The Eavesdropper
Ludwig Schoeffer, London agent for the Pfieldorf Company of Chemnitz,
was feeling at the very top of his form. He was carrying out his
instructions in a manner that bid fair to be highly satisfactory both
to his employers and himself, and unless untoward events disturbed the
even tenor of his investigations he stood to win the sum of two hundred
pounds before the day was out.
The Pfieldorf Company were both surprised and angry when the news came
that their tender for work for the Kilba Protectorate had been "turned
down". Their Teutonic mentality could not account for the fact that a
tender considerably higher than theirs had been accepted. The war was
over: why, then, should a good, old German firm be slighted and
practically debarred from securing a contract that would advance the
commercial prestige of the Fatherland?
At an extraordinary meeting of the directors Herr Bohme, chairman of
the company, proposed a somewhat startling scheme. He suggested that
the steelwork should be put in hand immediately, according to the
specification of the Kilba Protectorate Government. In any case, the
bridge, being of a useful design, would find a ready purchaser in one
of the South American republics, or perhaps in certain parts of Africa
where there was no British prejudice against German goods. The mere
fact that they were picking another man's brains by copying the
Protectorate's civil engineer's designs hardly entered into Herr
Bohme's calculations.
"And now I come to an important proposition," continued the chairman.
"It is for us to do our best to prevent this British Brocklington
Ironworks Company from carrying out their contract. Somehow--how, I do
not know yet--somehow that firm must be compelled to fail in their
undertaking. At the critical juncture the Kilba Protectorate will be
without their most important bridge, and we can well imagine the effect
that will have upon the country. That is where we step in. We can
offer a similar structure, complete, and in every way conformable to
specification, for the sum of twenty million marks, which is ten
thousand pounds more than our original tender, free on board at
Hamburg. To save the situation the Protectorate Government will jump
at our offer."
"But how can we prevent----?" began one of the directors.
Von Bohme winked ponderously.
"There are ways and means, von Kessler," he interrupted. "These
English fondly imagine that, now the war is over, there is no need for
our admirable secret service. As you know, that organization still
exists most healthily; only, instead of being the Imperial, it is now
the German Commercial Secret Service."
Herr von Bohme had occasion to be vindictive towards everyone and
everything British. A violent Junker, he had supported the ex-Kaiser's
war policy with all his might and main, never doubting, until it was
too late, of the rapid and triumphant success of the German arms. At
the Armistice he had been compelled to surrender eight of his largest
merchant vessels to the Allies. That practically smashed up the
shipping business of which Herr Bohme was managing director. There
remained the Pfieldorf Company, the activities of which bid fair to
more than recoup the directors and shareholders for the loss of their
mercantile marine. But von Bohme never forgot. Behind his keen
business capabilities lurked the spirit of vindictiveness towards the
Power that had taken so large a part in the smashing of the German
Empire.
Without loss of time von Bohme telegraphed to Ludwig Schoeffer, and
twenty-four hours later Ludwig presented himself at von Bohme's house
in the Platz Alice at Chemnitz.
Schoeffer, although only twenty-seven years of age, had had an
adventurous career. He was one of the very few German spies in England
who had eluded the skilfully drawn toils of Sir Basil Thomson. At the
outbreak of hostilities the spy was actually holding a British
Admiralty position in Whitehall, and during the next two years he was
busily serving two rival Governments at Portsmouth, Chatham, and
Rosyth. At the latter place a very simple slip nearly "gave him away",
and he quickly transferred his activities to the United States. There
he specialized in "deferred action bombs"; ingenious contrivances
detonated electrically by means of clockwork. Many a good ship owed
her destruction to Ludwig Schoeffer's cunning; and, even after the
cessation of hostilities, he remained in New York with the object of
wrecking the ex-German vessels surrendered under the terms of the
Armistice. But at last the spy was caught through the 'cuteness of a
Hoboken policeman. Arrested, he was tried, found guilty, and sent for
a life-sentence to Sing Sing. Three weeks later he created a record by
breaking out of that grim penitentiary, and succeeded in making his way
back to Germany, via San Francisco, Sydney, and Colombo.
There was nothing about Ludwig Schoeffer's appearance to betray his
nationality. He might, and frequently did, pass for an Englishman,
while his command of English defied detection. He was of medium height
and build, dark-haired and sallow-featured. There was nothing of
Teutonic stolidity about his movements. On the other hand, he walked
with the elasticity and easy carriage of an Anglo-Saxon athlete.
Von Bohme received his visitor in his study, drew a thick curtain over
the door, and came to the point at once.
"I want you to proceed to England, Schoeffer," he began. "Usual
terms--payment by results with immediate advance to meet current
expenses. You know Brocklington?"
"I was there in May and June, 1915, Herr Bohme."
"Good; but I fancy you don't know the Brocklington Ironworks."
The spy considered a few moments. To admit that he did not might be a
confession of lack of local knowledge. To say that he did when he was
not sure of the fact was to lay himself open to being discredited.
Then he considered that perhaps his employer was trying to catch him
out.
"I saw no ironworks there," he said at length.
Von Bohme grunted in satisfaction.
"For the very good reason that they came only into existence since the
war. Now, read this and commit the salient facts to memory."
Von Bohme handed his caller a dossier containing the papers dealing
with the Kilba Protectorate contract. There were eleven pages of
closely lined typescript with marginal notes in von Bohme's own
handwriting.
"You've grasped the important points? Good! Now, this is your task.
Go to Brocklington, find out and report to me on the progress of the
work. When necessary, shadow the directors of the Company in London.
Their offices are in Chilbolton Row, off St. Mary Axe. Use every means
at your disposal to hinder the work, since at all costs that steelwork
must not arrive at Kilba. You understand?"
Thirty-six hours later Ludwig Schoeffer arrived at Brocklington. In
the guise of a mechanic he presented himself at the works foreman's
office, having previously taken the precaution of registering under the
name of James Sylvester at the local Labour Exchange.
Already the contract was well in hand. Additional workmen were being
taken on, and the mere fact that Jim Sylvester was a skilled riveter
recommended by the local Exchange enabled the secret service agent to
obtain employment forthwith.
That was all very well as far as it went, but the fact that he was
actually at the works afforded Ludwig very few opportunities of getting
in touch with the brains of the concern. So, after two futile attempts
to hinder the work, Jim Sylvester obtained his discharge and
disappeared from the neighbourhood.
By this time the spy had got to know the managing director and most of
the principals by sight. His next step was to try to probe the secrets
of the head office in Chilbolton Row.
Judicious inquiries resulted in the information that the Brocklington
Ironworks Company's city premises were the ground floor of a large,
somewhat dingy building. The second and third floors were occupied by
shipping agents; the first floor was at present unoccupied.
Three days later Ludwig Schoeffer was in possession of the hitherto
vacant rooms immediately over the Brocklington Ironworks Company's
offices, but not as Ludwig Schoeffer. A card affixed to the door
announced to anyone who had occasion to visit the upstairs offices that
Mr. Josiah Sherringham, London agent for Messrs. Hoogenveen, bulb
growers, of Haarlem, would be in attendance daily from ten to four.
Since Messrs Hoogenveen, had no material existence, it was extremely
unlikely that clients would call upon Mr. Josiah Sherringham. Nor did
the tenant of the first floor want any. Usually the door was locked,
generally from the outside, and inside whenever the directors of the
Brocklington Ironworks Company held converse in the room below.
Amongst Mr. Josiah Sherringham's office furniture was a dictaphone, the
mouthpiece of which was extended by means of a length of india-rubber
tube and rested above a hole in the ceiling of the room below. Some
years previously the premises had been renovated and electric light
installed in place of gas, but the huge ornamental rose from which a
chandelier once depended formed a convenient camouflage for the
eavesdropper's operations.
Whenever the directors of Brocklington Ironworks Company held a board
meeting, Ludwig Schoeffer was an unseen listener. Being rather
particular about his appearance the spy invariably donned a suit of
workmen's overalls, lest his clothes should show signs of having come
in contact with the dusty floor. Fortnightly, transcribed records of
the British firm's progress were transmitted to the Platz Alice at
Chemnitz.
At length came the momentous meeting at which Captain Mostyn was to
announce the result of the Kilba Protectorate Government's inspector's
preliminary tests of the steelwork; and also the arrangements made for
the shipment of the material to its destination.
The dictaphone was purring softly. Ludwig, on his hands and knees, had
prized up some floor-boards and was listening to the report. In his
eagerness he could not wait for the wax cylinders to tell him what was
transpiring.
At a critical moment the dictaphone ceased functioning. The
eavesdropper half rose to attend to the instrument. His knees slipped
on the narrow joists, and the next instant, amidst a rending of laths
and plaster, he landed on his back upon the table around which were
seated the directors of the Brocklington Ironworks Company.