THE ADVENTURES
OF HEINE
BY
EDGAR WALLACE
Author of “Keepers of the King’s Peace,”
“People of the River,” etc.
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
1929
CONTENTS
Chapter I. Alexander and the Lady
Chapter II. The Man who Dwelt on a Hill
Chapter III. The Lovely Miss Harrymore
Chapter IV. The Affair of Mister Haynes
Chapter V. The Man from the Stars
Chapter VI. The Affair of the Allies’ Conference
Chapter VII. The Word of a Prince
Chapter VIII. The Jermyn Credit Bank
Chapter IX. Mr. Collingrey, M.P.--Pacifist!
Chapter X. The Grey Envelope
Chapter XI. The Murderers
Chapter XII. The Passing of Heine
Chapter XIII. The U-Boat Adventure
Chapter XIV. Brethren of the Order
Chapter XV. The World Dictator
Chapter XVI. The Syren
Chapter XVII. The Coming of the Bolsheviks
Chapter XVIII. The Going of Heine
Endnotes
THE ADVENTURES OF HEINE
CHAPTER I.
ALEXANDER AND THE LADY
Secret Service work is a joke in peace time and it is paid on joke
rates. People talk of the fabulous sums of money which our Government
spend on this kind of work, and I have no doubt a very large sum was
spent every year, but it had to go a long way. Even Herr Kressler, of
the Bremen-America Line, who gave me my monthly cheque, used to nod
and wink when he handed over my two hundred marks.
“Ah, my good Heine,” he would say, stroking his stubbly beard, “they
make a fool of me, the Government, but I suppose I mustn’t ask who is
your other paymaster?”
“Herr Kressler,” said I earnestly, “I assure you that this is the
whole sum I receive from the Government.”
“So!” he would say and shake his head: “Ah, you are close fellows and
I mustn’t ask questions!”
There was little to do save now and again to keep track of some of the
bad men, the extreme Socialists, and the fellows who ran away from
Germany to avoid military service. I often wished there were more,
because it would have been possible to have made a little on one’s
expenses. Fortunately, two or three of the very big men in New York
and Chicago knew the work I was doing, and credited me with a much
larger income than I possessed. The reputation of being well off is a
very useful one, and in my case, it brought me all sorts of
commissions and little tips which I could profitably exploit on Wall
Street, and in one way or another I lived comfortably, had a nice
apartment on Riverside Drive, backed horses, and enjoyed an occasional
trip to Washington, at my Government’s expense.
I first knew that war was likely to break out in July. I think we
Germans understood the European situation much better than the
English, and certainly much better than the Americans, and we knew
that the event at Serajevo--by the way, poor Klein of our service and
an old colleague of mine, was killed by the bomb which was intended
for the Archduke, though nobody seems to have noticed the fact--would
produce the war which Austria had been expecting or seeking an excuse
to wage for two years.
If I remember aright the assassination was committed on the Sunday
morning. The New York papers published the story on that day and on
the Monday afternoon I was summoned to Washington, and saw the
Secretary, who was in charge of our Department, on the Tuesday evening
after dinner.
All the big people, even his Excellency, called me by my Christian
name, for I was at college with many of the officials who are
prominent in the world to-day, and I served as volunteer in the
engineers of the guard and afterwards served a probation on the Great
General Staff, Survey Department.
The Secretary was very grave and told me that war was almost certain,
and that Austria was determined to settle with Serbia for good, but
that it was feared that Russia would come in and that the war could
not be localised because, if Russia made war, Germany and France would
also be involved.
Personally, I have never liked the French, and my French is not
particularly good. I was hoping that he was going to tell us that
England was concerned, and I asked him if this was not the case. To my
disappointment, he told me that England would certainly not fight;
that she would remain neutral, and that strict orders had been issued
that nothing was to be done which would in any way annoy the English.
“Their army,” he said, “is beneath contempt, but their navy is the
most powerful in the world and its employment might have very serious
consequences.”
It seemed very early to talk about war, with the newspapers still full
of long descriptions of the Serajevo murder and the removal of the
Archduke’s body, and I remembered after with what astounding assurance
our Secretary had spoken.
I must confess I was disappointed, because I had spent a very long
time in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, establishing touch with
good friends who, I felt, would work with advantage for me in the
event of war. I had prepared my way by founding the Chinese News
Bureau, a little concern that had an office in Fleet Street and was
ostensibly engaged in collecting items of news concerning China and
distributing them to the London and provincial press, and in
forwarding a London letter to certain journals in Pekin, Tientsien and
Shanghai.
Of course, the money was found by the Department, and it was not a
financial success, but it was a good start in case one ever had to
operate in London, since I was registered as a naturalised Chilian and
it was extremely unlikely that Chili would be at war with any European
Power.
I could not see what there was to do in New York, where the ground was
so effectively covered. We had a police force of our own associated
with the Bremen-America line. We had reservist organisations in every
big town, and both the military, naval and commercial investigation--I
will not use the hateful word “espionage”--was in good hands, and I
looked like being at a loose end and subordinate to people who were my
inferiors, if I remained in America.
On the 3rd August, 1914, I received a message from Washington in the
Departmental code, telling me that war with England was inevitable and
that I was to sail on the first boat and take up my duties in London
in full control of the British Department.
I was overjoyed with the news and I know that men like Stohwasser,
Wesser, and other men of my Department, looked at me with envy. They
did not think they had an easy task because the American Secret
Service is a very competent one; but they thought I was a lucky
pig--as indeed I was--to be operating in a country containing a
population of forty millions, most of whom, as one of their writers
said, were fools.
The English are, of course, a very thick-headed people, as I have
reason to know. They are childish and unsuspecting, and you have only
to ask for valuable information to get it. The Scotch, or Scots, are
shrewder in business, but very simple people, practically ignorant, as
are the English, of European politics, and very naïve in all matters
affecting the State.
Moreover, as I have discovered on several of my visits, the Scots are
not particularly well disposed to their southern neighbours, and I
have heard many insulting references made by one against the other. It
is quite a common thing to hear the expressions of scorn as a
“close-fisted Scot” or “a pudding-headed Englishman,” whilst in Wales
neither the Scots nor the English are popular.
Ireland, of course, was in a constant condition of rebellion, and I
looked forward with great pleasure to witnessing and inflaming the
little domestic quarrels which I knew would arise as soon as war broke
out.
I landed at Liverpool on August 11th. My passport was in order and I
immediately went forward to London. There was no trace of any
excitement. I saw a lot of soldiers on their way to their depôts; and
arriving in London, I immediately received the reports of our
innumerable agents.
With what pride did I contemplate the splendid smoothness of our
system!
When the Emperor pressed the button marked “Mobilise,” he called, in
addition to his soldiers, a thousand gallant hearts and brilliant
minds in a score of countries all eager and happy to work for the
aggrandisement of our beloved Fatherland.
Six of us met at a fashionable restaurant near Trafalgar Square. There
were Emil Stein, who called himself Robinson, Karl Besser--I need not
give all their aliases--Heine von Wetzl, Fritz von Kahn and Alexander
Koos.
Stein had arrived from Holland the night before and Fritz von Kahn had
come down from Glasgow where he had been acting as a hotel porter.
These men were, as I say, known to me, and to one another, but there
were thousands of unknowns who had their secret instructions, which
were only to be opened in case of war, and with whom we had to get in
touch.
I briefly explained the procedure and the method by which our agents
would be identified. Every German agent would prove his bonâ fides by
producing three used postage stamps of Nicaragua. It is a simple
method of identification, for there is nothing treasonable or
suspicious in a man carrying about in his pocket-book a ten, twenty or
a fifty centime stamp of a neutral country.
I sent Emil Stein away to Portsmouth and instructed him to make
contact with sailors of the Fleet, especially with officers. Besser
was dispatched to a West Coast shipping centre to report on all the
boats which left and entered. I sent Kahn and his family on a
motor-car tour to the East Coast with instructions to find out what
new coast defences were being instituted.
“You must exercise the greatest care,” I said; “even though these
English are very stupid, they may easily blunder into a discovery.
Make the briefest notes of all you see and hear and only use the
Number 3 code in case of urgent necessity.”
We finished our dinner and we drank to “The Day” and sang under our
breath “Deutschland über alles” and separated, Koos coming with me.
Koos was a staff officer of the Imperial Service, and though he was
not noble, he was held in the greatest respect. He was a fine,
handsome fellow, very popular with the girls, and typically British in
appearance. His English was as good as mine, and that is saying a
great deal. I sent him to Woolwich because in his character as an
American inventor--he had spent four years in the States--he was
admirably fitted to pick up such facts as were of the greatest
interest to the Government.
I did not see Koos for a few days and in the meantime I was very busy
arranging with my couriers who were to carry the result of our
discoveries through a neutral country to Germany. The system I adopted
was a very simple one. My notes, written in Indian ink, were
separately photographed by means of a camera. When I had finished the
twelve exposures, I opened the camera in a dark room, carefully
re-rolled the spool and sealed it so that it had the appearance of
being an unexposed pellicle. I argued that whilst the English military
authorities would confiscate photographs which had obviously been
taken, they might pass films which were apparently unused.
I had arranged to meet Koos on the night of August 17th, and made my
way to the rendezvous, engaging a table for two. I had hardly seated
myself when, to my surprise, Koos came in accompanied by a very pretty
English girl. He walked past me, merely giving me the slightest
side-glance, and seated himself at the next table. I was amused. I
knew the weakness of our good Koos for the ladies, but I knew also
that he was an excellent investigator and that he was probably
combining business with pleasure. In this I was right. The meal
finished--and the innocent laughter of the girl made me smile
again--and Koos walked out with the girl on his arm.
As he passed my table he dropped a slip of paper which I covered with
my table-napkin. When I was sure I was not observed, I read the note.
“Making excellent progress. Meet me at a quarter to eleven outside
Piccadilly Tube.”
I met him at the appointed time and we strolled into Jermyn Street.
“What do you think of her?” was Koos’ first question.
“Very pretty, my friend,” said I. “You have excellent taste.”
He chuckled.
“I have also excellent luck, my dear Heine.” Even well-born people
call me by my Christian name, as I have before remarked, though I do
not boast of this because my father’s mother was a von Kuhl-Hozeldorf
and I am in a sense related to the best Würtemberg nobility. “That
lady,” went on Koos, “is the daughter of one of the chief
gun-constructors at Woolwich.”
He looked at me to note the effect of his words, and I must confess I
was startled.
“Splendid, my dear fellow!” said I, warmly. “How did you come to meet
her?”
“A little act of gallantry,” he said airily; “a lady walking on
Blackheath twists her ankle, what more natural than that I should
offer her assistance to the nearest seat? Quite a babbling little
person--typically English,” he added dryly.
I laughed again.
“I could have done very well without her assistance, of course,” he
went on; “as a matter of fact, I had met one or two very excellent
Englishmen who, with their usual penchant for boastfulness, were able
to supply me with particulars of a new gun-lathe of which they are
very proud. In fact, I have got the rough drawings, but the little
lady----”
He raised his eyes to the heavens and chuckled joyfully.
“My dear friend,” he said impressively, “she is a mine of information.
An only daughter and a little spoilt, I am afraid, she knows no doubt
secrets of construction of which the technical experts of the
Government are ignorant. Can you imagine a German talking over
military affairs with his daughter?”
“The English are a little mad, as I have remarked before,” said I. I
then closely questioned Koos as to the activity of the police. It was
naturally to be expected that Woolwich would be well guarded and that
strangers would arouse suspicion.
“There is no English secret police,” said my friend cheerfully; “there
is a special department at Scotland Yard whose footsteps you can hear
a mile away, but a secret service, as it is understood in Germany, or
even in America, does not exist, except in the fervid imagination of
romantic novelists.”
“I only asked you,” I said hastily, “for fear that this girl should be
watched.”
“You can dismiss that possibility from your mind,” smiled Koos.
By this time we had reached the end of Jermyn Street and had turned
down St. James’s Street toward the Palace, and our conversation was
naturally interrupted, for we had to speak in English and there was
rather a crowd of people. It was not until we had reached the Mall,
comparatively deserted, that Koos continued this story.
“You need not worry. The girl is romantic--an idealist.”
“And you are the ideal, you dog!” said I.
He twisted his moustache, by no means ill-pleased at the accusation.
“Some men have that power of attraction,” he said modestly. “I am
rather sorry for the little thing.”
“What have you learnt from her?” I asked.
Koos did not reply for a moment, then he said:
“So far, very little. I am naturally anxious not to alarm her or
arouse her suspicions. She is willing to talk and she has access to
her father’s study and, from what I gather, she practically keeps all
the keys of the house. At present I am educating her to the necessity
for preserving secrecy about our friendship and to do her justice, she
is just as anxious that our clandestine meetings should not come to
the ears of her father as I am.”
We walked along in silence.
“This may be a very big thing,” I said.
“Bigger than you imagine,” replied Alexander; “there is certain to be
an exchange of confidential views about artillery between the Allies,
and though we have nothing to learn from the English, it is possible
that the French may send orders to Woolwich for armament. In that case
our little friend may be a mine of information. I am working with my
eyes a few months ahead,” he said, “and for that reason I am allowing
our friendship to develop slowly.”
I did not see Koos again for a week, except that I caught a glimpse of
him in the Café Riche with his fair companion. He did not see me,
however, and as it was desirable that I should not intrude, I made no
attempt to make my presence apparent.
At the end of the week we met by appointment, which we arranged
through the agony column of a certain London newspaper.
I was feeling very cheerful, for Stein, Besser, and Kahn had sent in
most excellent reports, and it only needed Alexander’s encouraging
news to complete my sum of happiness.
“You remember the gun-lathe I spoke to you about,” he said. “My
friend--you may regard the blue prints as in your hands.”
“How has this come about?”
“I just casually mentioned to my little girl that I was interested in
inventions and that I had just put a new lathe upon the market in
America and she was quite excited about it. She asked me if I had
heard about the lathe at Woolwich, and I said that I had heard rumours
that there was such a lathe. She was quite overjoyed at the
opportunity of giving me information and asked me whether in the event
of her showing me the prints I would keep the fact a great secret,
because,” he laughed softly, “she did not think her father would like
the print to leave his office!”
“You must be careful of this girl,” I said, “she may be detected.”
“There is no danger, my dear fellow,” said Alexander. “She is the
shrewdest little woman in the world. I am getting quite to like her if
one can like these abominable people--she is such a child!”
I told him to keep in communication with me and sent him off feeling
what the English call in “good form.” I dispatched a courier by the
morning train to the Continent, giving details of the British
Expeditionary Force. Only two brigades were in France--and that after
three weeks of preparation! In Germany every man was mobilized and at
his corps or army headquarters weeks ago--every regiment had moved up
to its order of battle position. Two brigades! It would be amusing if
it were not pathetic!
Besser came to me soon after lunch in a very excited state.
“The whole of the English Expeditionary Force of three divisions is in
France,” he said, “and, what is more, is in line.”
I smiled at him.
“My poor dear fellow, who has been pulling your foot?” I asked.
“It is confidentially communicated to the Press, and will be public
to-morrow,” he said.
“Lies,” said I calmly, “you are too credulous. The English are the
most stupid liars in the world.”
I was not so calm that night when I ran down in my car to Gorselton,
where our very good friend, the Baron von Hertz-Missenger, had a nice
little estate.
“Heine,” he said, after he had taken me to his study and shut the
door. “I have received a radio through my wireless from the
_Kriegsministerium_[1] to the effect that the whole of the British
Expeditionary Force has landed and is in line.”
“Impossible, Herr Baron,” I said, but he shook his head.
“It is true--our Intelligence in Belgium is infallible. Now, I do not
want to interfere with you, for I am but a humble volunteer in this
great work, but I advise you to give a little more attention to the
army. We may have underrated the military assistance which Britain can
offer.”
“The English army, Herr Baron,” said I firmly, “is almost as
insignificant a factor as--as well--the American army, which only
exists on paper! Nevertheless, I will take your advice.”
It was necessary to humour the good baron who, although a naturalised
British “subject” (which, of course, means absolutely nothing), is
nobly born and is indeed a member of the Hesse-Hohenlohe
princely-descended family.
We talked a little while about the British. I told the Herr Baron what
I had said about the British Secret Service, and he quite agreed.
“I have been in this country for twelve years and I have met everybody
of importance,” he said, “and I can assure you there is no Secret
Intelligence Department such as we Germans have brought to such
perfect efficiency. As you know, I am a racing man, and I meet with
all sorts of people, good and bad, and I can endorse all that you
say.”
I went back to town and dispatched another courier, for as yet the
Torpington Varnish Factory (about which I will tell you later) had not
been equipped with Radio.
That night I again saw Alexander. It was at supper at the Fritz, and
he looked a fine figure of a man. I felt proud of the country which
could produce such a type. Where, I ask you, amongst the paunchy
English and the scraggy Scotch, with their hairy knees and their
sheep-shank legs, could you find a counterpart of that _beau sabreur_?
Cower, treacherous Albion, shiver in your kilt, hateful Scotch (it is
not generally known that the Royal and High-Born Prince Rupprecht of
Bavaria is rightful King of Scotland), tremble, wild Wales and
unreliable Ireland, when you come in arms against a land which can
produce such men as Alexander Koos!
I never saw a girl look more radiantly happy than did the young woman
who was sitting _vis-à-vis_ my friend. There was a light in her eye
and a colour in her cheeks which were eloquent of her joy.
I saw Alexander afterwards. He came secretly to my rooms.
“Have you brought the blue print?” I asked.
He shook his head smilingly.
“To-morrow, my friend, not only the blue print of the lathe, not only
the new gun-mounting model, but the lady herself will come to me. I
want your permission to leave the day after to-morrow for home. I
cannot afford to wait for what the future may bring.”
“Can you smuggle the plans past the English police?” I asked, a little
relieved that he had volunteered to act as courier on so dangerous a
mission.
“Nothing easier.”
“And the girl--have you her passport?”
He nodded.
“How far shall you take her?”
“To Rotterdam,” he said promptly.
In a way I was sorry. Yes, I am sentimental, I fear, and “sentiment
does not live in an agent’s pocket,” as the saying goes. I wish it
could have been done without. I shrugged my shoulders and steeled my
soul with the thought that she was English and that it was all for the
Fatherland.
“You must come to the Café Riche to-night and witness our going,”
said Alexander; “you will observe that she will carry a leather case
such as schoolgirls use for their books and exercises. In that case,
my friend, will be enough material to keep our friends in Berlin busy
for a month.”
I took leave of him, giving him certain instructions as to the course
he was to take after reporting at Headquarters, and spent the rest of
the night coding a message for our Alexander to carry with him.
I snatched a few hours’ sleep between telephone calls, and rising at
noon I read the morning papers (full of lies, as are all British
papers, though the Americans are worse) and went through the picture
postcards which my kind friends von Kahn and von Wetzl had sent to me.
If you had seen those postcards with their long “holiday messages,” I
wonder if you would have taken a magnifying glass to search for minute
pinpricks under certain letters and words? I did, because I was a
chief of a bureau unequalled in the world for ingenuity and
prescience.
The hour at which Alexander was to meet the girl was eight o’clock in
the evening. His table (already booked) was No. 47, which is near the
window facing Piccadilly. I telephoned through to the café and booked
No. 46, for I was anxious to witness the comedy.
All was now moving like clockwork--and let me say that the smoothness
of the arrangements was due largely to the very thorough and
painstaking organisation-work which I had carried out in the piping
days of peace. We Germans have a passion for detail and for
thoroughness and for this reason (apart from the inherent qualities of
simplicity and honesty, apart from the superiority of our kultur and
our lofty idealism) we have been unconquerable throughout the ages.
For example, we had foreseen the necessity in organizing our
Intelligence Department, to employ, not Germans, but subjects of
neutral states wherever possible. People who talk of “German spies” or
“the uninterned German peril” cannot realise that from the moment war
broke out, all Germans, known as such, were under the observation of
the police, and not only the police but their own neighbours. It would
be impossible, as I had foreseen, for such men to offer assistance to
our great and splendid cause, because the least suspicious movement on
their parts would result in their arrest. I have a considerable
respect for the Scotland Yard routine investigation. No, my sirs, you
do us no justice when you talk of “German spies.” Search not for the
“Hun,” as in the bitterness of your impotent rage you call us, but for
the----
I think that I have said that much of my time was taken up by
answering telephone calls.
You must remember that I was in London as the representative of a
Chinese News Bureau. I was also an agent for a firm of importers in
Shanghai. It was therefore only natural that I should be called up all
hours of the day and night with offers of goods.
“I can let you have a hundred and twenty bales of Manchester goods at
125.”
Now 120 and 125 added together make 245, and turning to my “simple
code” to paragraph 245, I find the following:
“2nd Battalion of the Graniteshire Regiment entrained to-day for
embarkation.”
The minor agents carried this code (containing 1,400 simple sentences
to cover all naval or military movements) in a small volume. The code
is printed on one side of very thin paper leaves, and the leaves are
as porous and absorbent as blotting paper.
One blot of ink dropped upon a sheet will obliterate a dozen--a fact
which our careless agents have discovered.
Clipped in the centre of the book (as a pencil is clipped in an
ordinary book) is a tiny tube of the thinnest glass containing a
quantity of black dye-stuff. The agent fearing detection has only to
press the cover of the book sharply and the contents of the book are
reduced to black sodden pulp.
Need I say that this ingenious invention was German in its origin.[2]
My days were therefore very full. There came reports from all quarters
and some the most unlikely. How, you may ask, did our agents make
these discoveries?
There are many ways by which information is conveyed. The relations of
soldiers are always willing to talk about their men and will tell you,
if they know, when they are leaving, the ships they are leaving by,
and will sometimes give you other important facts, but particularly
about ports and dates of embarkations are they useful.
Also officers will occasionally talk at lunch and dinner and will tell
their women folk military secrets which a waiter can mentally note and
convey to the proper quarters. Our best agents, however, were barbers,
tailors, chiropodists, and dentists. English people will always
discuss matters with a barber or with the man who is fitting them with
their clothes, and as almost every tailor was making military uniforms
and a very large number of the tailors in London were either German or
Austrian, I had quite a wealth of news.
Tailors are useful because they work to time. Clothes have to be
delivered by a certain date and generally the man who has the suit
made will tell the fitter the date he expects to leave England. Other
useful investigators are Turkish-bath attendants and dentists. A man
in a dentist’s chair is always nervous and will try to make friends
with the surgeon who is operating on him. Of all agents the waiter is
in reality the least useful, because writers have been pointing out
for so many years the fact that most waiters were German. But the
truth is that most restaurant waiters are Italian, and it is amongst
the bedroom waiters that you find a preponderance of my fellow
countrymen.
Another department of my work which kept me busy was the money-lending
department. I had initiated a system of inquiry into the financial
affairs of officers and I was able to keep track of all officers who
were in financial difficulties. This department had been a very great
disappointment to us, for in spite of the fact that we had the power
to ruin hundreds of careers, we have never been able to employ that
power profitably. The British officer is absolutely unscrupulous and
has no sense of honour. Often our agents have offered to release them
from their liabilities in return for some trifling service and these
people have preferred to live under the odium of owing people money,
to securing an honourable release from their debts; by some simple
little obliging act, such as giving us particulars of their brother
officers’ losses at cards, and the like. And that is what is called
English honour!
Is it not more dishonourable to owe money you cannot pay than to
whisper a few little secrets about men who probably are as
dishonourable as yourself? However, to return to Alexander and his
inamorata.
Prompt at eight o’clock, I took my place at the table and ordered an
excellent dinner (my waiter was naturally a good German) and a bottle
of Rhenish wine. A few minutes after I had given my order Alexander
and the girl arrived. She was dressed in a long travelling coat of
tussore silk, and carried--as I was careful to note--a shiny brown
leather portfolio. This she placed carefully on her lap when she sat
down and raised her veil.
She looked a little pale, but smiled readily enough at Alexander’s
jests.
I watched her as she slowly peeled off her gloves and unbuttoned her
coat. Her eyes were fixed on vacancy. Doubtless her conscience was
pricking her.
Is it the thought of thy home, little maid, from whence thou hast fled
never to return? Is it the anguished picture of thy broken-hearted and
ruined father bemoaning his daughter and his honour? Have no fear,
little one, thy treason shall enrich the chosen of the German God, the
World Encirclers, Foreordained and Destined to Imperial Grandeur!
So I thought, watching her and listening.
“Are you sure that everything will be all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Please trust me,” smiled Alexander. (Oh, the deceiving rogue--how I
admired his sang-froid!)
“You are ready to go--you have packed!” she asked.
“As ready as you, my dear Elsie. Come--let me question you,” he
bantered; “have you all those wonderful plans which are going to make
our fortunes after we are married?”
So he had promised that--what would the gracious Frau Koos-Mettleheim
have said to this perfidy on the part of her husband?
“I have all the plans,” she began, but he hushed her with a warning
glance.
I watched the dinner proceed but heard very little more. All the time
she seemed to be plying him with anxious questions to which he
returned reassuring answers.
They had reached the sweets when she began to fumble at her pocket. I
guessed (rightly) that she was seeking a handkerchief and (wrongly)
that she was crying.
Her search was fruitless and she beckoned the waiter.
“I left a little bag in the ladies’ room--it has my handkerchief; will
you ask the attendant to send the bag?”
The waiter departed and presently returned with two men in the livery
of the hotel.
I was sitting side by side and could see the faces both of the girl
and Alexander, and I noticed the amusement in his face that two
attendants must come to carry one small bag.
Then I heard the girl speak.
“Put your hands, palms upward, on the table,” she said.
I was still looking at Alexander’s face.
First amazement and then anger showed--then I saw his face go grey and
into his eyes crept the fear of death.
The girl was holding an automatic pistol and the barrel was pointing
at Alexander’s breast. She half turned her head to the attendants.
“Here is your man, sergeant,” she said briskly. “Alexander Koos, alias
Ralph Burton-Smith. I charge him with espionage.”
They snapped the steel handcuffs upon Alexander’s wrists and led him
out, the girl following.
I rose unsteadily and followed.
In the vestibule was quite a small crowd which had gathered at the
first rumour of so remarkable a sensation. Here, for the first time,
Alexander spoke, and it was curious how in his agitation his perfect
English became broken and hoarse.
“Who you are? You have a mistake maken, my frient.”
“I am an officer of the British Intelligence Department,” said the
girl.
“Himmel! Secret Service!” gasped Alexander, “I thought it was not!”
I saw them take him away and stole home.
They had trapped him. The girl with the sprained ankle had been
waiting for him that day on Blackheath. She had led him on by talking
of the plans she could get until he had told her of the rough plans he
already had. Whilst (as he thought) he was tightening the net about
her, she was drawing the meshes tighter about him.… Phew! It makes me
hot to think of it!
Was there a secret service in England after all?
For myself, my tracks were too well covered; for Alexander I could do
nothing. He would not betray me. I was sure of that. Yet to be
perfectly certain I left the next night for Dundee, and I was in
Dundee when the news came that Alexander had been shot in the Tower of
London.