THE JERMYN CREDIT BANK
Theories and lofty idealism have ever been qualities identified with
Germanism. We Germans despise duplicity and double dealing. In our
bluff, hearty way, we are impatient with the jiggling nonsense of
diplomacy and the shining sword of Michael cuts through the cringing
wall of our enemies, opening the way to the rich streams of kultur
which are dammed in ever-increasing volume by the banks which the
envy, barbarism, and frivolity of our enemies erect.
There is a saying in my country: “Trust an Englishman, admire a
Frenchman, learn from a Russian, but never argue with an American.” I
think it is the deceit of the English race, the mean treachery
amounting to sneakiness which so appals we Germans.
I have previously related a certain adventure with a person called
Haynes who insinuated himself into my office disguised as a
journalist. I learnt that he was a member of the ridiculous secret
service which the English had improvised during the war and with which
it hoped to counteract the well-organized and foreseeing sagacity of
our bureau. I can prove that this same Haynes, an English gentleman
forsooth, was no better than an associate of common blackguards,
ruffians, and cutpurses of the worst description.
Such is English gentlemanliness!
What a scandal there would be revealed if on a certain day in 1916, I
could have walked into this man’s club where he sat with the pampered
aristocracy of England and have denounced him!
“Behold!” I would say, “a man who is little better than a common cad
of the golf links, and I can prove every word, gentlemen of the
British aristocracy!”
How sensational! But, alas! I had higher game than Mr. Haynes. I had
the interest and the future of the Fatherland to consider and these
matters were of infinitely greater importance than a thousand Haynes.
You must know that when I speak of the “well-organized and far-seeing
sagacity” of the German Intelligence Service, I am not in any way
exaggerating. For how many years had we been preparing for this most
gigantic and world-shocking conflict? How minutely were laid the plans
of the Intelligence Department! With what care and thoroughness and
brainy preparation did we patiently fashion the pieces of the game!
When I came to England I took charge, as I think I have explained
before, of the hundred and one departments which were in some way or
other associated with Intelligence. My task was to co-ordinate the
whole of the common service of Deutschstrum, to gather up all the
strings in my own fingers and to pull them each to serve the higher
purpose. One of the most important branches of our work had been
inaugurated ten years before I came to England, and I think if you
spent the whole of those ten years guessing you would not divine how
the business which had been established was to serve Germany in her
hour of need.
Perhaps you have noticed, you who have been to London, a modest, yet
substantial, building in Jermyn Street, which is known as the Jermyn
Credit Bank. It is, or was, a very unpretentious and serious building
with a modest facia and a small but imposing interior. If you had not
seen the place you would not fail to have seen the advertisements of
the bank which ran consistently in most of the English papers.
The advertisement was as follows:
Gentlemen of position, officers of both services and officials of the
British or Indian Civil Service may arrange loans on note of hand with
the Jermyn Credit Bank. No security required. Interest 7 per cent. per
annum. Apply by letter, which will be treated in the strictest
confidence, to the Secretary, Jermyn Credit Bank, 642, Jermyn Street,
St. James.
There was nothing flamboyant about the advertisement any more than
there was about the building. The advertisement occupied a space of
two inches in most of the newspapers, but generally in the more
respectable and conservative of newspapers. Those who called by
appointment were treated with the greatest courtesy. They were ushered
into the luxurious room of the manager, the needs of the client were
discussed, the question of security delicately touched upon--there is
always some security to be had even though the advertisement made a
point that none was required--and loans were arranged, very often for
considerable amounts.
The bank was very popular with officers of the army and navy. Men who
found themselves in a tight corner blessed the name of the Jermyn
Credit Bank. If, when their bills became due, there was any difficulty
about payment there was certainly no difficulty about renewing the
document on a very reasonable basis.
Sometimes, of course, it happened that the bank manager, a polite and
charming gentleman who was, alas! killed on the western front by the
treacherous English, could not, with all the best will in the world,
oblige the client. Needy professional men, doctors, lawyers and
unimportant journalists would learn that even with their security the
golden coffers of the Credit Bank remained tightly closed. But to any
officer, especially to an officer who had the magic letters P.S.C.
after his name, or any head of a civil department or any naval
gentleman, who had won the slightest distinction and promotion in his
profession, might be assured that if not the whole, at least part of
his necessities were met.
The business grew to an extraordinary extent. One officer would
introduce another. Mr. Rostenberg, the manager, would occasionally
give little dinner parties, to which he would invite one of his more
exalted clients, on the understanding that he would bring two or three
friends.
I cannot say that the business was particularly prosperous from our
point of view, but there were singularly few bad debts, and I do not
suppose it cost the Fatherland more than £10,000 a year to secure an
intimate financial history of every officer serving in the army, plus
a pull over such of the bank’s clients as were in its debt. For men
who borrow money are very grateful and a grateful man is talkative,
especially if conversation is assisted by a little Veuve Clicquot and
a chic dinner, and what is more natural than a man should talk about
his brother officers and their financial positions?
The bank had the reputation--so valuable--that it never dunned its
clients or brought an action against even the most backward and
unfaithful amongst them, and such a reputation helped considerably
when war broke out and Mr. Rostenberg was called upon by his directors
to resign immediately owing to his German origin and his place was
taken by Mr. Mathew Ritten, a neutral gentleman of great integrity.
As the English army increased so increased the business of the bank,
for young officers are impecunious all the world over. I am not going
to say what steps were taken to secure information. This, however, I
am willing to confess, that much news came to me which, otherwise, I
should not have heard, for Mr. Ritten gave little dinners and went to
clubs and met many men who were glad to talk to one who was so
enthusiastically an anti-German, and I, Heine, sitting in my little
Fleet Street office would receive short notes in the code and would
learn that the 10th Blankshires and the division to which the 10th
Blankshires were attached were being withdrawn to General Reserve, and
the 19th Wessex were training for attack behind the lines and being
taught by means of models the topography of the country to the east of
Lens.
For myself, I never went to the bank. If you had told me of its
existence I should have expressed surprise and wonder. I saw the
advertisements as everybody else saw them, but to me, Mr. Ritten was a
name and nothing more. We Germans have the reputation of devoting too
much attention to insignificant details, but let me tell you, my
friends, that the might of Germany was built upon details, expanded on
details, and came to its highest and most world-defying decision in
August, 1914, upon the faith which we had in the detailed plan.
Though I despised the English Secret Service, though I could shrug my
shoulders and snap my fingers at these amateurs, I was too much of a
German to rush bull-headed into danger. Realizing that Mister, or
Major, Haynes, was a man of duplicity and low cunning, I purposely
avoided associating myself in the slightest degree with the Jermyn
Credit Bank, though it was originally the idea of those who sent me to
England, that I should appear in London in the capacity of manager of
that bank.
Happily, I was too shrewd a fellow to agree to such stupidity. There
is a certain bat-eyed ignorance about the officials who direct the
Intelligence in Berlin, which is deplorable and incomprehensible. That
they need new blood at Headquarters, is acknowledged all over the
world. If they had had a man there with a knowledge of England and
America, a man who himself had carried out difficult and dangerous
tasks, and who, by reason of his long service in the department, was
well entitled to greater promotion than that which was grudgingly
given to him: if, in fact, they had such a man as I, many of the
mistakes which disfigured the administration during the years of war
would have been avoided.
They chose for me the most incompetent of helpers. They sent me all
sorts of impossible assistants, with whom I would not associate my
name and my proud record. They foisted upon me unskilful enthusiasts
who were often sent to England without any notification coming to me,
and these, in most cases, were detected and suffered at the hands of
the law. Do not think that I have any axe to grind. I am only
concerned with the welfare of the Fatherland, but there were moments
when even I, faithful servant and obedient subordinate of higher
authorities, “kicked myself against the pricks,” as the English say,
at the absurd lack of comprehension and seriousness which was shown.
One afternoon I had returned from the country, where I had been
superintending the erection of a temporary wireless plan, when my
office-boy informed me that a man was waiting to see me. I found him
sitting on the edge of the table, smoking the stump of a cigar. He was
a tall man, rather broad, and by the fact that he was wearing his hat
in my office, and that the room was filled with the rank smell of
tobacco, I gathered that he was an American of the lowest class. He
was dressed expensively but loudly. He wore a great bunch of seals
which dangled from a broad silk ribbon, and had two diamond rings upon
the little finger of his right hand. He nodded as I came in, but did
not attempt either to take off his hat or to stand on his feet. For
the moment I did not recognize him.
“May I ask to what I owe the honour of this visit?” I demanded
politely.
“Cut all that out, Heine,” he said coarsely. “Why, don’t you recognize
your old friend, Big Jim?”
“Don’t call me Heine,” I said hastily.
I recognized the man at once as one of the private detective staff of
the Hamburg-American line. It had been my duty to keep an eye upon
undesirable characters, and Big Jim Riley was as well known to New
York as he was to London as a “con.” man. He used to work the boats of
the Hamburg-American line in the days before the war, and for some
time was one of a gang of crooks that spent their lives crossing and
re-crossing the Atlantic.
Though we had many complaints about the man, he had too big a pull in
New York for us to interfere with him. I had lived with Big Jim and
his gang in that spirit of camaraderie and tolerance which typifies
the attitude of a shrewd German detective to the criminal classes.
“Why, so it is,” I said heartily, “but you must not call me Heine,
Jim.”
“Ain’t you a Dutchman?” he said.
“I never was a German!” I doubt whether he saw the subtle correction.
“I am a Chilian and I am happy to say that I hate the Germans and all
their work.”
Big Jim’s eyes opened wide.
“Well, now, if that don’t beat the band,” he said, “so that’s your
name, is it?”
He pointed to the name that was painted on the glass panel of the
door, and I nodded.
“Well,” he said, “I guess those people in New York have made some
mistake. Pretzl told me I was to come along and report to you and that
you might put some good work in my way. I don’t care what it is,” he
said, swinging his legs and puffing away at his cigar, “anything short
of a business that will send me to the Chair is good enough for me.”
“My dear Jim,” I said mildly. “I am afraid Herr Pretzl is under
altogether a wrong impression.” How I cursed that interfering swine
von Pretzl who had placed my life and freedom in the hands of a common
confidence man! I have frequently warned von Papen that Pretzl was an
old woman and a fool. How much was I justified!
“See here, Heine,” said Jim, speaking with great earnestness, “I want
some kinder job. There ain’t any suckers left in the world--I guess
they’re all gone to war. There’s nothing crossing the Atlantic now but
Dago acrobats on their way to join up with the Alpinis, and they’re
wrapped up so in life-savin’ suits that they couldn’t get at their wad
even if they wanted to give it to you. Them and feeble-minded old men
and women are all the passengers there are--and women as you know are
meaner than hell when it comes to a show-down of real money. I’ve been
across three times dodging submarines and mines and all I could raise
was a game of auction bridge at ten cents a hundred. Now you know the
ropes here. Put me wise to a few.”
I thought rapidly. He might be a useful man. Then again he might be a
source of grave danger. A man of that character would not come to
England without the British police force being informed and probably
he was shadowed. In the circumstances I rejected any offer of personal
help, but I gave him the address of two or three gambling clubs and
promised to call on the ’phone a good friend of mine who was the
proprietor of the largest. He cheered up when I told him this.
“If there is money to be made,” he said, “I am after it. Some of these
young officers have got plenty of money, you say.”
“Some of them are worth millions,” I said solemnly.
He shook hands heartily and I was glad to see the back of him. I
watched through the window his departure. There was a man standing on
the other side of the road, apparently watching the traffic, but as
soon as Jim made his appearance and turned westward the idler turned
too. Of course he was watched. The imbecility of sending such a man to
me with all the interests I represented!
I was in despair, but pulling myself together I put on my hat and
going out into the street hailed a cab and was driven off to my club,
where I told an amusing story to a few of the members who were loafing
in the smoke-room about this confidence man who had come to me with a
letter of introduction. I felt sure that somebody would repeat the
story, and in this I was not mistaken.
I heard no more of Big Jim, though I saw him one night at dinner at
the Ritz-Carlton, and from his prosperous appearance I gathered that
he was not in any immediate want. My friend, to whom I had given him
an introduction, told me that Jim had cleaned up a lot of money one
night at the gaming club, that he was friendly with a number of
officers, and that he had become _persona grata_ at a certain Bohemian
club, the members of which are mostly of the theatrical profession. I
remembered, when this was told me, that Big Jim, before he began his
nefarious career, had been an actor, if you can dignify with such a
name one who travelled one-night stands with a third-rate burlesque
company, and he was alternately comedian and baggage man.
What I expected, and what did not occur, was a visit from the police
in regard to Big Jim. For this I was prepared, but apparently the
story I told at the club must have been repeated in the proper
quarters, as I intended it should be, and nobody questioned me as to
my acquaintance with this undesirable American.
Whatever place Big Jim may have occupied in my mind was dispelled by a
piece of news which came to me one morning whilst I was in my bath--it
was Friday, that being the day I invariably bathe--which was of so
remarkable a character, and its possibilities so far-reaching, that
nothing else occupied my thoughts.
My servant knocked at the door and told me that there was an urgent
message awaiting me from “Mr. Thompson.” Now “Mr. Thompson” was the
telephone name for Mr. Ritten, and dressing myself hastily in my
bath-wrap I hurried to the room I used as a study, knowing that Ritten
would not call me at that unearthly hour unless something important
was afoot or unless he had secured some information of an unusual
character.
“It is I, Thompson,” said the voice, “can I see you? It is most
important.”
“My dear Thompson,” I said testily, “you know very well that it is
impossible that we should meet.”
“But I must see you,” he said, “it is a matter of the first
importance. I cannot communicate over the telephone.”
“Come then at once,” I said, “bringing some documents which would
excuse your presence.”
In ten minutes the bell of my flat rang, and Mr. Ritten was ushered
in. He was a suave, gentlemanly man, who was, I believe, well born in
his own country. With a preliminary apology for troubling me, which I
coldly dismissed, he laid before me the object of his visit.
“I have had a request for a loan of £20,000 for seven days,” he said.
“Twenty thousand pounds!” I was surprised at the largeness of the sum.
“That is an enormous amount. Who asks for it?”
“General Sir Stanley Magward!”
I whistled.
“Sir Stanley Magward!”
This was indeed a remarkable request. This general, as everybody
knows, commands one of the English armies. He is a famous strategist,
and marked for further promotion.
“Here is the letter. It arrived this morning,” said Ritten, and passed
me across a sheet of note-paper, which bore at the top the
inscription:
“Headquarters of the 9th Army.”
The letter was brief and peremptory:
“Dear Sirs,
“I am in need of £20,000 to pay off a mortgage which falls due on my
Somerset property this week. My brother-in-law, Mr. Hiram S. Carter,
the well-known railroad magnate of America, is on the ocean
homeward-bound, and I cannot, therefore, get in touch with him. Upon
his arrival the debt will be liquidated. I agree to pay a sum
equivalent to 10 per cent. per annum for the accommodation. I apply to
you because I have no desire to let my banker into the secret of my
embarrassment. I shall be in London the day after to-morrow, on short
leave. A note delivered to the Senior Army Club will find me.”
“Well?” said Ritten, when I pushed the letter back to him.
“By all means let him have the money,” I said.
“You authorize it?”
“Certainly,” I replied.
“I have made inquiries,” said Ritten, “his brother-in-law is on the
homeward trip, but the date of his arrival is rather uncertain. The
mortgaged property is Penton Close, and the mortgagees are the London
and Manchester Bank.”
I nodded.
“That explains why he does not wish to bother his bankers,” I said.
“Send a note to the Senior Army Club and have the money ready for the
General--this may mean a lot to us. It is the kind of connection that
would be very useful.”
Well might I feel elated. That an army commander should place himself
in the hands of money-lenders, and such money-lenders, was distinctly
a feather in my cap. It would not be well for my Lord Magward that the
mighty War Office should know one of their trusted generals was
borrowing money. On the other hand, it might be well for the Jermyn
Credit Bank, if any question rose as to its _bonâ-fides_, that it had
amongst its clients so august a personage. Whichever way I looked it
was all to the good.
The letter was despatched, and on the Monday Mr. Ritten called me up
on the ’phone to say that the general was in his private office, and
had signed the necessary documents and was waiting whilst the cheque
was being cashed.
“Come round and meet him,” suggested Ritten.
“Am I a fool?” I replied sarcastically.
“He is very interesting,” said Ritten. “I have much to tell you when I
have the time. He has invited me to go to France to his headquarters,
and to bring any friends I wish.”
I could have hugged myself with delight.
“Accept the invitation,” I said quickly, “also discover where the
headquarters of the 9th Army are. Find out why he is on leave for such
a short time, and whether his army had many casualties in the last
offensive.”
Ritten acknowledged my instructions and hung up the receiver, and I
sat down at my desk to formulate a plan for the forthcoming visit
which I intended to pay to an important headquarters of the British
army in the field.
I suppose I must have been working away for two hours when I heard a
commotion in the outer office, the door was flung violently open and a
tall, broad officer dashed in, slamming the door behind him. He was
breathless and could not speak. He was perhaps no more breathless than
I, for he wore the cross-batons and stars of a superior general, and
across his broad chest were three rows of medals, ribbons and
decorations.
He tore off his gold-laced hat and wiped his brow.
“Pardon me, general,” I began.
“Shut up, Heine,” he gasped. “Forget that general stuff, and help me
out of this.”
It was my turn to gasp.
“Jim,” I said, “what is the meaning of it?”
He sank down into a chair.
“I have got away with £20,000 from a bank,” he said rapidly. “Gee, it
was easy money, Heine. A bit of note-paper that I borrowed from a kid
on leave from one of these army headquarters, a suit of clothes, and
it was like taking money from a child. But they’re after me; one of
those damned English officers spotted me and asked me in the street
who I was. I just had time to jump into a cab and bolt.”
The dreadful truth was slowly dawning upon me.
“Twenty thousand pounds,” I said, “you have got £20,000 from a
bank--from the Jermyn Credit Bank, Jim?”
“Sure thing,” he said, “do you know them?”
I passed my trembling hand across my brow.
“Leave the money here in my desk, Jim,” I said. “I will take care of
it, then, when the coast is clear, you can come back for it.”
“Give nothing,” he said brutally.
He walked across the room and took a cautious glance from the window.
“I am going,” he said, “they didn’t pick me up.”
“Don’t go with that money,” I cried in alarm, “it will be bad if they
catch you with the goods. Be a good boy and leave it here,” but before
I could finish he had thrown open the door.
“Hell!” said Jim, as Major Haynes walked in.
“Friend of yours, Heine?” said Major Haynes; “dear me, what excellent
company you are keeping. I hardly know who to expect next. I shan’t be
surprised to find the Minister of War here one of these fine days. How
do you do, general?”
“Quit kidding!” growled Jim.
“What horrible language for the commander of the 9th Army,” said Major
Haynes, and then--“I suppose you know it is an offence to wear a
uniform to which you are not entitled?”
It was now my turn to speak.
“This man,” I broke in, “is a thief. He has robbed a certain bank of a
large sum of money.”
“As to that I know nothing,” said Major Haynes, “all that I am
concerned with is the fact that your friend is wearing a uniform to
which he is not entitled.”
“He is a robber,” I cried excitedly, “he has obtained by trickery and
fraud a great amount of money.”
“From the Jermyn Credit Bank?” asked Major Haynes in a tone of
interest, “the officers’ friend, the help-one-another association? How
perfectly shocking!”
He beckoned with his finger and Jim and he left the room. I saw them
drive away in a cab together, and sat in an agony of apprehension, not
only that day but for the rest of the week.
Then, one afternoon, Major Haynes strolled into my office.
“Your friend, the general, has sailed,” he said, “and you will be
pleased to learn that I took from him everything to which he was not
entitled.”
“The money?” I said eagerly.
“The uniform,” said Major Haynes; “I think he was entitled to the
money, don’t you? As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I will ease your
mind about the money. That also was taken from him, and is now with
the rest of the bank’s credits--in the hands of a British official.”
I turned sick and faint.
“You are thinking of your friend von Ritten,” smiled Haynes. “He also
is in the hands of a British official!”