You will pardon me if I pass over the events of the next few days and plunge directly into a scene which occurred one night, about a week later, the very night, in fact, on which the Bishops were to close their engagement with the little circus in which they were playing. It was in the sitting-room of the diplomat's suite at the hotel that the scene took place; dinner a deux was in progress and the diplomat's guest was Mile. Bishop, who had indiscreetly accepted the Englishman's invitation.
Came a knock at the door. Mademoiselle grew pale.
"My husband!" she exclaimed.
Mademoiselle was right. It was her husband who entered very cold, very business-like, and carrying a riding crop in his hand. He glanced at the man and woman in the room.
"I suspected something of the sort," he said, in a quiet voice. "You are indiscreet, Madame. You do not conceal your infidelities with care." He took a step towards her, but paused at an exclamation from the Englishman.
"Do not fear, Monsieur" elaborate irony was in his voice as he addressed the diplomat "I shall not harm you. It is with this lady only that I am concerned. She has, it appears, an inadequate conception of her wifely duty. I must, therefore, give her a lesson." As he spoke he tapped his boot suggestively with his riding whip.
"My only regret," he continued politely, "is that I must detain you as a witness of a painful scene, and possibly cause a disturbance in your room."
Again he turned towards his wife, who had sat watching him with a terrified face. Now as he approached her she burst into tears, and ran to where the Englishman stood.
"He is going to beat me," she sobbed. "Help me, for Heaven's sake! Stop him! Give him give him anything!"
But the Englishman did not need to be coached.
"Look here!" he cried suddenly, interposing between the husband and wife. "I'll give you fifty pounds to get out of here quietly. Good God, man, you can't do a thing like this, you know! It's horrible. And you have no cause. I give you my word you have no cause."
He was a pitiable mixture of shame and apprehension as he spoke. But Merrill looked at him calmly. He was quite unmoved and still polite when he replied:
"The word of a gentleman, I suppose! No, Monsieur, it is useless to try to bribe me. It is a great mistake, in fact. Almost" he paused for a moment, as if he found it difficult to continue "almost it makes me angry."
He was silent for a space, but when he spoke again it was as if in response to an idea that had come to him.
"Yes," he continued, "it does make me angry. Nevertheless, Monsieur, I shall accept your suggestion. Madame and I will leave quietly, and in return you shall give us oh, not money but something that you value very much."
He turned to his wife.
"Madame, you will go to Monsieur's trunk, which is open in the corner, and remove every article so that I can see it."
The Englishman started. For a moment it seemed as if he would attack Merrill, who was the smaller man, but fear of the noise held him back. Meanwhile, the woman was rifling the trunk, holding up each object for her husband's inspection. The latter stood at the door, his eyes upon both of the others.
"We are not interested in Monsieur's clothing," he said calmly. "What else is there in the trunk? Nothing? The desk then! Only some papers? That is a pity. Let me have them, however all of them. And you may give me the portfolio that lies on the bureau."
As he took the packet the rider turned to the diplomat, who stood as if paralysed in the corner of the room.
"I do not know what is in these papers, Monsieur, but I judge from your agitation that they are valuable. I shall take them from you as a warning a warning to let married women alone in future. Also I warn you not to try to bribe a man whom you have injured. You have made me very angry to-night by doing so.
"Above all," he added, "I warn you not to complain to the police about this matter. This is not a pretty story to tell about a man in your position and I am prepared to tell it. Good night, Monsieur!"
He did not wait to hear the Englishman's reply.
That night, while the two younger members of the Bishop family sped away by train to what place I do not know and old Bishop expressed great mystification over their disappearance, I made a little bonfire in my grate of papers which had once been the property of the diplomat, and which I knew would be of no interest to my Government. There were a few papers which I did not burn a memorandum or two, and a bulky typewritten copy of ManoePs diary, which I found amusing reading before I took it to Berlin.
I called upon my English friend the next day, but I did not see him. He had fallen ill and been obliged to leave Nice immediately. No; it was impossible to say what the ailment was.
"Ah, well," I thought, as I returned to my room, "he will get over it."
It was an embarrassing loss, but not a fatal one; and doubtless he could explain it satisfactorily at home.
I was sorry for him, I confess. But more than once that day I laughed as I thought of the scene of last night, as Mile. Bishop had described it to me. An old game but it had worked so easily.
But then, wasn't it Solomon who complained about the lack of original material on this globe?
The diary? I took it to Berlin, as I have said, where it was a matter of considerable interest. Subsequently it was published, after discreet editing.
But at that time I was engaged upon a matter of considerably more importance.
CHAPTER V
THE STRONG ARM SQUAD
Germany displays an interest in Mexico, and aids the United States for her own purposes The Japanese-Mexican Treaty and its share in the downfall of Diaz.
[
Fighting For His Life;
Koglmeier Is Murdered
Harnessmaker Is Found Dying in His Shop, With Many Evidences of a Desperate Struggle; Had Been Beaten Over the Head With Some Blunt Instrument; Robbery Theory Is Abandoned.
AFTER apparently struggling desperately, with hts assailants, E. E. Kogjmeier, aged 52 years. volunteer fireman and pioneer El Pasoan, was murdered in his place of business, 319 South Santa 5?e street, some time between the hours of 7:30 and 9 oclock Saturday night. Five jagged cuts and holes, some of them being located in the" back of the head, and four wounds of a similar nature inflicted .en the face, resulted in his death. Life was- all but extinct when Mr. Koglmeier was found lying in a pool of blood TLTrxJtit --tire, center of the room of his harness and saddlery shop. He was., in ms shirt sleeves Robbery is not believed to have been the motive for the crime.
William Gieseler, a merchants' policeman, was the first one to discover Mr. Koglmeier. He had passed the shop on his first rounttrafe? oclock Saturday night when it is said that he spoke, to Mr. Koglmeier. Returning to the scene on his second round at 9:15 o'clock Gieseler saw the door of the open. Gieseler walked in. He presentiment that something was wrong. The glare from th flashlight disclosed the Koglmeier. He removed to a local undertaking establishment.
Evidences of a Struggle.
Despite the fact that the first blow evidently had been delivered when his back was turned to his murderers, Mr. Koglmeier must have struggled before he was beaten down for the last time; Trails of blood ran from almost every section of the room, showing that the struggle had been long before the victim was finally compelled to succumb from the blows dealt him with either a dull hatchet or some iron instrument.
Theory of the Crime.
The belief is that two men called at the harness shop a little after 7 o'clock. They had gone there under the pretense of making a purchase. Bridles and collars hang suspend the ceiling of the place, murderers had evident horse collar at the
REPORT OF KOGLMEIER'S MURDER FROM THE EL PASO HERALD FOR DECEMBER 22nd, 1913.
]
IT was in Paris that my next adventure occurred. I had gone there following one of those agreeably indefinite conversations with my tutor which always preceded some especial undertaking. "Why not take a rest for a few weeks? ': he would say. "You have not seen Paris for some time. You would enjoy vis
iting the city again don't you think so?': And I would obligingly agree with him and in due course would receive whatever instructions were necessary.
It may seem that such methods are needlessly cumbersome and a little too romantic to be real; but, in fact, there is an excellent reason for them. Work such as mine is governed too greatly by emergencies to admit of definite planning beforehand. A contingency is foreseen faintly, and as a possibility only and it is thought advisable to have a man on the scene. But until that contingency develops into an assured fact, it would be the sheerest waste of energy to give an agent definite instructions which might have to be changed at any moment.
So I had become accustomed to receive my instructions in hints and stingy morsels, understanding perfectly that it was part of my task to discover for myself the exact details of the situation which confronted my Government. If I were not sufficiently astute to perceive for myself many things which my superiors would never tell me well, I was in the wrong profession, and the sooner I discovered it the better.
I went to Paris in just that way and put up at the Grand Hotel. So far as I knew I was on genuine leave of absence from all duties and I proceeded to amuse myself. Though under no obligations to report to anyone, I did occasionally drop around to the Quai d'Orsay where most of the embassies and consulates are to chat with men I knew. One day it was suggested to me at the German Embassy that I should lunch alone the next day at a certain table in the Cafe Americaine.
"I would suggest," said one of the secretaries, "that you should wear the black derby you have on. It is quite becoming" this with an expressionless face. "I would suggest also that you should hang it on the wall behind your table, not checking it. Take note of the precise hook upon which you hang it. It may be that there will be a man at the next table who also will be wearing a black derby hat, which he will hang on the hook next to yours. When you go out be careful to take down his hat instead of your own."
I asked no questions. I knew better. Old and well known as it is, the "hat trick "is perennially useful. Its very simplicity makes it difficult of detection. It is still the best means of publicly exchanging documents between persons who must not be seen to have any connection with each other.
I went to the Cafe Americaine, that cosmopolitan place on the Boulevard des Italiens near the Opera. My man had not yet come, I noticed, and I took my time about ordering luncheon, drank a "bock" and watched the crowd. Near by was a party of Roumanians, offensively boisterous, I thought. An American was lunching with a dancer then prominent at the Folies. Two Englishmen obviously officers on leavechatted at another table, and in a corner, a group of French merchants heatedly discussed some business deal. The usual scene almost commonplace in its variety.
Slowly I finished luncheon, and when I turned to get my hat, I saw, as I expected, that there was another black derby beside it. I took the stranger's derby, and when I reached my room in the Grand Hotel I lifted up the sweat band. There on thin paper were instructions that took my breath away. For the time being I was to be in charge of the "Independent Service" of the German Government in Paris that is, the Strong Arm Squad.
This so-called "Independent Service" is an interesting organisation of cut-throats and thieves whose connection with diplomatic undertakings is of a distinctly left-handed sort, and is, incidentally, totally unsuspected by the members of the organisation themselves. Composed of the riff-raff of Europe of men and women who will do anything for a consideration and ask no questions it is frequently useful when subtler methods have failed and when by violence only can some particular thing be accomplished. As an organisation the "Independent Service" does not actually exist: the name is merely a generic one applied for convenience to the large number of people in all great cities who are available for such work, and who, if they fail and are arrested or killed, can be spared without risk or sorrow.
Naturally in illegal operations the trail must not lead to the Embassy; and for that reason all transactions with members of the "Service" are carried on through a person who has no known connection with the Government. To his accomplices the Government agent is merely a man who has come to them with a profitable suggestion. They do not question his motives if his cash be good.
My connection with this delightful organisation necessitated a change of personality. I went round to the Quai d'Orsay and paid a few farewell calls to my friends there. I was going home, I said; and that afternoon the Grand Hotel lost one guest and "Le Lapin Agile" on the hill of Montmartre gained a new one. Acting under instructions I had become a social outcast myself.
The place where I had been told to stay had been a tavern for centuries. Once it was called the "Cabaret of the Assassins," then the "Cabaret of the Traitor," then "My Country Place," and now, after fifty years, it was "The Sprightly Rabbit." Andre Gill had painted the sign of the tavern, a rabbit, which hung in the street above the entrance. After I had taken my room--being careful to haggle long about the price, and finally securing a reduction of fifty centimes, for one does well to appear poor at "Le Lapin Agile"--I came down into the cabaret. It was crowded and the air was thick and warm with tobacco smoke. Disreputable couples were sitting around little wooden tables, drinking wretched wine from unlabelled bottles; an occasional shout arose for "tomatoes," a speciality of Frederic, the proprietor, which was, in reality, a vile brew of absinthe and raspberry syrup. There was much shouting, and once or twice one of the company burst into song.
"Tomatoes," I told the waiter who came for my order. As he went I slipped a franc into his hand. "I want to see the Salmon. Is he in?"
He nodded.
A moment later a man stood before me. I saw a short, rather thick-set fellow, awkward but wiry, whose face bore somewhere the mark of a forgotten Irish ancestor. He was red-haired. I did not need his words to tell me who he was.
"I am the Salmon," he said. "What do you want?"
I studied him carefully before replying, appraising him as if he were a horse I contemplated buying. It was not tactful or altogether safe, as the Salmon's expression plainly showed; but I wished to be sure of my man. After a moment:
"Sit down, my friend. I have a business proposition to make. M. Morel sent me to you."
He smiled at the name. The fictitious M. Morel had put him in the way of several excellent "business propositions."
"It is a pleasure," responded the Salmon. "What does Monsieur wish?"
I told him.
In order to make you understand my business it is necessary that I should pause here, abandoning the Salmon for the moment, and recall to your memory a few facts about the political situation as it existed in this month of February, 1911. Europe at the time was lulled to outward seeming. As everybody knows now, the forces that later brought about the War were then merrily at work, as indeed they had been for many years. But outwardly, save for the ever-impending certainty of trouble in the Balkans, the world of Europe was at peace.
But in America a storm was brewing. Mexico, which for so many years had been held at peace under the iron dictatorship of Diaz, was beginning to develop symptoms of organised discontent. Madero had taken the field, and although no one at the time believed in the ultimate success of the rebellion, it was evident that many changes might take place in the country, which would seriously affect the interests of thousands of European investors in Mexican enterprises. Consequently Europe was interested.
I do not purpose here to go into the events of those last days of Diaz's rule. That story has already been told many times and from various angles. I am merely interested in the European aspects of the matter, and particularly in the attitude of Germany.
Europe was interested, as I have said. Diaz was growing old and could certainly not last much longer. Then change must come. Was the Golden Age of the foreign investor, which had so long continued in Mexico, to continue still longer? Or would it end with the death of the Dictator?
To these questions, wilich were having their due share of attention in the chancelleries as well a
s in the commercial houses of Europe, came another, less apparent but more troublesome and more insistent than any of these. Japan, it was rumoured, although very faintly, was seeking to add to its considerable interest in Mexico by securing a strip of territory on the western coast of that country an attempt which, if successful, would almost certainly bring about intervention by the United States.
My Government was especially interested in this movement on the part of Japan. It knew considerably more about the plan than any save the principals, for, as I happened to learn later, it had carefully encouraged the whole idea for its own purposes. And it knew that at that very time the Financial Minister of Mexico, Jose Yves Limantour, was conducting preliminary negotiations in Paris with representatives of Japan, regarding the terms of a possible treaty. It knew that even then a protocol of this treaty was being drawn up.
My Adventures as a German Secret Service Agent Page 6
