THE MAN WHO DWELT ON A HILL
When I left London hurriedly, after the arrest of Alexander Koos, I
must confess that my mind was greatly disturbed. I sat half the night
in my sleeper, turning over all the circumstances leading up to the
arrest of my good friend. We Germans are the most logical people in
the world. We argue with precision from known facts, and we deduce
from those facts such subtle conclusions as naturally flow.
We do not indulge in frivolous speculations--we Germans are a serious
people with a passion for accurate data.
Thus I argued: (1) If a secret police force had been established it is
a post-war creation. Otherwise our general staff would have known of
its existence and have advised us. (2) Supposing a secret service had
been initiated where would its agents be found? Naturally in the
vicinity of the great arsenals and military camps. Under these
circumstances it was not surprising that Koos, confining his
investigations to Woolwich, had been brought into contact with a
member of this new organisation. (3) It was humanly impossible that
the operations of an improvised secret service could be extended in a
few days to areas other than military and arsenal areas. Therefore, it
behoved the investigator to avoid as far as possible arousing
suspicion by pursuing his inquiries in the neighbourhood of arsenals
and camps.
When I had reached this conclusion I was much comforted. I had no
desire to take unnecessary risks. It seemed certain to me at that
time, that the war would not last longer than three months. Koos had
thought it would be over in two months, but I felt that he erred on
the side of optimism. So that the period of risk was not a very
prolonged one, and if I were wise and discreet and succeeded in
impressing my subordinates with the necessity for similar discretion,
there was no reason why we should not return to the Fatherland with a
flawless record to receive those honours which the Supreme War Lord
bestowed upon the faithful servants of our beloved Deutschland.
At eight o’clock in the morning I was taking my breakfast in the
station-buffet at Edinburgh. Von Kahn was awaiting me, and over the
meal, served by a sleepy waitress, I had an opportunity of retailing
the events which had led to my hasty departure from London. Von Kahn
stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
“Koos was an impetuous man,” he said, “I am not surprised that he has
been detected. You must not forget, my dear Heine, that we Germans
have only one thought, only one goal, the welfare of the Fatherland.
Koos allowed his penchant for feminine society to overcome his
judgment. That is a mistake which I should never make.”
I looked at our good von Kahn, with his big red face and his short,
well-fed body, and I could not help thinking that it would be indeed a
remarkable circumstance if he allowed himself to be lured to
destruction in such a manner.
He joined the train and went on with me to Dundee. We had not gone far
from the station before the train stopped and an attendant came in and
pulled down all the blinds, removing, in spite of our protest, all our
baggage, which he locked in an empty compartment.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said the man, “but those are my orders.”
For a moment I had a cold feeling inside me that I was suspected, but
his next words reassured me.
“We do it to everybody, sir, before we cross the ---- Bridge.”
When he had gone I turned to von Kahn.
“This is an extraordinary thing,” I said. “I never suspected the
English of taking such intelligent precautions.”
Von Kahn laughed.
“The English here are Scots,” he said, “and they are very cautious.”
I should have dearly liked to peep out when the rumble of the wheels
told me we were passing the famous bridge, but in the corridor outside
the carriage I discovered, to my amazement, a Scottish soldier with
fixed bayonet, and for some reason or other his eyes never left us.
It was not until we were a very long way past the bridge that the
attendant returned my bag and suit-case and pulled up the blind, and
not until we reached Dundee that I discussed the matter at all with
von Kahn.
“I have reason to believe,” he said, “that we have passed a portion of
the British Fleet, and it will be my endeavour during the next few
days to discover what units are at present in the region of Rosyth.”
He told me this in the cab on the way to our hotel and he also gave me
a great deal of information about the East Coast defences which it had
been his business to investigate.
“It is practically impossible to get near the important parts of the
coast,” he said, “and I think you must give up all idea of
establishing light-signal stations at X and Q.”
This was a sad disappointment to me, which I did not attempt to hide.
“My dear von Kahn,” I said testily, “you are getting hypnotised by the
English. You are giving them credit for gifts which are not theirs.
You are imagining that these people, these Scotch for example, have
the same keen national sense of suspicion as we Germans possess.”
We drove the rest of the journey to an hotel in silence. I registered
here in the name by which I was known to the Chilian Legation.
I had never been in Dundee before and I hope I may never see the town
again, for reasons which will be sufficiently obvious to all the good
friends who read my narrative.
Dundee is a sad, grey town, so grim on the rainy morning I arrived,
that I was filled with a strange sense of foreboding. It is a city of
high chimney-stacks that stream smoke, and of clanging tramway cars.
I don’t know whether it was my imagination, or due to the shock of
poor Koos’ arrest, but it also seemed that it was a town of
graveyards, for whichever way I went I seemed always to return to one
drear space of tombstones and sad trees.
My local agent here was a barber named Shmidt, and the first thing I
did on my arrival at the hotel was to send for a barber! What was more
natural than that a weary traveller should require shaving! Ah! do not
smile, my friends! By such acts of forethought and detail was our
great service built up and wonderfully established. Our good friend
came with his little black-leather bag and was admitted to my room.
The honest fellow was almost overcome by the sight of one whom he
regarded as being a veritable link between himself and his Supreme War
Lord.
“It is beautiful to be able to speak our noble German tongue again,”
he said; “think of it, Herr Heine! Here I am week in and week out
talking Scotch--not even English.”
He had much to tell me that I committed to memory. He even had had the
good fortune to be called in professionally to an admiral who was
passing through Dundee on the way to a certain town in the north.
“Naturally,” said Shmidt, “I was extremely tactful and
suspicion-avoiding. But, Herr Heine, not even the high officers of
State know discretion. Reticence is not!
“‘I wish you’d take me with you, Sir Jones,’ I said; he was well-born
and had been created a Sir for war knowledge.
“‘Come along,’ said Sir Jones, ‘but I’m afraid you will not be
comfortable when our fleet goes into action next week against
Heligoland.’
“‘That is a strong fortress, Admiral,’ I said.
“‘We have been undermining it for a month,’ said Sir Jones.
“Herr Heine, I nearly fainted with excitement. Consider the position.
Here was I, a faithful servant of the Fatherland, listening to one of
the most important military secrets from an Excellency of the English
Navy. I kept my blood cool and went on lathering without a tremble of
hand.’
“‘That must have been terribly difficult, Sir Jones,’ I said.
“‘Not at all,’ said Sir Jones; ‘we have a new submarine on wheels that
creeps along the bed of the ocean and fortunately there are beneath
Heligoland several very large caves in which our divers can store
explosives. I trust you will regard all I have told you as
confidential!’”
By the time Shmidt had finished I was on my feet. I knew that there
had been a secret vote or appropriation for the British Navy a year
before. So this was the reason.
“Send Herr von Kahn to me, you will find him in Room 84,” I said; and
long before my companion had arrived I was working at my codes.
“We must find a way to get this information to Germany,” I said.
“The way is simple,” said he; “the _Sven Gustavus_ is in harbour,
waiting to clear for Bergen. She has wireless, and outside of the
territorial waters she can get into touch with the Bremen wireless
station.”
The message I sent was a long one, and I have since learnt that it
created something like a sensation at the Admiralty. All the warships
in the vicinity of Heligoland were ordered away, the Corps of Divers
came from Cuxhaven and the foundations of the island were thoroughly
explored, although the Admiralty Marine Survey Department was emphatic
on the point that no caverns existed under the island.
As a matter of fact none were discovered, though a certain
suspicious-looking hole was found in one of the rocks.[3]
I cannot believe that a High Officer of State who was also a Sir would
condescend to a lie or be so frivolous as to invent such a story, and
to this day I believe that my promptitude in notifying Berlin in all
probability saved the Fatherland from an incalculable disaster. It was
after I had sent this message away, together with certain data which I
received from London, that I set about the business which had induced
me to choose Dundee as the scene of my sojourn.
Scotland had an importance in our scheme which many people have made
the mistake of under-estimating. To appreciate that importance, let us
examine the nature of the German Plan in the event of war. Britain’s
strength and weakness lay in her great extent and in the homogeneous
nature of her people. In this respect she resembled the Royal and
Imperial Empire of Austria-Hungary, with its German, Magyar, Czec,
Slav and Jugo-Slav, Italian, Serbian, and Roumanian subjects.
Austria-Hungary, however, had this advantage, that whatever views
might be held, whatever dissatisfaction and dissensions might exist
amongst the peoples, the Empire was organised for control by a certain
authority. Britain was not so organised. The English hated the Irish,
the Welsh hated the English, the Scotch despised both, and the Irish
hated everybody, including themselves. At the outbreak of war the
north and south of Ireland were on the brink of civil war, a great
strike was pending in Wales (of this more anon), and the Scottish
industrial classes, particularly on the Clyde, were in a state of
unrest.
Outside of the island kingdoms we had an Egypt ripe for rebellion,
with the Khedive on our side, we had India seething with sedition, and
South Africa organised for revolt under two of the most popular of the
Boer Generals in De la Rey and De Wet. Our task was, of course, to
drive the wedges of dissension still deeper, and largely my work was
specialised in this direction, for now the routine of gathering naval
and military information was so smoothly-running that there was
nothing for me to do but to sort out the news which came to me and
pass it along to the proper quarters.
And here I might explain that there were in reality two branches of
Investigation. There was my own, which comprehended all the hackwork
of espionage and propaganda, and there was the Higher Service with
which I was seldom brought into contact. The Higher Service was unpaid
but skilfully organised. Its members were practically unknown to one
another, though most of them were known to me and watched by my
agents. We Germans leave nothing to chance. In Scotland, living not a
very long way from Dundee, was one whom for certain reasons I regarded
as a good friend of ours and who was known locally as “Mr. Brown from
Australia.”
He had a cottage in the loveliest part of the Highlands,[4] where he
lived for three months in the year, spending his time in fishing one
of the little rivers in the neighbourhood. Beyond that he was
eccentric and had had a big flag-staff erected before his cottage on
which he used to fly the Australian flag, little was known of him.
He had few visitors. His cottage was on an inhospitable spur of the
hills, which was more often than not wreathed in the low-lying clouds
or mists which seem to be a permanent feature of this country.
Now and again a member of the Mounted Constabulary would ride up and
exchange a few words or even go inside for a glass of refreshment when
he saw the flag flying, which was always a sign that Mr. Brown was in
residence.
He had one servant, a Swiss youth, who was valet, groom and cook.
I have said about the Higher Service that I knew most of the members.
Some of the names had been officially supplied to me, before my return
to England to take up my work, by von Igel, who was practically in
charge of all the commercial work in New York. Some of them I had
already located on my previous visits to England; while some were so
important, so well-born and so well-connected with Illustrious
Excellencies, that not only were their names withheld from me but I
was discouraged whenever I applied to Headquarters for information.
My local agents in Scotland had already marked down Mr. Brown, of
Australia, and I had put through an inquiry about this gentleman,
informing the _Kriegsministerium_ that he was evidently well educated,
that he was a fluent German scholar, and that he belonged to a
superior London club, much frequented by ministers and attachés.
Obviously his name was not “Brown,” and the two surreptitious views I
secured of him, one close at hand and one through powerful
field-glasses, left no doubt in my mind that he was a son of the
Fatherland. We Germans have an instinct one for the other, a sort of
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
all was not well, but I sweated as I stood waiting for the answer
which seemed an eternity in coming, though in reality it was only a
second or so.
“No, I assure you, Herr Brown,” said von Kahn, “I came alone.”
“That makes matters simple,” said Brown’s voice, and as he spoke the
light went out. I heard von Kahn shout, but his voice was instantly
muffled.
There was a struggle, a thud that seemed to shake the little building,
a groan, and then silence.
I had my automatic pistol in my hand in a second.
Should I go to his rescue and take the risk of capture or should I
leave him to his fate? It was a terrible decision I was called upon to
make. We Germans do not shrink from our responsibilities, nor are we
governed by the foolish sentimentality which dictates the actions of
the commoner tribes. I made my way down the hill with great rapidity.
You may say that I was leaving a comrade to his fate, but I answer
that when one cog of a wheel breaks off do the other cogs disintegrate
themselves in sympathy. We were part of a great machine, von Kahn and
I, and my action, if it needed such justification, was justified by
the events which followed.
I was within fifty yards of the narrow road which winds along the base
of the hill when I thought I heard a sound before me and I stopped,
flattened myself on the ground between two bushes, and listened. There
was no doubt that I had reason for my suspicions. I heard, not one
stealthy footfall, but a dozen, and, peering up, I saw against the
artificial sky-line which I had created by lowering myself to the
earth, half a dozen shadowy figures. The nearest was ten yards away
and my heart came to my throat when I saw a gleam of light upon the
tunic of a policeman.
They were police, undoubtedly, and they were making their way up the
hill in such a manner as led me to believe that the hill itself was
practically surrounded. I watched, holding my breath. The first of the
figures passed not two yards away, the second on my right less than a
yard. I waited until they were well up the hill before I moved, and
then I wriggled forward with the utmost caution, for I thought it was
possible that they had left a guard on the road. This view proved to
be correct as I had not got far before I saw a man pacing the roadway.
Fortunately his beat was long and I was able to gain the road and
cross it.
I found myself in a field of cabbages. Here again luck was with me,
for running along two sides of the field was a deep ditch. Into this I
sank and with great labour reached the opposite hill, on the top of
which, hidden in a small copse, were the two motor bicycles which had
brought us on our night adventure.
Here again German forethought saved me from what might have been
destruction. Von Kahn had suggested we should have the chauffeur and
the car we had in the morning, but as I pointed out, this would have
aroused suspicion, and so instead we had hired two motor bicycles, not
from the town in which we were staying, but one five miles farther
along the line from whence we had set forth upon our quest.
Near by the copse, as I had seen earlier in the day, was a disused
quarry overgrown with vegetation. Swiftly I wheeled Kahn’s bicycle to
the edge and flung it over. It would remain undiscovered for at least
a few days, and possibly for ever, unless a search was made.
To leap upon the other motor cycle and to go flying down the road was
the work of a few minutes. I confess I was agitated and nervous. Who
was this mysterious man who lived at the top of the hill? How did he
know we were coming that night and was so sure of the hour that he
could surround his house with policemen to trap us? Why had he
assaulted my friend when he and his servant could have overcome him or
have held him at the point of a revolver until the police arrived?
My position was a precarious one. Von Kahn had been seen with me in
Dundee and obviously my business was to make myself scarce. It was
half past eleven that night when I rode up to the cycle dealer’s in
X----, and knocked at the door. The town was asleep and the street
deserted, but the man had been expecting our return and was waiting
up.
He looked surprised at my muddy appearance and more surprised at the
absence of my companion. I apologized to him, and told him that my
friend had been called away to London and had ridden down to a station
on the main line. I think he was most surprised when I offered to buy
the cycle I was using and also to buy that of von Kahn. I told him
that I had taken a liking to the machine and that von Kahn had
similarly expressed a wish to retain his. The price he fixed was a
fairly moderate one--we had already paid a large deposit--and I
concluded the bargain there and then.
I was anxious, of course, to finish this business of the motor-cycles
in order that I should not set on foot independent inquiries as to
their whereabouts, inquiries which would certainly have identified me
with von Kahn.
Taking on a supply of petrol and trimming my lamp, I set out for
Dundee, arriving at my hotel a little after four o’clock in the
morning. After some difficulty I aroused the night porter, a sleepy
old man whose name, I remembered, was Angus, and went to my room,
packed my small valise and, awaiting my opportunity, stole out of the
hotel, strapped my bag to the carrier of the bicycle, and rode through
the drear, menacing streets of Dundee for the last time.
Twenty miles out of Dundee all trace of the mysterious person who had
disappeared from his hotel leaving a £5 note to cover his bill and a
polite request that his letters should be forwarded to the Majestic
Hotel, London, vanished. A cool young Englishman joined an early
morning train to Edinburgh at an intermediate station, and certainly
that cool, young Englishman in his grey tweeds and his eye-glass bore
no resemblance to the muddy cyclist in soiled overalls who had crossed
the river at Perth and had excited the attention of a certain mounted
constable.
That cool young Englishman, perfect in every detail, might have been
seen leaving the Central Station at Glasgow that same afternoon not
only accompanied by his valise but by a large portmanteau which he had
taken from the cloak-room at the station and which with characteristic
German foresight he had caused to be forwarded to Glasgow on the night
he left London for Dundee.
I had communicated with London by telephone. Nothing had been heard of
von Kahn, but the whole of my service in England was now on the _qui
vive_. Posser, one of my assistants, was on his way to Glasgow to
confer with me, and half a dozen agents in that town were busy
investigating the mystery of the man on the hill.
I was sitting at dinner that night in one of the fashionable
restaurants of Glasgow, a restaurant approached through a magnificent
marble vestibule, searching the latest edition of the papers, hoping
for two lines which would give me a clue to von Kahn’s fate, when a
staring headline met my eye and I gasped.
“Swiss Forgers: Sensational Arrests at Glen Macintyre.
“The Sheriff’s Court at Stirling was crowded to-day when Emil
Zimmwald, alias Brown, a Swiss, Louis Swart, Swiss, and Heinrich Kahn,
also described as a Swiss, were remanded on a charge of forging Swiss
bank notes. Inspector Macguire, of the Stirling Constabulary, stated
that the prisoner Zimmwald, who called himself Brown, rented a cottage
at Glen Macintyre, Swart posing as his valet. The two men were
well-known international forgers, and had been engaged in printing a
very large number of Swiss bank notes. The attention of the police had
first been attracted to the house owing to the noise of working of the
small printing machine which the prisoners used for their nefarious
purpose. On raiding the premises the prisoner Kahn was discovered in a
dazed condition. There had evidently been a quarrel and Kahn had been
struck. The prisoner Zimmwald made a rambling statement to the effect
that Kahn was a detective who had been sent to arrest him, but this
highly improbable story will be investigated by the sheriff at a later
sitting. The man Kahn resolutely refuses to make any statement at
all.”
My poor von Kahn! Thou shalt go down in Scottish history as a
confederate of forgers and shall spend many years in that grim
penitentiary at Perth, pleading guilty to a crime abhorrent to thee,
lest the confession of thy true crime lead thee to a firing party in
the chilly dawn!