The Spy Net

by Henry Landau

  The reports from Hirson came through for two weeks, and then the courier system broke down. In the meantime, however, the ‘White Lady’ had mounted their own train-watching posts on the Hirson–Mézières line; and from then until the Armistice, the Hirson Platoon, and the Chimay company – of which Hirson Platoon formed a part – carried on the work Valtier and Aubijoux had so valiantly begun.

  It was a fine old type of Frenchman that Valtier had enrolled as his train-watcher in Hirson. When the ‘White Lady’ got through to him, he had an accumulation of a month’s reports which he insisted should be sent through to Marshal Joffre personally, and to no one else. Valtier had certainly impressed on him the importance of the Hirson reports.

  In other sectors close behind the Front both the British and the French continued to use aeroplanes for spy work. They generally confined themselves, however, to dropping parachutes, attached to which were baskets of carrier pigeons, and directions for their use. Many of these baskets fell into the hands of the patriotic inhabitants, who did not fail to release the pigeons with the information asked for.

  The Congrégation Nancéenne de la Doctrine Chrétienne was a French Order, one of the many that had been expelled from France. The patriotism of these French nuns was the more intense because they were exiles. Established in Belgium, at Chimay just across the French border, they gladly and lovingly gave succour to their refugee compatriots fleeing from the fighting zone, or deported by the Germans. The German military hospital, which I have already mentioned, had been installed by force in their convent, with German doctors, nurses, and orderlies to care for the wounded. The nuns were, therefore, at liberty to serve their country, and to make full use of the fertile field which the German hospital placed in their midst presented for spying. Gobeaux, the captain of the Chimay company, and Hanotier, the sergeant of the section in whose area the convent fell, were quick to realise the value of the information that could be gathered by these patriotic sisters, and so with the consent of Marie-Hippolyte, the Mother Superior, they enrolled in the ‘White Lady’ two of the nuns – Soeur Marie-Mélanie, and Soeur Marie-Caroline.

  There were no keener agents in the ‘White Lady’ than these two sisters of charity. Intelligent and resourceful, they knew how to make full use of their opportunities. It is true they were not called on to nurse the wounded, but the convalescing officers and soldiers, wandering around in the convent grounds, frequently tried to get into communication with them. They also had a small shop where they were permitted to sell postcards and other articles, and here the Germans were wont to gather.

  These men all came from divisions in the front line, and the identification of these divisions in some definite sector of the Front was of enormous importance to British GHQ. One has only to examine the daily intelligence Bulletins issued both by the French and British GHQ to realise this. It was solely to gather information of this kind that lives were sacrificed almost daily in raids on the enemy’s front-line trenches; and yet, these two sisters, quietly and unsuspected, achieved the same objective. Rarely did a report reach me from Chimay without one or two of these important identifications.

  This was not the only utility of these two daring nuns. Their reports, picked up by the section courier, contained information covering every phase of German military activity. For example, there was the case of the officer of Prince Eitel Friedrich’s staff, who was in the hospital with a broken leg, received from the fall of his horse. It was while lamenting that he was laid up for ‘the big push’ that he gave away that the great German offensive of March 1918 was to be launched in the Albert sector. He did not give the information in a sentence, nor even in a single day; but it was by carefully piecing together scraps of conversation spread over several days that the two astute nuns were able to arrive at a definite conclusion. This information was valuable corroborative evidence of what we had already deduced from our train-watching posts, and from the reports of the Hirson Platoon.

  It was not only from the Germans that Soeur Marie-Mélanie, and Soeur Marie-Caroline garnered information; sometimes it was also from the refugees; and then, on many occasions, as will be seen from the following account, they often arrived at important deductions by combining information from both sources.

  It was at the time that the German big gun had just started shelling Paris, and the Germans had been careful to fill their communiqués with the news. A gunner, wounded in the hand, was in the hospital, and was boasting about what the Germans would soon be doing when they had several hundred of these guns. Soeur Marie-Mélanie was immediately all attention. ‘It hardly seems possible that they can shoot so far,’ was her quiet reply. The gunner seeing no possible harm in this peaceful nun, quickly retorted that he himself had seen the gun in the Laon sector. This was a vague enough indication for the emplacement of a gun, but it was sufficient for the nimble-minded sister. It happened that three weeks previously, a French refugee from the village of Crépy-en-Laonnois had been given food and shelter at the convent. Eagerly questioned about the wholesale deportation of his village, he had attributed it to the fact the Germans were about to move artillery into the area.

  ‘How do you know this?’ Soeur Marie-Mélanie had asked him, knowing the importance of distinguishing fact from rumour.

  ‘Well, they have laid down concrete gun-platforms and ammunition pits at Dandry’s farm – at least that’s what everyone thinks they are,’ the refugee had replied.

  Cleverly putting the two pieces of information together, Soeur Marie-Mélanie communicated her views to Hanotier; he passed it on to the captain of his company. Gobeaux, as we have already seen, was a man of quick decision. He decided to send a man to Dandry’s farm. It was a dangerous undertaking – all the inhabitants had been deported. But it was precisely one of these deportees whom he persuaded to return. Travelling at night and hiding by day, the man was back on the third day. He had seen the monster gun. Three days later, I had the information in Holland.

  From a spy in Germany, several weeks previously, we had already received full details of the trials on the coast of Heligoland which had been carried out with this high-angle-fire gun; and it was with exultation that I passed the report on to Colonel Oppenheim, the British military attaché at The Hague, whose duty it was to telegraph to British GHQ a daily résumé of all our reports.

  There are many stories I might relate about Gobeaux. As captain of the Chimay company, he should really have protected himself as much as possible; but this was impossible for a man of his temperament. I might tell how he himself penetrated the cordon of sentries at the Bourlers aviation field, and was satisfied with nothing less than cutting off and sending me a sliver from one of the wooden tanks assembled there – because I had disbelieved his report that the Germans were using these tanks for camouflage purposes; or again I might relate how, at the Hôtel Godeau in Chimay, he stole the map-case of a German aviator – the case yielded several priceless maps on which were marked all the aviation fields behind a large section of the German Western Front. (To mark them in this fashion was contrary to German Army regulations, but the aviator had transgressed for his own safety and convenience.) The story, however, that I am going to tell about Gobeaux is just a short one, but one which epitomises the coolness and resourcefulness of the man.

  In the Chimay company there were four platoons: Hirson, Chimay, Charleroi, and one composed of couriers. Gobeaux was too well versed in spying to contact personally any but his principal agents. But, imbued with the military spirit of the ‘White Lady’, he felt it his duty to pass on a continual round of inspection, checking up, without their knowing it, the reports of the train-watchers, the itinerant spies and other agents in his area. As head of a syndicate of sabot makers, he had an excuse to travel around in his sector, visiting the members of this quaint industry – the manufacture of wooden shoes for the peasants of the countryside. (Most of the members made the shoes in their own homes, delivering them to syndicate headquarters in Chimay, where their sale was attended
to.) But this excuse only held for occupied Belgium. Somehow he had to reach the area covered by the Hirson Platoon in France.

  Gobeaux knew that if he kept slipping across the frontier, he would eventually be caught; so he cleverly bought a small strip of the Neumont Woods, just across the border, and there installed some of his sabot makers. He then had an excuse to get a pass. This was duly obtained from the Kommandantur, or German police post, at Trélon. The pass only read for the Neumont Woods, but getting across the frontier was half the battle – he could use his ingenuity to reach the rest of the Hirson area. One day, while on a visit to Pierre in Trélon, less sly than usual, he was arrested by one of the local Secret Police.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the plain-clothes man. ‘Your pass?’

  Gobeaux, who had already thought up a plan of action, showed his pass.

  ‘This is no good – you are in Trélon. It’s only valid for Neumont,’ said the secret agent, holding the pass in his hand. ‘You’ll have to come along with me to the Kommandantur.’ ‘That’s exactly where I was heading,’ Gobeaux assured him. The plainclothes man accompanied Gobeaux to the Kommandantur, and there explained to the lieutenant in charge, the circumstances of the arrest.

  ‘Well, what do you want?’ said the lieutenant, looking at Gobeaux suspiciously.

  ‘It’s about my pass,’ replied Gobeaux, handing it to him. ‘When I showed it to the sentry at the frontier, he said it wasn’t valid – the rubber stamp is affixed in the wrong place.’ The lieutenant examining the pass: ‘The sentry is a fool.’ ‘That’s possible, Lieutenant. You can tell him that; but I didn’t dare dispute with him.’

  The lieutenant, noticing that the pass had in fact been somewhat carelessly stamped, stamped it again, and handed it back to Gobeaux.

  On many other occasions, Gobeaux’s quick brain and brazen effrontery saved him from disaster.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE AFFAIR OF THE VILLA DES HIRONDELLES

  ABOUT THIS TIME a serious catastrophe befell the ‘White Lady’; the best of planning could not have averted it.

  Chance, which cannot be gauged in advance, put the Secret Police on their track. An anonymous letter, written by a jealous relative who had never even heard of the ‘White Lady’ started the train of events which ended so tragically.

  Marcelle, the girl denounced in the letter, had left occupied France without a passport, and had entered domestic service in Liège. Thus far her planning was not at fault; but when she set her cap at a rich man, who had money to leave, decidedly she took a false step. Landwerlen, the lieutenant in charge of the Secret Police at Liège, was daily receiving such letters, and he did not attach special importance to this particular one; but he had two men who happened to be free, Wilhelm Muller and another agent, and so he sent them off to bring the girl in for questioning.

  On their arrival at Wandre, where Reyman, Marcelle’s employer, was living, Muller and his companion found no one at home. Inquiries among the neighbours brought them the information that Reyman might be at the Villa des Hirondelles, a house which he had rented to some tenants. The villa happened to be the secretariat of the ‘White Lady’ – the place where all their reports were typed out and prepared for transmission to Holland.

  The ‘White Lady’ was prepared for a raid. The villa stood in its own grounds on the banks of the Meuse, and in the rear, out of sight of the front door, a boat was moored, furnished with oars all set for an escape down the river. In the villa there were twenty-eight guns, and 10,000 rounds of ammunition; the front windows were heavily shuttered, and a strong oak door barred the front entrance. One person, forewarned, could have held a dozen Secret Police at bay until all compromising documents had been destroyed, and the other inmates of the villa had escaped. But luck for once was against the ‘White Lady’.

  The two plain-clothes men had just reached the thick hedge which enclosed the villa, when they met, face to face, two of the ‘White Lady’ couriers coming out – they had just deposited their reports at the villa. Muller gruffly demanded: ‘Who lives here?’

  Completely taken aback, the couriers, Franchimont, and van den Berg, made no reply. Muller, immediately sensing there was something wrong, pulled out his gun, and ordered them to follow him.

  In the interior of the villa there were four persons: Madame Goessels, who was in charge of the secretariat; Rosa, a servant who worked by the day, and who cleaned up the villa twice a week; and in a back room, from whose windows they could easily have escaped to the boat, there were two ‘White Lady’ agents, Louis and Antony Collard, who had just arrived from Belgian Luxembourg and were stopping for the night. The stenographers happened to be away. Of the whole group, Madame Goessels, a buxom woman of about thirty-five years of age, endowed with extraordinary vitality, was the dominant character. Engaged in every form of patriotic activity since the beginning of the war, she was experienced in Secret Police methods, and so far had proved more than a match for them.

  Muller knocked at the door. The voice of Madame Goessels was heard asking ‘Who’s there?’ Muller, experienced at his work, stuck his gun into Franchimont’s side, and in a whisper ordered him to reply.

  Madame Goessels, hearing the voice of one whom she had just let out of the villa, was completely disarmed. She opened the door. In a glance, she took in the situation.

  The reports which Franchimont and van den Berg had brought, had been hidden in a sofa, forced down between the seat and one of the sides; but Madame Goessels knew that the two Collards were in their room, copying out some information which they had just brought back from Luxembourg. She had just left their room and had seen the reports spread out on a table. Her one thought was to warn them. But how? Their door was closed. To gain time, she stood in the doorway, and from there, in as loud a voice as possible, she answered Muller’s questions:

  ‘Does Monsieur Reyman live here?’

  ‘No. You are at the house of Madame Goessels.’

  ‘Have you ever been arrested?’

  ‘No. Neither by you, nor by the Belgians.’

  ‘You are Mademoiselle Marcelle?’

  ‘No, I am Madame Goessels.’

  ‘You are French?’

  ‘No, I am a Belgian.’

  But Muller was suspicious. Franchimont and van den Berg were young men. Perhaps she was hiding refugees here, and so pushing her aside, he and his companion entered to search the villa.

  Unfortunately, the two Collard brothers heard nothing of this dialogue, so engrossed were they in their work; it was only when they heard footsteps outside their door that they realised something was wrong. Both of them had pocketbooks on their person containing incriminating papers. Antony had the presence of mind to throw his out of the window; but Louis was caught unawares. In any case, spread on the table were the reports, and these the Germans immediately seized.

  While this was going on, Madame Goessels slipped upstairs – she had a plan. Quickly grasping a gun, she stuck it in her blouse, and waited on the landing for one of the Secret Police to mount; she knew the other would remain below to guard the prisoners. It was Muller who appeared. ‘Trying to hide something?’ he said as he went into her bedroom to make a search. This was the opportunity she was waiting for. Quickly she closed the door from the outside, and tried to turn the key. But Muller was too quick for her; he wrenched the door open covering her with his gun. The search of the villa was now continued, and with the additional discovery of the guns and the ammunition the Secret Police thought they had all the evidence they needed.

  Handcuffed and tied together with some rope which they found in the villa, the prisoners were taken to the police post at Wandre; from there Muller telephoned for reinforcements. These were not long in coming, and the prisoners were taken off to the Liège police post for questioning. While Muller and his companion were away making their report, the prisoners were confined in a room under the guard of a German soldier. Madame Goessels was quick to seize her opportunity. Already, she had a defence plann
ed, and to each in a few short sentences, she whispered their part.

  To Franchimont: ‘I am your mistress. You have often visited me at the villa. You know nothing about my activities.’

  To van den Berg: ‘You are Franchimont’s friend. You dropped in on a casual visit.’

  To the two Collards: ‘You are two of my lodgers. I don’t know who you are, nor anything about your activities. Remember your oath as a soldier. Reveal nothing.’

  Her own defence had also been decided on. She would explain the guns and ammunition by claiming that she had planned on aiding refugees to cross the frontier, and that the guns were intended for them.

  After they had waited for an hour, Landwerlen was ready to put them through a preliminary interrogation. Each told the story they had agreed on. In addition, the two Collards explained the reports in their possession by stating that having decided to cross the frontier, they had compiled the reports with the intention of selling them to an espionage service in Holland. They had a twofold reason for putting up this defence. First of all, it would divert attention away from the ‘White Lady’; secondly, according to German law at that time, a spy could not be executed unless it had definitely been proved that he had either directly or indirectly communicated with the enemy – the intention to do so was not sufficient. The first interrogation completed, the prisoners were removed to the prison of St Leonard.

  The Secret Police believed Franchimont’s and van den Berg’s story, and released them shortly afterwards. But the two Collards were doomed from the start. Many of the reports were in code, which in itself was evidence of a spy organisation, and, in addition, the information contained in Louis’ pocketbook hopelessly compromised them. As regards Madame Goessels, Landwerlen was convinced she was culpable of espionage, and although he had no direct proof, he was determined to trap her in some way.