One sunny December morning we were all three going out rabbit shooting. While Willi counted out cartridges in the gun-room I went to summon Franz from the bedroom he was using as his study. It was characteristic of him that without any assumption of importance he gave a few hours to work early every morning, even while on leave. I found him intent upon some large sheets of paper, but he pushed them aside.
"Time to start now?" he asked. "Good! Wait a minute, while I dress." He stepped into the adjoining dressing-room.
And then, as if Fate had taken a hand in the moment's activities, I did a thing which I have never ceased to regret. Fate! Why not? What is the likelihood that by mere vague chance I, of all the cadets of Gross Lichterfelde, should have become Willi von Heiden's chum and shared his holidays? That by mere chance I should have been an inmate of his home when Franz was there, three days out of the whole year? That by mere chance I, with my precocious knowledge and thirst for yet more knowledge, should have entered his study when he was occupied with a particular task? Why did I not send the servant to call him? And why, instead of doing any one of the dozen other things I might have done while I was waiting for Franz to change his clothes, should I have stepped across and looked at the big sheets of paper on his table?
I did just that. I did it quite frankly and without a thought of prying. I saw that the sheets were small-scale maps. They were the maps of a fort, and the names upon them were written both in French and in German. The thrill of a great discovery shot all through me. It flashed upon me that I had heard Willi say that during the previous summer Franz had spent a long furlough in the Argonne section of France. He had been fishing and botanising so Willi had said. Indeed, only the night before Franz himself had told us stories of the sport there; and all his family had accepted the stories at their face value. So had I until that moment when I stood beside his desk and saw the plans of a French field fortress. Then I knew the truth. Lieutenant Franz von Heiden was doing important work so confidential that even his family must be kept in ignorance about it for the Intelligence Department of the German General Staff. Like me, he was entitled to the gloriously shameful name of spy!
If I had obeyed my natural impulse to rush into Franz's room and exchange fraternal greetings with this new colleague of the secret service, so romantically discovered, he might have saved himself. Instead, something made me play the innocent and be the innocent, too, as far as intent was concerned.
When Franz returned, dressed for the shoot, I was standing looking out of his window, and I said nothing about my discovery.
We had our rabbit shoot that day. We crowded all the fun and energy possible into it. It was our last day together, and by sundown I felt as close to Franz von Heiden as though he were my own brother. A few days later Willi and I went back to Gross Lichterfelde.
Shortly after I returned from my Christmas leave my tutor sent for me. He even recognised the amenities of the occasion enough to unbend a little and greeted me with a trace of mechanical friendliness.
"I trust you had a pleasant holiday," he said; "you told me, did you not, that you were to spend it at the Baron von Heiden's?"
That touch of friendliness was the occasion of my tragic error. I remember that I plunged into a boisterous description of my vacation, of the pleasant days in the country, of the shooting, of Franz. As my tutor listened, with a tolerant air, I told him what a splendid fellow Franz was, how cleverly he talked and how diligently he worked. And then, with a rash innocence for which I have never forgiven myself, I told him of what I had seen on that day of the rabbit shooting of the maps on the table. Franz was one of us!
But my tutor was not interested. Abruptly he interrupted my burst of gossip; and soon after that he plunged me into an exam, in spoken French. My progress in that seemed his only preoccupation.
A month later Willi von Heiden staggered into my room. "Franz is dead!" he said.
The brilliant young lieutenant, Franz von Heiden, had come to a sudden and shocking end. He was shot dead in a duel. His opponent was a brother officer, a Captain von Frentzen. The "Court of Honour "of the regiment had approved of the duel and it was reported that the affair was carried out in accordance with the German code.
Later I learned the story. Captain von Frentzen was suddenly attached to the same regiment as Franz. His transfer was a cause of great surprise to the officers and of deep displeasure to them, for the captain had a notorious reputation as a duellist. Naturally the officers, Franz among them, had ignored him, trying to force him out of the regiment. Upon the night of a regimental dance the situation came to a head.
In response to the gesture of a lady's fan Franz crossed the ball-room hurriedly. He was caught in a sudden swirl of dancers and accidentally stepped on Captain von Frentzen's foot. In the presence of the whole company von Frentzen dealt Franz a stinging slap in the face.
'Apparently," he sneered, "you compel me to teach you manners!"
Franz looked at him, amazed and furious. There was nothing that he had done which warranted von Frentzen's action. It was an outrage a deadly insult. There was but one thing to do. A duel was arranged.
To understand more of this incident you must understand the unyielding code of honour of the German officer. Franz von Heiden's original offence had been so very slight that even had he refused to apologise to Frentzen the consequences might not have been serious. But Frentzen's blow given in public was quite a different matter. It was a mortal affront. I heard that Franz's captain had been in a rage about it.
"My best lieutenant!" he had said to the colonel. "An extremely valuable man. To be made to fight a duel with that worthless butcher, von Frentzen. Shameful! God knows that laws are sometimes utterly unreasonable judged by many of our ideas, as officers are equally senseless. I have racked my brain to find a way out of this difficulty, but it seems impossible. Can't you do something to interfere?"
The colonel looked at him steadily. "Your honest opinion; is von Heiden's honour affected by Frentzen's action?"
There was nothing Franz's captain could do but reply "Yes."
The duel was held on the pistol practice grounds of the garrison, a smooth, grassy place, surrounded by high bushes; at the lower end there was a shed built of strong boards, in which tools and targets were stored. At daybreak Franz von Heiden and his second dismounted at the shed and fastened their horses by the bridle. They stood side by side, looking down the road, along which a carriage was coming. Contain von Frentzen, his second, and the regimental surgeon got out. Sharp polite greetings were exchanged. On the faces of the seconds there was a singular expression of uneasiness, but Frentzen looked as though he were there for some guilty purpose. The prescribed attempts at reconciliation failed. The surgeon measured off 'the distance. He was a long-legged man and made the fifteen paces as lengthy as possible.
Just at this moment the sun came up fully.
Pistols were loaded and given to Franz and Trentzen. Fifteen paces apart the two men faced each other. One of the seconds drew out his watch, glanced at it and said, "I shall count; ready, one! then three seconds; two! and again three seconds; then, stop! Between one and stop the gentlemen may fire."
He glanced round once more. The four officers stood motionless in the level light of the dawn. He began to count. Presently Franz von Heiden was stretched out upon the ground, his blue eyes staring up into the new day. He lay still. . . .
When I heard that story I ceased to be a boy. My outlook on the future had been that of an irresponsible gamester, undergoing initiation into the gayest and most exciting sports. All at once my eyes were hideously opened and I looked down into the pit that the German secret service had prepared for Franz von Heiden, and knew I was the cause of it. It was terrible! By leaving that map where I could see it Franz von Heiden had been guilty of an unforgivable breach of trust. By his carelessness he had let someone know that the Intelligence Department of the General Staff had procured the plans of a French fortress in the Argonne. Wherefore, according to the
iron law of that soulless war machine, Franz von Heiden must die.
And this is the sinister way it works. Trace it! I innocently betray him to my tutor, an official of the Secret Diplomatic Service. A few days later one of the deadliest pistol shots in the German army is transferred to Franz's regiment. A duel is forced upon him and he is shot down in cold blood.
Not long after the news of the duel, my tutor sent for me. "Is it not a curious coincidence," he began, his cold grey eyes boring into mine, "that the last time you were here we spoke of Lieutenant Franz von Heiden? The next time you come to see me he is dead. I understand that certain rumours are in circulation about the way he died. Some of them may have already come to your notice. I caution you to pay no attention whatever to such silly statements. Remember that a Court of Honour of an honourable regiment of the Prussian Guards has vouched for the fact that Lieutenant von Heiden's quarrel with Captain von Frentzen and the unfortunate duel that followed were conducted in accordance with the officers' code of the Imperial Army."
I hung my head, sick at heart; but he was relentless.
"Remember also," he said in a pitiless voice, "that men of intelligence never indulge in fruitless gossip, even among themselves. I hope you understand that by now." He paused a moment, as if he remembered something.
"For some time," he went on, in the most casual way, "I have been aware that it will be necessary for me to talk to you seriously. Now is as good a time as any. You know that your training for your future career has been put largely in my hands. I am responsible for your progress. The men who have made me responsible require reports about your development. They have not been wholly satisfied with what I was able to tell them. Your intentions are good. You show a certain amount of natural cleverness and adaptability, but you have also disappointed them by being impulsive and indiscreet.
"Now," he said, "I ask you to pay the closest attention to everything I shall say. Your attitude must be changed if you are to go on and some day be of service to your Government. You must learn to treat your work as a deadly serious business not as a romantic adventure. We were just speaking of von Heiden. I seem to remember vaguely that the last time you were here you had some sort of a cock-and-bull story to tell me of what was it? of seeing some secret maps of French fortifications on the unfortunate young man's table. I could hardly refrain from smiling at the time. Such insanity! You do not imagine for a moment, do you, that if he had proved himself discreet enough to be entrusted with such highly confidential things, he would have been so imprudent as to betray that fact to a mere casual friend of his little brother? I hope you see how absurd such imaginings are."
I groaned mentally as he continued:
"Remember now," my tutor said icily, "every man in our profession is a man who not only knows very much, but may know too much, unless he can be trusted to keep what he knows to himself. There are three ways in which he can fail to do that by carelessness, by accident, and by deliberate talking. Never talk never be careless never have accidents happen to you. Then you will be safe, and in no other way can you be so safe. Keep that in your mind! You will find it much more profitable and useful than remembering what anybody has to say about Franz von Heiden. It was a commonplace quarrel with Captain von Frentzen which killed him. A Court of Honour has said so."
That night at Gross Lichterfelde, after lights were out, Willi von Heiden came creeping to my bed. I was the only intimate friend he had there, and he felt the need of talking with someone about the big brother who had been his hero. Need I go into details of how his artless confidence made me feel? But human beings are exceedingly selfish and self-centred creatures. I had a heartfelt sorrow for my chum and his family in their tragic bereavement. And, blaming myself as I did for it, I was abased completely. Yet there was another feeling in me at least as deeply rooted as these two emotions. It was dread.
Dread was to follow me for many years. I had learned the dangers of the dark secret world in which I lived. Its rules of conduct and its ruthless code had been revealed to me, not merely by precept but by example. And with that realisation all the thrill of romance and adventure disappeared. For I knew that I, too, might at any time be counted among the men who "knew too much."
CHAPTER IV
"CHERCHEZ LA FEMME!"
I am sent to Geneva and learn of a plot How there are more ways of getting rid of a King than by blowing him up with dynamite.
IF at any time in this story of my life I have given the impression that accident did not play a very important part in the work of myself and other secret agents, I have done so unintentionally. "If "has been a big word in the history of the L world; and even in my small share of the events of the last ten years, chance has oftentimes been an abler ally than some of the best-laid of my plans. If, for instance, I had not happened to be in Geneva in the winter of 1909-10; or if a certain official of the Russian secret police the Okrana had not met a well-deserved death at the hands of a committee of "Reds "; or if the German Foreign Office had not been playing a pretty little game of diplomacy in the south-western corner of Europe why, the world to-day would be poorer by a King, and possibly richer by another combatant in the Great War.
And if another King had not kept a diary he might have kept his throne. And if both he and a certain young diplomat, whose name I think it best to forget, had not had a common weakness for pretty faces, Germany would have lost an opportunity to gain some information that was more or less useful to her, a certain actress would never have become famous, and this book would have lost an amusing little comedy of coincidences.
All of which sounds like romance and is merely the truth.
I had spent two uneventful years at Gross Lichterfelde at the time the comedy began; two years of study in which I had acquired some knowledge and a great weariness of routine, of hard work unpunctuated by any element of adventure. Of late it had almost seemed as if, after all, it was planned that I should become merely one of the vast army of officers that Gross Lichterfelde and similar schools were yearly turning out. For such a fate, as you can imagine, I had little liking.
Consequently I was far from displeased when one day I received a characteristically brief note from my old tutor, asking me to call upon him. Still more was I elated when, the next day, he informed me that I had had enough of books for the time being, and that he thought a little practical experience would be good for me. A vacation, I might call it, if I wished with a trifle of detective work thrown in.
H'm! I was not so delighted with that prospect, and when the details of the "vacation "were explained to me, I was strongly tempted to say "No" to the entire proposition. But one does not say "No "to my old tutor. And so, in the course of a week, I found myself spending my evenings in the Cafe de 1'Europe in Geneva, bound on a quiet hunt for Russian revolutionists.
Russia, at this time, had not quite recovered from the fright she received in 1905 and 1906, when, as you will remember, popular discontent with the Government had assumed very serious proportions. "Bloody Sunday," and the riots and strikes that followed it, were far in the past now, it is true, but they were still well remembered. And although most of the known revolutionary leaders had been disposed of in one way or another, there were still a few of them, as well as a large number of their followers, wandering in odd corners of Europe. These it was thought best to get rid of; and Russian agents began ferreting them out. And Germany always less unfriendly to the Romanoffs than has appeared on the surface lent a helping hand.
So it happened that on a particular night in December of 1909 I sat in the Cafe de PEurope, bitterly detesting the work I Had in hand, yet inconsistently wishing that something would turn up. I had no idea at the moment what I should do next. Chance rumour had led me to Geneva, and I was largely depending upon Chance for further developments.
They came. I had been sitting for an hour, I suppose, sipping vermouth and lazily regarding my neighbours, when the sound of a voice came to my ears. It was the voice of a man speaking French, w.ith
the soft accent of the Spaniard; the tone loud and unsteady and full of the boisterous emphasis of a man in his cups. But it was the words he spoke that commanded my attention.
"Our two comrades, "he was saying, "will soon arrive from the centre in Buenos Ayres."
"Yes," another voice assented a harsher voice, this, to whose owner French was obviously also a foreign tongue. "In the spring, we hope."
The Spaniard laughed.
"An excellent business! So simple. Boom! And our dear Alfonso..."
Some element of caution must have come over him, for his voice sank so that I could no longer hear his words. But I had heard enough to make me assume a good deal.
My Adventures as a German Secret Service Agent Page 4
