. Every speck of dust coming
to it was at once flicked off with a silk handkerchief. His trousers
were of the permanent turned-up cut, carefully pressed and creased. He
sported bright yellow wash-leather gloves and spent most of his time
toying with a rimmed eyeglass. That he was shy, reticent, and retiring
was at once obvious, but in spite of a vacuous, far-away look, his eyes
seemed to travel over most of the company, and whenever any serious
conversation took place he appeared to be wandering aimlessly about, but
well within earshot.
One lady in the crowd seemed to take a more than ordinary interest in
this personage. She was a bright-eyed, vivacious, sweet-faced woman of
between twenty and thirty years of age. She was also a clever and
far-seeing individual--one who watches, listens, and observes to
advantage. The stranger's face attracted her. She felt somehow that it
was familiar. She was sure that she had seen it before; but when, or
where, puzzled her.
An introduction was an easy matter. Soon she was sipping tea and
exchanging views on every-day frivolities with the object which for the
moment so attracted her curiosity. I can assure those who read these
lines that the object in question wished himself anywhere but where he
was.
"It is most unusual to meet an Englishman who speaks our language, even
badly. How is it that you seem to know it so well?" she suddenly asked;
experience having apparently taught her that questions leading up to the
point desired merely forewarned the interrogated.
"No, no. You flatter me. I'm positively wrotten on the grammar. I only
know a number of words. You see, I had to learn those because I come to
your delightful country so much on business, also for sport," I replied.
"Business? What kind of business?" she asked.
"Well, you see, I'm rather interwested in wood and in herwings."
"Oh yes! And sport?"
"Well, you see, I come here every year for fishing."
For some moments the lady maintained an ominous silence, whilst her eyes
focussed the horizon of some distant islands lying far out upon the
smooth and sunlit sea. She smiled to herself, as though she had caught a
delusive object of great worth; then, turning her fair head--and she
really was pretty--so that she could look me full in the eyes, she
asked:
"Is it your business or your sport which gives you so much fascination
for the sea?"
"Fascination for the sea?" I exclaimed doubtingly. "Now, weally you are
quite wrong. I never go on the sea unless I'm weally forced to do so. In
fact, I hate it. It's so beastly wrestless when it might be quiet and
let everybody else be quiet too." I lisped painfully.
"I think you said it was herrings that interested you," she replied,
following up a point she seemed determined to push home. "Are you sure
it's not a larger species of fish?"
"Yes, quite sure," I hastened to add. "I have no interwests in your
extensive cod fisherwies; nor in the oil which I am told is such good
business."
"I did not mean codfish," she said. "I meant a much larger sort of
fish--a big fish closely related to the whale family!" Whilst as she
uttered the sentence her bright eyes looked laughingly at me with a keen
glance that seemed to wish it could penetrate my very soul.
"Whales! Whales! I've never touched a whaling share in my life, and I'm
quite certain I don't mean to in these times," I muttered.
Again the lady favoured silence, but her eyes never left my face a
second. She studied every line, every flicker of the eyelid or twitch of
the mouth, to try and read what thoughts were passing through my brain;
but fortunately for me an assumed innocent expression of countenance
successfully concealed the tumult within.
I dared not attempt to change the conversation. I merely followed
whatever topic my enchanting _vis-à-vis_ chose to select. I answered her
questions quietly and without hesitation, but still she persisted.
"I mean those large whales which have been so frequently seen along our
coast ever since the first week of August, 1914. Those great big whales
_with iron skins_."
It was a sudden, bold, frontal attack, which, however, failed entirely.
In spite of her many self-satisfied smiles, gentle head-noddings and
knowing side-glances, it elicited nothing but a hearty peal of laughter.
This was repeated twice, and the diplomatic lady joined in to hide the
chagrin she undoubtedly felt.
"My dear good lady, if you take me for a spy, you flatter me. You do
indeed. I'm neither clever enough nor bold enough, nor energetic enough,
ever to be selected for such a business. Even if I had the chance
offered me I should never know what I ought to do, or how I could or
ought to do it; and if I met a clever person--like yourself, for
instance--you would be able to twist me wound your little finger and I
could not help myself. Spy, indeed! You are funny! You know you are.
Yes, you know you weally are." And I continued to laugh softly, as
though the idea suggested was the most humorous thing I had ever heard,
although I admit I was perspiring all over.
"Then what were you doing on board that trading boat in which we
crossed from ---- to ---- last Monday? And why were you disguised as a
common sailorman, all dirt and grease?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. I recognised you the moment I saw you here to-day. So it is
useless to deny it. Besides, I wish to be your friend." And sinking her
voice to a whisper she added, "I can be of great assistance to you if I
like. I am related to several members of the Government. They will tell
me anything I want to wheedle out of them--anything it may interest you
to know. I love England; I hate the Germans and I adore the English. I
think you are very clever indeed, but you are not clever enough to
deceive me; so it's utterly useless trying to do so any longer. Am I not
right, sir?" Saying which she tapped me playfully on the arm,
accompanied by many languishing smiles.
It was a mighty awkward moment, a very trying situation. My only hope
was boldness.
At the first words of her last sentence I had raised my face to hers,
looking her full in the eyes until its conclusion, and assuming to the
best of my ability an amazed expression of absolute astonishment. Then,
after a long pause, suitable to the part I was enforced to play, I
blurted out: "My dear madam! What on earth are you driving at? Last
Monday I was in Copenhagen, miles away from here! Disguised as a common
sailor-man! All dirt and grease! What can you mean? Is it another joke,
like the whales _with iron skins, or the spy_? Or has someone been
telling you fairy tales?"
In vain she continued to pound me with straight, searching, direct
questions. In vain she coaxed and cooed to me to confide in her and make
her a friend and an ally. In vain she cast amorous glances, full of deep
meaning, with those wondrous eyes of hers, which she knew so well how to
use; glances which were calculated to move a heart of stone, and, I
could not help thinking at the time, would have been sufficient to tempt
St. Anthony himself from his lonely cell.
I, however, merely continued to stare at her with an insipid,
incredulous, vacant look, until at last she petulantly stamped her tiny
foot. Her patience was evidently quite exhausted.
"You must be an imbecile, a bigger fool than I would have believed it
possible to find anywhere. My favours are not lightly distributed, nor
have they ever before been refused."
As a woman scorned she hissed this sentence into my ear, and tossing her
pretty head like an alarmed deer in the wilds of a great forest she
trotted away and left me gazing silently after her.
What would be her next step? I wondered. Did she really take me for a
blithering idiot, or did she entertain doubts on the matter? Would she
remain silent, or would she make further inquiry? To what lengths would
she be likely to go if she so decided?
It sent a cold stream of collected perspiration trickling down my back
to think of what trouble that pretty creature could create if she really
did make up her mind to follow up my trail.
It was terribly bad luck to happen just at that particular time, because
I had wanted so much to remain at least a week or ten days in that
particular locality; now I had to debate with myself whether I dare risk
a stay over, and what it might lead to if I so decided and acted on that
decision.
Then I remembered my hands. Good heavens! If she had not got so angry,
if she had only kept cool, and had challenged me to remove my gloves.
What a give-away it would have been! Whew!
I was finding the atmosphere much too warm for my liking. I began to
imagine that bright-eyed, vivacious, sweet-faced lady sitting in her
boudoir at home in a dainty kimono, with a winsome hand-maiden brushing
the silken tresses of her crowning glory; whilst she surveyed her
captivating features in the mirror and contracted her pretty forehead
into ugly wrinkles as she mentally reviewed the day's proceedings.
* * * * *
That night at an hotel in the town not so many kilomètres away from my
lady's chamber a very wide-awake Englishman lay stretched at full length
upon a very short bed. His legs protruded some two feet over the
backboard. He was partly undressed, and he sucked vigorously at a strong
black cigar. He also frowned in serious disapproval at the mental review
of the day's proceedings, at an irrepressible, annoying thought which
would repeat itself again and again, a conviction that if he did not
clear out of that immediate neighbourhood at once that "confounded
demnition woman" was certain to make trouble somewhere. Quit he must and
quit he would.
That man was myself.