Kitabı oku: «Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England», sayfa 10
A quarter of an hour later we had run the car round to the rear of Shand's pretty rose-embowered cottage, and all descended.
I made excuse to the Honourable Bob that the screw top of the radiator was missing, whereupon von Rausch laughed heartily, and picking up a piece of wire from the bench he bent it so as to form a hook, and with it fished down in the hot water inside.
His companions stood watching, but judge my surprise when I saw him of a sudden draw forth a small aluminium cylinder, the top of which he screwed off and from it took out a piece of tracing-linen tightly folded.
This he spread out, and my quick eyes saw that it was a carefully drawn tracing of a portion of the new type of battleship of the Neptune class (the improved Dreadnought type), with many marginal notes in German in a feminine hand.
In an instant the astounding truth became plain to me. The Baronne, who was in von Rausch's employ, had no doubt surreptitiously obtained the original from Mr. Henry Seymour's despatch-box, it having been sent down to him to Edgcott for his approval.
A most important British naval secret was, I saw, in the hands of the clever spies of the Kaiser!
I made no remark, for in presence of those men was I not helpless?
They took the tracing in the house, and for half an hour held carousal in celebration of their success.
Presently Brackenbury came forth to me and said:
"The Colonel is going to Harwich this evening, and you must drive him. The boat for the 'Hook' leaves at half-past ten, I think."
"Very well, sir," I replied, with apparent indifference. "I shall be quite ready."
At seven we started, von Rausch and I, and until darkness fell I drove eastward, when at last we found ourselves in Ipswich.
Suddenly, close to the White Horse Hotel and within hailing distance of a police-constable, I brought the car to a dead stop, and turning to the German, who was seated beside me, said in as quiet a tone as I could:
"Colonel von Rausch, I'll just trouble you to hand over to me the tracing you and your friends have stolen from Mr. Henry Seymour – the details of the new battleship about to be built at Chatham."
"What do you mean?" cried the spy. "Drive on, you fool. I have no time to lose."
"I wish for that tracing," I said, whipping out the revolver I always carried. "Give it to me."
"What next!" he laughed, in open defiance. "Who are you, a mere servant, that you should dictate to me?"
"I'm an Englishman!" I replied. "And I'll not allow you to take that secret to your employers in Berlin."
The Colonel glanced round in some confusion. He was evidently averse to a scene in that open street.
"Come into the hotel yonder," he said. "We can discuss the matter there."
"It admits of no discussion," I said firmly. "You will hand me the tracing over which you have so ingeniously deceived me, or I shall call the constable yonder and have you detained while we communicate with the Admiralty."
"Drive on, I tell you," he cried in anger. "Don't be an ass!"
"I am not a fool," I answered. "Give me that tracing."
"Never."
I turned and whistled to the constable, who had already noticed us in heated discussion.
The officer approached, but von Rausch, finding himself in a corner, quickly produced an envelope containing the tracing and handed it to me, urging:
"Remain silent, Nye. Say nothing. You have promised."
I broke open the envelope, and after satisfying myself he had not deceived me, I placed it safely in my breast-pocket, as further evidence of the work of the Kaiser's spies amongst us.
Then, with excuses to the constable, I swung the car into the yard of the White Horse Hotel, where the spy descended, and with a fierce imprecation in German he hurried out, and I saw him no more.
At midnight I was in Ray's chambers, in Bruton Street, and we rang up Mr. Henry Seymour, who had, we found, returned to his house in Curzon Street from Edgcott only a couple of hours before.
In ignorance that spies had obtained the secret of the Neptune or improved Dreadnought, he would not at first believe the story we told him.
But when in his own library half an hour later we handed him back the tracing, he was compelled to admit the existence of German espionage in England, though in the House of Commons only a week before he had scorned the very idea.
CHAPTER VIII
THE GERMAN PLOT AGAINST ENGLAND
"When last I had the pleasure of meeting mademoiselle, both her nationality and her name were – well – slightly different, eh?" I remarked, bending forward with a smile.
From her pretty lips rang out a merry ripple of laughter, and over her sweet face spread a mischievous look.
"I admit the allegation, M'sieur Jacox," was her rather saucy response in French. "But I had no idea you would again recognise me."
"Ah, mademoiselle, beauty such as yours is not universal, and is always to be remembered," I said, with an expression of mock reproval.
"Now, why do you flatter me – you?" she asked, "especially after what passed at Caux."
"Surely I may be permitted to admire you, Suzette? Especially as I am now aware of the truth."
She started, and stared at me for a moment, a neat little figure in black. Then she gave her shoulders a slight shrug, pouting like a spoiled child.
There were none to overhear us. It was out of the season in Paris, and on that afternoon, the 15th of August, 1908, to be exact, we had driven by "auto" into the Bois, and were taking our "five o'clock" under the trees at Pré Catalan, that well-known restaurant in the centre of the beautiful pleasure wood of the Parisians.
I had serious business with Suzette Darbour.
After our success in preventing the plans of the improved Dreadnoughts falling into German hands, I had, at Ray's suggestion, left Charing Cross in search of the dainty little divinity before me, the neat-waisted girl with the big dark eyes, the tiny mouth, and the cheeks that still bore the bloom of youth upon them – the girl who, at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, in Copenhagen, had been known as Vera Yermoloff, of Riga, and who had afterwards lived in the gay little watering-place of Caux under the same name, and had so entirely deceived me – the girl whom I now knew to be the catspaw of others – in a word, a decoy!
Yet how sweet, how modest her manner, how demure she looked as she sat there before me at the little table beneath the trees, sipping her tea and lifting her smiling eyes to mine. Even though I had told her plainly that I was aware of the truth, she remained quite unconcerned. She had no fear of me apparently. For her, exposure and the police had no terrors. She seemed rather amused than otherwise.
I lit a cigarette, and by so doing obtained time for reflection.
My search had led me first to the Midi, thence into Italy, across to Sebenico in Dalmatia, to Venice, and back to Paris, where only that morning, with the assistance of my old friend of my student days in the French capital, Gaston Bernard, of the Prefecture of Police, I had succeeded in running her to earth. I had only that morning found her residing with a girl friend – a seamstress at Duclerc's – in a tiny flat au cinquième in a frowsy old house at the top of the Rue Pigalle, and living in her own name, that of Suzette Darbour.
And as I sat smoking I wondered if I dared request her assistance.
In the course of my efforts to combat the work of German spies in England I had been forced to make many queer friendships, but none perhaps so strange as the one I was now cultivating. Suzette Darbour was, I had learned from Ray Raymond a few months ago, a decoy in association with a very prince of swindlers, an American who made his head-quarters in Paris, and who had in the past year or two effected amazing coups, financial and otherwise, in the various capitals of Europe.
Her age was perhaps twenty-two, though certainly she did not look more than eighteen. She spoke both English and Russian quite well, for, as she had told me long ago, she had spent her early days in Petersburg. And probably in those twenty years of her life she had learnt more than many women had learned in forty.
Hers was an angelic face, with big, wide-open, truthful eyes, but her heart was, I knew, cold and callous.
Could I – dare I – take her into my service – to assist me in a matter of the most vital importance to British interests? The mission upon which I was engaged at that moment was both delicate and difficult. A single false move would mean exposure.
I was playing a deep game, and it surely behoved me to exercise every precaution. During the years I had been endeavouring to prove the peril to which England was exposed from foreign invasion, I had never been nearer failure than now. Indeed, I held my breath each time I recollected all that depended upon my success.
Ray Raymond, Vera Vallance, and myself had constituted ourselves into a little band with the object of combating the activity of the ingenious spies of the Kaiser. Little does the average Englishman dream of the work of the secret agent, or how his success or failure is reflected in our diplomatic negotiations with the Powers. Ambassadors and ministers may wear smart uniforms with glittering decorations, and move in their splendid embassies surrounded by their brilliant staffs; attachés may flirt, and first secretaries may take tea with duchesses, yet to the spy is left the real work of diplomacy, for, after all, it is upon the knowledge he obtains that His Excellency the Ambassador frames his despatch to his Government, or the Minister for Foreign Affairs presents a "Note" to the Powers.
We had for months been working on without publicity, unheeded, unrecognised, unprotected, unknown. A thankless though dangerous task, our only reward had been a kind word from the silent, sad-faced Prime Minister himself. For months our whereabouts had been unknown, even to each other. Ray generally scented the presence of spies, and it was for me to carry through the inquiry in the manner which I considered best and safest for myself.
"Suzette," I said at length, looking at her across the rising smoke from my cigarette, "when we last met you had the advantage of me. To-day we stand upon even ground."
"Pardon! I don't quite understand?" asked the little lady in the sheath costume with just a slight tremor of the eyelids.
"Well – I have discovered that you and Henry Banfield are friends – that to you he owes much of his success, and that to you is the credit of a little affair in Marienbad, which ended rather unpleasantly for a certain hosiery manufacturer from Chemnitz named Müller."
Her faced blanched, her eyes grew terrified, and her nails clenched themselves into her white palms.
"Ah! Then you – you have found me, m'sieur, for purposes of revenge – you – you intend to give me over to the police because of the fraud I practised upon you! But I ask you to have pity for me," she begged in French. "I am a woman – and – and I swear to you that I was forced to act towards you as I did."
"You forced open my despatch-box, believing that I carried valuables there, and found, to your dismay, only a few papers."
"I was compelled to do so by Banfield," she said simply. "He mistook you for another man, a diplomat, and believed that you had certain important documents with you."
"Then he made a very great mistake," I laughed. "And after your clever love-making with me you only got some extracts from a Government report, together with a few old letters."
"From those letters we discovered who you really were," mademoiselle said. "And then we were afraid."
I smiled.
"Afraid that I would pay Banfield back in his own coin, eh?"
"I was afraid. He was not, for he told me that if you attempted any reprisal, he would at once denounce you to the Germans."
"Thanks. I'm glad you've told me that," I said, with feigned unconcern. Truth to tell, however, I was much upset by the knowledge that the cunning American who so cleverly evaded the police had discovered my present vocation.
Yet, after all, had not the explanation of the pretty girl before me rather strengthened my hand?
"Well, Suzette," I said, with a moment's reflection, "I have not sought you in order to threaten you. On the contrary, I am extremely anxious that we should be friends. Indeed, I want you, if you will, to do me a service."
She looked me straight in the face, apparently much puzzled.
"I thought you were my enemy," she remarked.
"That I am not. If you will only allow me, I will be your friend."
Her fine eyes were downcast, and I fancied I detected in them the light of unshed tears. How strange it was that upon her attitude towards me should depend a nation's welfare!
"First, you must forgive me for my action at Caux," she said in a low, earnest voice, scarce above a whisper. "You know my position, alas! I dare not disobey that man who holds my future so irrevocably in his hands."
"He threatens you, then?"
"Yes. If I disobeyed any single one of his commands, he would deliver me over at once to the police for a serious affair – a crime, however, of which I swear to you that I am innocent – the crime of murder!"
"He holds threats over you," I said, tossing away my cigarette. "Describe the affair to me."
"It is the crime of the Rue de Royat, two years ago. You no doubt recollect it," she faltered, after some hesitation. "A Russian lady, named Levitsky, was found strangled in her flat and all her jewellery taken."
"And Banfield charges you with the crime?"
"I admit that I was in the apartment when the crime was committed – decoyed there for that purpose – but I am not the culprit."
"But surely you could prove the identity of the assassin?"
"I saw him for an instant. But I had no knowledge of who he was."
"Then why do you fear this American crook? Why not dissociate yourself from him?"
"Because it would mean my betrayal and ruin. I have no means of disproving this dastardly allegation. I am in his power."
"You love him, perhaps?" I remarked, my gaze full upon her.
"Love him!" she protested, with flashing eyes. "I hate him!" And she went on to explain how she was held powerless in the hands of the scoundrel.
"You have a lover, I understand, mademoiselle?" I remarked presently.
She was silent, but about the corners of her pretty mouth there played a slight smile which told the truth.
"Why not cut yourself adrift from this life of yours?" I urged. "Let me be your friend and assist you against this fellow Banfield."
"How could you assist me? He knows what you are, and would denounce you instantly!"
What she said was certainly a very awkward truth. Banfield was one of the cleverest scoundrels in Europe, an unscrupulous man who, by reason of certain sharp deals, had become possessed of very considerable wealth, his criminal methods being always most carefully concealed. The police knew him to be a swindler, but there was never sufficient evidence to convict.
To obtain Suzette's services I would, I saw, be compelled to propitiate him.
Alone there, beneath the softly murmuring trees, I stretched forth my hand across the table and took her neatly gloved fingers in mine, saying:
"Suzette, what I am you already know. I am a cosmopolitan, perhaps unscrupulous, as a man occupied as I am must needs be. I am an Englishman and, I hope, a patriot. Yet I trust I have always been chivalrous towards a woman. You are, I see, oppressed – held in a bondage that is hateful – "
At my words she burst into tears, holding my hand convulsively in hers.
"No," I said in a voice of sympathy. "The professions of neither of us are – well, exactly honourable, are they? Nevertheless, let us be friends. I want your assistance, and in return I will assist you. Let us be frank and open with each other. I will explain the truth and rely upon your secrecy. Listen. In Berlin certain negotiations are at this moment in active progress with St. Petersburg and New York, with the object of forming an offensive alliance against England. This would mean that in the coming war, which is inevitable, my country must meet not only her fiercest enemy, Germany, but also the United States and Russia. I have reason to believe that matters have secretly progressed until they are very near a settlement. What I desire to know is the actual inducement held out by the Kaiser's Foreign Office. Do you follow?"
"Perfectly," she said, at once attentive. "I quite recognise the danger to your country."
"The danger is to France also," I pointed out. "For the past six months an active exchange of despatches has been in progress, but so carefully has the truth been concealed that only by sheer accident – a word let drop in a drawing-room in London – I scented what was in the wind. Then I at once saw that you, Suzette, was the only person who could assist us."
"How?"
"You are an expert in the art of prying into despatch-boxes," I laughed.
"Well?"
"In Berlin, at the Kaiserhof Hotel, there is staying a certain Charles Pierron. If any one is aware of the truth that man is. I want you to go to Berlin, make his acquaintance, and learn what he knows. If what I suspect be true, he possesses copies of the despatches emanating from the German Foreign Office. And of these I must obtain a glimpse at all hazards."
"Who is this Pierron?"
"He was at the 'Angleterre,' in Copenhagen, when you were there, but I do not think you saw him. The reason of my presence there was because I chanced to be interested in his movements."
"What is he – an undesirable?"
"As undesirable as I am myself, mademoiselle," I laughed. "He is a French secret agent – an Anglophobe to his finger-tips."
She laughed.
"I see, m'sieur," she exclaimed; "you desire me to adopt the profession of the spy with the kid glove, eh?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
"Pierron knows me. Indeed, he already has good cause to remember me in England, where he acted as a spy of Germany," I remarked. "He is always impressionable where the fair sex is concerned, and you will, I feel confident, quickly be successful if you lived for a few days at the 'Kaiserhof' as Vera Yermoloff."
She was silent, apparently reflecting deeply.
"I am prepared, of course, to offer you a monetary consideration," I added in a low voice.
"No monetary consideration is needed, m'sieur," was her quick response. "In return for the fraud I practised upon you, it is only just that I should render you this service. Yet without Banfield's knowledge it would be utterly impossible."
"Why?"
"Because I dare not leave Paris without his permission."
"Then you must go with his knowledge – make up some story – a relative ill or something – to account for your journey to Berlin."
She seemed undecided. Therefore I repeated my suggestion, well knowing that the sweet-faced girl could, if she wished, obtain for us the knowledge which would place power in the hands of Great Britain – power to upset the machinations of our enemies.
Mine was becoming a profession full of subterfuge.
Her breast heaved and fell in a long-drawn sigh. I saw that she was wavering.
She sipped her tea in silence, her eyes fixed upon the shady trees opposite.
"Suzette," I exclaimed at last, "your lover's name is Armand Thomas, clerk at the head office of the Compte d'Escompte. He believes you to be the niece of the rich American, Henry Banfield, little dreaming of your real position."
"How do you know that?"
I smiled, telling her that I had made it my business to discover the facts.
"You love him?" I asked, looking her straight in the face.
"Yes," was her serious response.
"And you have kept this love affair secret from Banfield?"
"Of course. If he knew the truth he would be enraged. He has always forbidden me to fall in love."
"Because he fears that your lover may act as your protector and shield you from his evil influence," I remarked. "Well, Suzette," I added, "you are a very clever girl. If you are successful on this mission I will, I promise, find a means of uniting you with your lover."
She shook her head sadly, replying:
"Remember Banfield's threat. Disobedience of any of his commands will mean my ruin. Besides, he knows who and what you are. Therefore how can you assist me?"
"Mademoiselle," I said, again extending my hand to my dainty little friend, "I make you this promise not only on my own behalf – but also on behalf of my country, England. Is it a compact?"
"Do you really believe you can help me to free myself of my hateful bond?" she cried, bending towards me with eager anticipation.
"I tell you, Suzette, that in return for this service you shall be free."
Tears again stood in those fine dark eyes. I knew of her secret affection for young Thomas, the hard-working bank clerk, who dared not aspire to the hand of the niece of the great American financier.
What a narrative of subterfuge and adventure the delightful little girl seated there before me could write! The small amount I knew was amazingly romantic. Some of Banfield's smartest financial coups had been accomplished owing to her clever manœuvring and to the information she had gained by her almost childish artlessness. Surely the British Government could have no more ingenious seeker after political secrets than she. Women are always more successful as spies than men. That is why so many are employed by both Germany and France.
In all the varied adventures in my search after spies I had never met a girl with a stranger history than Suzette Darbour. That she had actually imposed upon me was in itself, I think, sufficient evidence of her wit, cunning, and innate ability.
When I rose from the table and strolled back to where we had left the "auto," it was with the knowledge that my long search had not been in vain. She had taken my hand in promise to go to the "Kaiserhof" in Berlin and pry into the papers of that foremost of secret agents, Charles Pierron.
At five o'clock next morning I was back again in London, and at ten I was seated in conference with Ray Raymond in his cosy flat in Bruton Street.
"We must get at the terms offered by the Germans, Jacox," he declared, snapping his fingers impatiently. "It is imperative that the Foreign Office should know them. At present our hands are utterly tied. We are unable to act, and our diplomacy is at a complete standstill. The situation is dangerous – distinctly dangerous. The guv'nor was only saying so last night. Once the agreement is signed, then good-bye for ever to Britain's power and prestige."
I explained that so carefully was the secret preserved that I had been unable to discover anything. Yet I had hopes.
"My dear Jack, England relies entirely upon you," he exclaimed. "We must know the plans of our enemies if we are successfully to combat them. In the past you've often done marvels. I can only hope that you will be equally successful in this critical moment."
Then after a long and confidential chat we parted and a couple of hours later I was again in the boat train, bound for the Continent. I recognised how urgent was the matter, and how each hour's delay increased our peril.
The public, or rather the omnivorous readers of the halfpenny press, little dream how near we were at that moment to disaster. The completion of the cleverly laid plans of Germany would mean a sudden blow aimed at us, not only at our own shores, but also at our colonies at the same moment – and such a blow, with our weakened army and neglected navy, we could not possibly ward off.
Well I remember how that night I sat in the corner of the wagon-lit of the Simplon Express and reflected deeply. I was on my way to Milan to join a friend. At Boulogne I had received a wire from Suzette, who had already departed on her mission to Berlin.
My chief difficulty lay in the unfortunate fact that I was well known to Pierron, who had now forsaken his original employers the Germans, hence I dare not go to the German capital, lest he should recognise me. I knew that in the pay of the French Secret Service was a clerk in the Treaty department of the German Foreign Office, and without doubt he was furnishing Pierron with copies of all the correspondence in progress. Both the French and German Governments spend six times the amount annually upon secret service that we do, hence they are always well and accurately informed.
At Milan next day the porter at the "Métropole," the small hotel in the Piazza del Duomo where I always stay, handed me a telegram, a cipher message from Ray, which announced that his father had discovered that, according to a despatch just received from His Majesty's Ambassador at St. Petersburg, there was now no doubt whatever that the terms offered by Germany were extremely advantageous to both Russia and the United States, and that it was believed that the agreement was on the actual point of being concluded.
That decided me. I felt that at all hazards, even though Pierron might detect my presence, I must be in Berlin.
I was, however, unable to leave Milan at once, for Ford, whom I was awaiting, was on his way from Corfu and had telegraphed saying that he had missed the mail train at Brindisi, and would not arrive before the morrow.
So all that day I was compelled to hang about Milan, drinking vermouth and bitter at Biffi's café in the Galleria, and dining alone at Salvini's. I always hate Milan, for it is the noisiest and most uninteresting city in all Italy.
Next afternoon I met Ford at the station and compelled him to scramble into the Bâle express with me, directly after he had alighted.
"I go to Berlin. You come with me, and go on to St. Petersburg," I said in reply to his questions.
He was a middle-aged man, a retired army officer and a perfect linguist, who was a secret agent of the British Government and a great friend of Ray's.
All the way on that long, tedious run to Berlin we discussed the situation. I was the first to explain to him our imminent peril, and with what craft and cunning the German Chancellor had formed his plans for the defeat and downfall of our Empire.
As soon as he knew, all trace of fatigue vanished from him. He went along the corridor, washed, put on a fresh collar, brushed his well-worn suit of navy serge, and returned spruce and smart, ready for any adventure.
I told him nothing of Suzette. Her existence I had resolved to keep to myself. In going to Berlin I knew well that I was playing both a dangerous and desperate game. Pierron hated me, and if he detected me, he might very easily denounce me to the police as a spy. Such a contretemps would, I reflected, mean for me ten years' confinement in a fortress. The German authorities would certainly not forget how for the past two years I had hunted their agents up and down Great Britain, and been the means of deporting several as undesirable aliens.
Nevertheless, I felt, somehow, that my place was near Suzette, so that I could prompt her, and if she were successful I could read with my own eyes the copies of the diplomatic correspondence from the German Foreign Office.
On arrival at Berlin I bade Ford farewell, having given him certain instructions how to act on arrival in Petersburg. During our journey we had made up a special telegraph code, and when I grasped his hand he said:
"Well, good luck, Jacox. Be careful. Au revoir!"
And he hurried along the platform to catch the Nord Express to bear him to the Russian capital.
At the "Kaiserhof" I took a sitting room and bed-room adjoining. It was then about ten o'clock at night; therefore I sat down and wrote a note to "Mdlle. Vera Yermoloff," which I gave a waiter to deliver.
Ten minutes later I received a scribbled reply, requesting me to meet her at half-past ten at a certain café near the Lehrte Station.
I was awaiting her when she arrived. After she had greeted me and expressed surprise at my sudden appearance, she informed me she had not yet met Pierron, for he was absent – in Hamburg it was said.
"I hear he returns to-night," she added. "Therefore, I hope to meet him to-morrow."
I explained the extreme urgency of the matter, and then drove her back to the hotel, alighting from the cab a few hundred yards away. To another café I strolled to rest and have a smoke, and it was near midnight when I re-entered the "Kaiserhof."
As I crossed the great hall a contretemps occurred. I came face to face with Pierron, a tall, sallow-faced, red-bearded man with eyes set close together, elegantly dressed, and wearing a big diamond in his cravat.
In an instant he recognised me, whereupon I bowed, saying:
"Ah, m'sieur! It is really quite a long time since we met – in Denmark last, was it not?"
He raised his eyebrows slightly, and replied in a withering tone:
"I do not know by what right m'sieur presumes to address me!"
That moment required all my courage and self-possession. I had not expected to meet him so suddenly. He had evidently just come from his journey, for he wore a light travelling-coat and soft felt hat.
"Well," I said, "I have something to say to you – something to tell you in private, if you could grant me a few minutes." I merely said this in order to gain time.
"Bien! to-morrow, then – at whatever hour m'sieur may name."
To-morrow. It would then be too late. In an hour he might inform the police, and I would find myself under arrest. The German police would be only too pleased to have an opportunity of retaliating.
"No," I exclaimed. "To-night. Now. Our business will only take a few moments. Come to my sitting-room. The matter I want to explain brooks no delay. Every moment is of consequence."
"Very well," laughed the Frenchman, with a distinct air of bravado. "You believe yourself extremely clever, no doubt, M'sieur Jacox. Let me hear what you have to say."
Together we ascended the broad marble steps to the first floor, and I held open the door of my sitting-room. When he had entered, I closed it, and offering him a chair, commenced in a resolute tone:
"Now, M'sieur Pierron, I am here to offer terms to you."
"Terms!" he laughed. "Diable! What do you mean?"
"I mean that I foresee your evil intention against myself, because of my success in the Brest affair," was my quick reply. "You will denounce me here in Germany as a British agent, eh?"
