Three days after Madame Bohman's arrival, a special messenger brought me
from Hecq in Paris three reports which, when I had read them, reduced me
to a condition of blank despair.
The first was from the French Consul-General at Stockholm, who had been
instructed to make the closest possible inquiry into the _bona fides_ of
the shipbuilding and engineering firm of Engstrom and Linner, of Malmo.
His report stated that he had paid a visit to Malmo, and as the result
of his investigations there and elsewhere he had not the least doubt
that they were a first-class firm, and it was a fact of considerable
interest that they were employed by the Swedish Government upon several
important contracts. No reason whatever could be suggested for doubting
their sterling integrity, and the partners had never shown the slightest
trace of pro-German bias, either as a firm or individually. This seemed
a complete check to our suspicions.
The second report was from Aubert, whom I had left in Lisbon. Dated
from the Palace Hotel, it read:
"I have kept constant observation upon the individual, Mr Thornton,
but, with the exception of the fact that he is acquainted with Halbmayr,
of the Koniggratzer-strasse--which, after all, may be quite innocent--I
see no reason to suspect him of hostile intent. He has telegraphed
several times to Lucerne, addressing his messages to the name of Syberg
at the _poste restante_. You could probably secure sight of one of
these; I cannot at this end. He was visited a fortnight ago by a
Swedish lady named Bohman. The latter may be a travelling agent of the
enemy, but somehow, after a close vigilance, I feel doubtful. When
Thornton leaves I shall advise you. It will be best for Garcia to
follow, as they have not met, and he is here for that purpose."
The third report was from a certain very alert English business man
named Charles Johnson-Meads, who had offices in Fenchurch Street,
London. It was Johnson-Meads who, by a curious statement he made to me
one evening, in my rooms in Curzon Street, London, had first aroused my
suspicions that a deep plot, in which Engstrom and Thornton were somehow
implicated, was on foot.
Johnson-Meads' report read:
"I have strained every effort to learn more of these people and their
mysterious movements in London. Contrary to my belief, I have now
established the fact that Engstrom is, after all, the well-known
Swedish engineer, and not the fraud I believed him to be."
This, of course, appeared to be tolerably conclusive, and I was inclined
to throw up the whole business at once and return to Paris, where other
work urgently awaited my attention. It was clear enough from the report
of the French Consul-General at Stockholm that Engstrom and Linner would
not lend their name to any shady proceedings, while Johnson-Meads'
apparent certainty that Engstrom was really what he professed to be
seemed to cut away the principal basis of suspicion.
Half an hour later I met Madame Gabrielle and Luigi in the same private
room and showed them the three reports, which were as disappointing to
them as they were to me. Of Madame Bohman, Gabrielle had failed to
discover anything which could give reasonable grounds for suspicion.
According to her own statement--for the resourceful Madame Gabrielle had
speedily scraped up an hotel acquaintance with her--Madame Bohman and
Engstrom were old friends, having known each other for years in
Stockholm. Moreover, it was evident that Madame Bohman at least knew
Stockholm well, for Madame Gabrielle was intimately acquainted with that
city, and had no difficulty, by means of apparently artless
conversation, in testing the accuracy of Madame Bohman's knowledge. To
all intents and purposes we seemed to be on a wild-goose chase, and I
expressed this view.
"There is nothing in it," was my verdict. "I think the best thing we
can do is to give up wasting our time and get back to Paris at once.
You know there is the Morny affair waiting for me, and Hecq is anxious I
should take it in hand without delay."
"The Morny affair" was one of those queer financial scandals which have
been so rife in Paris during the war. A Frenchman, hitherto of
unblemished reputation as a patriot, had suddenly come under suspicion
of trafficking with the enemy. Questions and rumours had been flying
thickly in the Paris Press, as well as in the Chamber, and it was
urgently important that the unfortunate Mr Morny--for I, at least,
believed he was being slandered by a group of business rivals and
political enemies--should be cleared once and for all of suspicions
which were rapidly reducing him to a state of complete prostration.
How, later, I succeeded in completely vindicating his character, I hope
to tell at some future time--at present a full disclosure of the facts
might do untold harm.
But Madame Gabrielle, her feminine intuition busily at work, was not to
be easily put off. She strongly dissented from my view.
"Yesterday," she said, "during Madame Bohman's absence with Engstrom at
Brunner, I took Luigi's master-key, and, entering her room, opened her
dressing-case and thoroughly searched her papers. It is true I found
nothing of interest, save that there were letters from certain friends
in London, the addresses of which I have copied. And I found this!"
"This" was a blank sheet of notepaper, which she produced, bearing the
heading of the Palace Hotel at Lisbon.
"You see," she said, "it has been very carefully preserved, for it was
enclosed in these two envelopes. I wonder why?"
I took the blank paper from her and examined it carefully. I found it
to be the ordinary hotel notepaper, exactly similar to that which I
myself had used in the hotel writing-room, during my recent visit to the
Portuguese capital.
"Well," I said, "I don't see how that proves, or even suggests,
anything. We know perfectly well that Madame Bohman has been to
Lisbon--she herself makes no secret whatever of the fact, and she may
very well have brought away by accident a sheet of the hotel notepaper
and a couple of envelopes. It is true she seems friendly with both men,
and there is undoubtedly some suspicion. But is it sufficient to
justify action on our part, or even to give us good reason for staying
here and devoting to a very trivial matter valuable time which at the
moment we might be spending to much greater advantage in Paris?"
Luigi raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. It was
obvious that he was entirely of my way of thinking, and, though he was
willing to do anything to help me and to put a spoke in the wheel of the
Hun plotters--for, like all patriotic Italians, he cherished the
liveliest hatred for the Austro-Germans--he was no fonder than I am
myself of the profitless task of chasing a will-o'-the-wisp. But the
merry, go-ahead little Frenchwoman had her suspicions very thoroughly
aroused, and I knew well that when this was the case it was not an easy
task to allay them.
"I do not care, _mon cher_ Gerald! There is evil work in progress,
somewhere; I am confident. Why should Thornton be acquainted or have
anything to do with our arch-enemy, Ernst Halbmayr? Remember how
cleverly he escaped you six months ago in Rotterdam!"
"But we trapped the woman," I rejoined grimly. "And there was a firing
party at Versailles."
"And there is somebody to be trapped here also," persisted Madame
Gabrielle. "You will surely not give up yet?"
While we were still discussing the matter a page-boy brought a telegram.
Luigi took it from the lad and, dismissing him, handed the message to
me. It was from Aubert in Lisbon, and it conveyed the significant news
that this man Thornton had left for Lucerne, and that Garcia was
travelling by the same train. "He has just sent a telegram to Syberg at
the _poste restante_," the message concluded.
After this, of course, there could be no question of our abandoning our
task. There was evidently something afoot, and just as evidently
Lucerne was likely to be the scene of some lively incidents.
Luigi did not lose a second. He rang the bell, and immediately another
page-boy appeared.
"Go at once to the _poste restante_," he said, "and ask for a telegram
for Syberg. They know you come from me, so there will be no need of a
letter. Don't forget the name--S-y-b-e-r-g. And make haste." The boy
disappeared instantly, and for a quarter of an hour we waited in
feverish impatience for his return. When he came back he brought with
him the message we wanted. Opening it, I read in French, as follows:
To Syberg, Poste Restante, Lucerne.
"Received good news from London. Meads" (_the man in London whose
suspicions had been aroused_) "is now with us, so business can
proceed. Leaving for Lucerne to-night. Shall see T. in Paris to
arrange further details and transit of machinery. Thyra" (_the
Christian name of Madame Bohman_) "will meet E.H." (_was this Ernst
Halbmayr_?) "at Geneva on the 15th."
This message was unsigned, but it confirmed the impression given us by
Aubert's wire that events were on foot, and at once the three of us
plunged with renewed energy into our plan of campaign.
"There can be no doubt," I said, "that `E.H.' refers to Halbmayr, and
probably he is directing the whole of the intricate affair."
"Very likely," said Luigi dryly, "but I do not see that we have much
more light on what direction against the British the conspirators, if
they really are German agents, intend to work."
"True, but that is just what we have to find out," I replied. "From
what Johnson-Meads states, the plot in some way relates to the British
submarines. At present I am just as much in the dark as you are. If
Halbmayr is directing operations you may depend upon it that some really
serious coup is intended, for Halbmayr never troubles his head about the
small affairs. Don't forget that next to Steinhauer he is the man the
Koniggratzer-strasse puts most implicit faith in."
Events were now moving rapidly. I waited with anxiety for the arrival
of the man Thornton, whom I had never seen, for I was particularly
anxious to have a look at him. I suspected very strongly that he was
one of the German Secret Service men masquerading under an assumed name,
and I was therefore particularly anxious for an opportunity of
identifying him. I argued with myself that if he was mixed up with
anything big enough to call for the co-operation of Halbmayr he must be
one of the "big" men himself, and it was quite possible I might be able
to identify him, for personally or through photographs I was well
acquainted with most of the leaders of German espionage work.
Thornton at length reached the Waldesruhe, where he was greeted by the
urbane Luigi with all the evidence of distinguished consideration which
made the suave Italian so popular with his many patrons. Thornton would
have passed for an Englishman anywhere, both in looks and language. He
was perfectly dressed in clothes unmistakably British in cut, and spoke
the language to perfection. This, however, was hardly surprising, for,
as we learned afterwards, he had lived in London ever since he was
fourteen. He had, however, been brought up in circles which were
virulently anti-British, and had absorbed to the fullest extent that
poisonous hatred of everything English which so frequently displays
itself in the Hun who has made England his home of convenience.
He little suspected that the smiling Luigi, who so assiduously attended
to his comforts, was one of the secret agents of the Allies; that
another, in the person of myself, saw his arrival, or that in the turret
of the great hotel there was a small secret room containing a powerful
wireless set, which I sometimes operated myself.
I had to be very careful not to be seen by Thornton, for it was quite
possible, if my suspicions were well founded, that he might know me.
And it was well that I did, for I recognised him instantly as Emil
Brahe, a German agent of whom we had lost sight for some time. He had
formerly been engaged on the Continent and was well known to our men,
though of late years he seemed to have dropped out of active work, and
we had lost sight of him altogether. I realised now that we had been
cleverly tricked: we had believed him to belong to the Berlin branch,
while all the time he was living quietly in England, where he did no
"business" whatever, and was thus never suspected even by the astute men
of the Special Branch.
We had relied much on Madame Gabrielle's powers to extract information
from Madame Bohman, with whom she was already on excellent terms. The
pair often sat chatting in the lounge, smoking each other's cigarettes,
and I knew the fair Gabrielle was keenly on the alert for any slip by
which Madame Bohman might "give herself away." The Swedish woman,
however, was far too clever and would betray nothing.
Shadowing Thornton, or Brahe, to give him his right name, was Manuel
Garcia, a capable ex-detective of the Lisbon police, who was now an
agent of the Central Bureau of Counter-Espionage in Paris.
That telegrams were constantly passing between the Swedish engineer and
some people in Lyons and Marseilles I knew, and, indeed, I was able to
secure copies of some of them. In this way I discovered that these
Swedes were on very friendly terms with a banker named Heurteau, who had
carried on business in Paris before the war, had afterwards escaped to
Zurich, and had long been suspected of being one of the paymasters of
the spy bureau in Berlin.
On the morning of the thirteenth, in consequence of what Madame
Gabrielle had told me, I took train to Geneva, where I put up at the
National. Manuel Garcia followed by the next train, and early next
morning I received a telephone message from Madame Gabrielle telling me
that Madame Bohman had left the Waldesruhe and was due at Geneva at four
o'clock that afternoon.
As a result of this message Garcia and I watched the incoming train, and
my assistant followed Madame Bohman in a taxi to a small hotel in the
Quai de Mont Blanc. An hour later Garcia himself took a cab to the
hotel so as to watch for the arrival of Halbmayr, the real antagonist
with whom our duel was being fought out.
Halbmayr, a short, stout, bald-headed man, with perfect manners and the
air of a _bon viveur_, kept his appointment punctually, arriving from
Bale the next day about noon. As he knew me well, I was compelled to
remain in hiding, but from my window I was able, with a pair of good
field-glasses, to watch Madame Bohman and the German walking together on
the Promenade du Lac, evidently engaged in the closest conversation.
Garcia, of course, was not far away.
The pair remained together for an hour and a half, and I noticed with
amusement that the wily Halbmayr took particular care to select a seat
which stood quite in the open, with no shelter of any kind at hand
behind which an eavesdropper might lurk. Garcia was thus, of course,
effectually kept at a distance, and had no opportunity of gleaning
anything from our enemies' conversation.
Apparently the two, in the course of their earnest conversation, arrived
at some definite agreement, for when they at length rose and parted,
Halbmayr returned direct to the station, where he had left his luggage
in the cloak-room, while the Swedish woman went back to her hotel,
leaving for Lucerne an hour later.
By the next train I also travelled with Garcia to Lucerne. Immediately
on our arrival we all had a consultation, and we were deep in talk when
I received a startling message from Hecq in Paris. It had been sent to
him by Johnson-Meads, who had promised to communicate with me through
Hecq if any further suspicious matter came under his notice. The
message read:
"Cancel my last message; most urgent I should see you immediately."
Now Johnson-Meads' last message had reported him as being assured of the
_bona fides_ of Engstrom. The "cancellation" of that could only mean
one thing--that the Engstrom we knew was a fraud, and that for some
sinister purpose he was trading on the good name of a perfectly
reputable firm of engineers in Sweden.
An hour later I was on my way to London.
I arrived there without incident, and for an hour sat with Mr
Johnson-Meads in his office in Fenchurch Street.
"I am afraid you will think me criminally careless, Mr Sant," he said,
"in the matter of my assurance that the man you know as Engstrom was
what he professed to be. But I was deceived by a curious coincidence,
and can only offer as an excuse that I have not had your training in
solving problems of this kind.
"You will remember what I told you when I met you in Curzon Street?
Well, that remains true. Where I went wrong was in identifying Engstrom
with the head of the Swedish firm.
"It so happened that I have business friends in Malmo, and, after our
conversation, being still very suspicious, I wrote to them asking for
information about Engstrom and Linner. I soon received a reply, which
was in every way satisfactory, and my correspondent mentioned, quite
casually, that Mr Engstrom was actually in London and was staying at
the Hotel Cecil. As I had that very day seen the man we now know as
Engstrom, that seemed to me to clinch the matter, and perhaps foolishly,
I dropped all suspicion.
"Now for the curious coincidence. A few days ago I was going home by
train about six o'clock. The trains, of course, were packed, and I was
`strap-hanging.' We had just left King's Cross when, owing to steam in
the tunnel, our train ran with considerable violence into a train which
was standing in the tunnel.
"The smash was not serious, but the shock was severe, and I was thrown
right on top of a gentleman sitting on a seat close by me. A metal
dispatch case he was carrying caught my face and, as you will see, cut
it very badly. I was stunned for a moment, and when I came round I
found the stranger holding me up. He tied a handkerchief round my face,
and very kindly helped me out of the train to a hotel, where he got me
some brandy, and I soon recovered.
"He had to go on, and as we were about to part he handed me his card. I
slipped it into my pocket without looking at it, and went home, very
much shaken. It was not until two days later that I looked at it. It
read:
"Engstrom and Linner, Stockholm. Oscar Engstrom.
"Now, Mr Sant," he went on, "_the Mr Engstrom who helped me was not
the man we both know as Engstrom_! He did not resemble him in the
slightest degree. I immediately tried to find Mr Engstrom, but found
to my dismay that he had left the Hotel Cecil and no one knew where he
had gone. He was on a holiday tour, and when he tears a few days from
business he frequently disappears altogether for a week, in order to get
a complete rest from business cares. I have wired Malmo, and all they
can tell me is that he will not be back for ten days. Now what can we
do?"
I thought deeply for a few moments. Obviously I must see the real Mr
Engstrom as soon as possible. But there was no chance of finding him
immediately, and in the meantime much might happen. I soon made up my
mind.
"I shall return to Lucerne at once," I said, "and go from there to
Stockholm in time to meet Mr Engstrom on his arrival. There is nothing
else to be done."
Two days later I was back in Lucerne. "Engstrom," his friend Thornton,
and Madame Bohman were still there, busy on their plot, whatever it was,
and entirely unsuspicious either of the urbane hotel manager or the
pretty little Frenchwoman who had apparently developed a lively
affection for the handsome Swedish woman.
One day I learned from Luigi that, in the course of a couple of hours,
Engstrom had received three telegrams, and had sent a reply to each of
them. Of their purport Luigi could gain no knowledge.
Now, I was particularly anxious to get a sight of those telegrams, for
obviously they might throw a good deal of light on the business on which
Engstrom was engaged. I laid my plans accordingly.
That same afternoon, with Luigi's assistance, I managed to transform
myself into a passable imitation of a very unkempt and dirty mechanic,
and as soon as the Swedish engineer left the hotel, about half-past
five--it was his usual habit to go out to take an _aperitif_--I took
Luigi's master-key, which unlocked all the doors in the hotel, and crept
noiselessly to Engstrom's room. I was soon inside, and a few minutes
later, with the aid of my own skeleton keys, had opened the big leather
travelling trunk, and was hastily examining its contents.
A number of telegrams had been hastily thrust into the trunk. I had
grasped my prize and was just about to shut and relock the trunk, when I
heard a sound behind me, and, turning, found myself face to face with
Oscar Engstrom himself.
And not only that, but I was looking straight into the barrel of a very
serviceable-looking automatic pistol, held without a tremor in
Engstrom's very capable hands!