The most absurd person employed by the Germans was Joseph Marks. I was watching the work of the port officers at Tilbury one summer afternoon when one of my inspectors whispered to me that in the next room was a person over whom they would be glad to have my help. He said that his very first question had reduced the man to a pitiable condition of fright and that when he was told that within a few minutes he would have an opportunity of making his explanations to me in person he collapsed, murmuring, ‘Then Basil Thomson knew I was coming or he wouldn’t be here.’
Adopting a manner suitable to the occasion, I sat down at a table and sent for Marks and there stumbled into the room a positive mountain of flesh, over 6 feet in height and proportionately broad and deep: he must have weighed at least sixteen stone. At the moment the whole mass was trembling like a jelly. The passport he produced was Dutch, but almost at my first question he broke down and said:
If you will have patience with me I will tell you the whole story. When I saw one of your men on board the steamer watching me I knew I was in a trap and if you hadn’t been here to meet me I should have gone straight to your office tomorrow morning.
(His guilty conscience had converted an ordinary fellow passenger into a police agent.)
According to his story, he belonged to an important commercial family in Aix-la-Chapelle, where he had three times been accused by the Germans of being an agent for the French. They told him that he could clear himself from suspicion only by proceeding to England to obtain naval information for them. He preferred to take his chance of escaping discovery in England to being shot as a French spy by his own people. He attended a spy school, where they furnished him with an album of postage stamps – a method of conveying information that was new to us. He was to send to Switzerland stamps indicating particular classes of warships. Thus, ten Uruguay stamps taken in conjunction with an Edinburgh postmark would mean that ten battleships were lying in the Firth of Forth and so on. Whether he ever intended to carry out his instructions is uncertain: usually so well-fed a person has no stomach for adventure, but he was put on his trial for having come to this country after being in communication with an enemy agent and was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude. In a convict prison he was safe for the duration of the war and when he was repatriated in October 1919 he was profuse in his gratitude. Probably no one has ever gone to prison with a lighter heart. I imagine that any philatelist who may in future produce his album for the inspection of Mr Joseph Marks will be startled by the effect he will produce.
The bottom rung of the ladder of infamy was touched by a young Fleming whom I examined in 1917. He had been employed by the Belgians to pilot young Belgians over the Dutch frontier. He proposed to a Frenchman that they should sell the secret to the Germans and divide the money. He said that eight men were to cross that night: for a few gulden he would have sacrificed the lives of eight of his fellow countrymen who had trusted him. With great presence of mind, the Frenchman gave him to understand that he himself was a German agent and that he would arrange the whole business and further, that if he would make a trip with him to England at once he would earn a much larger sum. So great was the Fleming’s cupidity that he embarked and was received on landing by Special Branch policemen.
CHAPTER 14
SOME AMERICANS
IT WAS NOT to be expected that the Germans would do no recruiting among Americans as long as the United States remained neutral. American journalists were travelling to all the belligerent countries and were allowed to see much that could not properly be shown to private citizens. I believe that all the reputable American newspapers were very careful in the selection of their foreign correspondents during the war and it is, perhaps, for that reason that there was no cause for suspicion until late in 1916. About that time two so-called American journalists, B— and R— arrived in Europe. The former had spent several weeks in England before he applied, on 20 September 1916, for permission to travel to Rotterdam as European representative of the Central Press of New York. Before leaving he told the people in his hotel that he was going to a certain hotel in Rotterdam which was known to us as being the resort of German spies and he wrote a letter to a person in Amsterdam named D—, against whom there was already suspicion, about the production of a cinema play. It was noticed that the letter contained a number of underlined words. In the meantime he had left for Holland. All that could be done was to keep observation upon him in that country and it soon became known that his only associates were two Americans, one of whom, R—, was marked down for arrest if ever he came to this country. B— did appear to have made a few inquiries from film dealers, but that was all. On 3 November he landed at Gravesend and, probably to disarm the suspicions of the port authorities, he volunteered a statement that while in Amsterdam a Dutchman had tried to pump him for information, but he had indignantly refused to have anything to do with him. His luggage was searched, but not in a way that would allow him to think that he was under suspicion. He stayed in London for a few hours and then left for Worcestershire. He travelled about the country for a month, sending occasional articles to New York; then he left for Ireland and visited Dublin, Cork, Killarney and Belfast. At that time the Germans were specially anxious to receive news from Ireland subsequent to the Rebellion, because they were being pressed to furnish a fresh supply of munitions together with German troops.
Meanwhile, careful inquiries had been made in Holland regarding the man D—, to whom B— had written when he was last in England, and it was found that he was a German and that he consorted with persons who were known to be in the Secret Service of the enemy. On this a letter was written to B— asking him to call at Scotland Yard and he crossed from Dublin on the night of 8 December. He could give no satisfactory explanation as to why he had underlined certain words in his letter to D— and he professed the greatest astonishment when he heard that D— himself was suspected of being a German spy.
A search of B—’s effects produced the usual ball-pointed pen, unglazed notepaper and a bottle of mixture which could be used as invisible ink. Moreover, he was in possession of a draft for £200 issued to him on 19 October. It was found that he had attempted to obliterate the address of D— in his notebook and he had the name and address of a certain person in Rotterdam, who had been known to us for months as an enemy agent.
Now it chanced that our authorities in New York were in full possession of the details of the new German conspiracy to flood this country with journalists. The spies were recruited by a man who passed under the name of Sanders, who was believed to be closely in touch with the disaffected Irishmen in America. For this reason the spies were to take an opportunity of visiting Ireland and, after gathering all the information that they could they were to go to Holland, impart it to the German agents there and receive the wages of their hire. They had instructions also to get into touch with wounded officers lately returned from the Front and obtain their views on the morale of the troops.
Now B— had done all these things: he had visited Ireland, he had made friends with a wounded officer and had even suggested to him that they should make a trip to Scotland together; he had gone to Holland and had upon him a draft for £200, the equivalent of the $1,000 which was always given for preliminary expenses. This man had heard that B— had been provided with a wonderful new invisible ink disguised as a medical mixture, which could be used only on un-glazed paper with a ball-pointed pen. There was also a statement that an American journalist whose name began with ‘R’ was already doing good work for the Germans in London.
While B— was under detention he received a letter from R— in Holland: ‘Wish old “C” had been here to help me read the letter.’ Why should R— require any help in reading a letter unless it was written cryptographically? So far, the case was one of suspicion, but on 3 February 1917 B— wrote from Brixton Prison, asking that he might be visited by someone in authority to whom he was prepared to make an important statement. A senior officer was sent to Brixton and to him B— made
a full confession. He had formerly been the New York publicity agent for a well-known firm of film producers. One day he received a telephone message from a man with a foreign accent, asking whether he would care to go to Europe. He said that it was for very special work, for which he would be well paid. The voice directed him to call at an office in New York, where he would meet a man named Davis. Davis was a pseudonym for Charles Winnenberg, who told him frankly that the special work was to obtain information which would be useful to the German government. The Germans wanted particulars about our anti-aircraft defences, the movements and the morale of our troops and the actual position of British squadrons in Scottish waters, together with anything he might be able to glean about our new battleships. Not unnaturally, B— referred to the danger of such a service, but Winnenberg treated this with great scorn, saying, ‘They have only caught two or three and they were all fools. There will be no suspicion against you. We will pay you £25 a week and give you liberal expenses.’
Then, according to B—, Winnenberg became confidential and said that he intended to go himself to London, whence one of his agents, known as Robert W— had already sent him useful reports. He gave him particulars of the people in Holland with whom he was to communicate and added that there were three or four Americans in that country who would relay his messages if necessary. When B— pointed out that the Censor would probably intercept his messages, Winnenberg said, ‘As soon as you have got your passport I will give you the secret of fooling the Censor.’
On this B— called on the Central Press and told them that as he was going to Europe on business he would be prepared to collect war pictures for them on commission and in this they acquiesced. Thus he had a business cover for his journey and no difficulty was made about his passport. He then called on Winnenberg again, who was much pleased with the energy he had displayed. ‘Have you got a pair of black woollen socks?’ he asked. B— had not. ‘Well, go and buy a pair at once.’ When this was done Winnenberg produced a collapsible tube, from which he squeezed a thick brown liquid. This he smeared all round the top of the socks. ‘There,’ he said,
That is a secret ink which the English will never discover. All you have to do is to soak these socks in water and use the fluid as an ink. You must use a ball-pointed pen and a rough paper, on which the ink will not run. You must mark all your reports ‘M’, which will stand for ‘Marina, Antwerp’. That is the only place which knows the secret of developing the ink.
B— was given a thousand-dollar bill for preliminary expenses and was told that if he got good information he would be treated very liberally. He explained his visit to Worcestershire by saying that the wounded officer whose acquaintance he had made had asked him down there and he tried to excuse himself with the usual plea that he had not intended to give the Germans anything of value, but merely to draw money from them. As a matter of fact, when he went to Holland he was nearly at the end of his resources and probably it was in the hope of obtaining a draft for £200 that he went.
It became clear from subsequent investigations that B— was trying to spread his net wide. His wounded officer friend was nominally to be made a representative of a big shipping firm in America, but actually of another German agent who was to use him without his knowledge. B— was also suggesting to a girl acquaintance that she should obtain a post in the Censorship.
B— was tried by court-martial on 17 March 1917.
His counsel stated that he could trace his descent back to 1644, that his ancestor had fled to America after the battle of Marston Moor and that his mother’s ancestors had fled from France at the time of the Edict of Nantes. He was said to be a Bachelor of Arts in the United States, but the only defence put forward was that he had yielded to a sudden temptation to make money. He was sentenced to death by hanging.
Fortunately for B— the United States was about to enter the war and his value as a witness against the numerous persons who were being arrested was realised. It was decided to send him over to New York under arrest. On his arrival he was charged with a breach of neutrality laws and sentenced to imprisonment for a year and a day, for the sentence pronounced by the British court-martial could not, of course, run in America. While imprisoned in the United States he gave evidence against the German master spies and he seems to have greatly recovered his spirits, if we may judge from a letter that he wrote to a friend in England, asking him to try and forward the balance of the money which he had received from his German paymasters.
Winnenberg, alias Davis and Sanders, were arrested and convicted. The former made a full confession, which contained, no doubt, a good deal of romance, for he tried to inculpate many other foreign representatives besides Germans. According to his story R— entered England as an American journalist sent to write articles on the food situation in Europe for publication in American newspapers. He lost little time in communicating with a certain Cookery School organisation which was employed by the government for instructional purposes. R— made frequent trips to and from Holland and then, having run what he thought was more than his share of risk, he persuaded the Germans to allow him to remain in Holland as one of their chief agents to deal with any American journalists who might come after him. Arrangements were made to arrest him as soon as he set foot again in this country, but that moment never came. Even when he communicated articles to the British press on the international food question he was careful to arrange that payment should be sent to him in Holland. After the articles had been published it was brought to the notice of the editor that the writer was under strong suspicion. Payment was withheld. R— then wrote asking for a cheque and received the reply that if he would come to England the money should be paid, but he never came and it is not known what became of him.
Two other American journalists who were believed to be agents of Winnenberg were stopped, but since the evidence was insufficient for bringing them to trial they were sent back to America with a strong caution against returning to England. It must be understood that the vast body of American correspondents was quite above suspicion. These spies were needy freelances who were on the outskirts of the profession.
CHAPTER 15
WOMEN SPIES
IT IS NO disparagement of the sex to say that women do not make good spies. Generally they are lacking in technical knowledge and therefore are apt to send misleading reports through misunderstanding what they hear. Their apologists have urged that one of their most amiable qualities, compunction, often steps in at the moment when they are in a position to be most useful: just when they have won the intimacy of a man who can really tell them something important they cannot bring themselves to betray his confidence.
Throughout the war, though women spies were convicted, no woman was executed in England. In France there were one or two executions apart from any that may have taken place near the Front, where espionage was highly dangerous. The case of Margaret Gertrud Zeller, better known as Mata Hari (‘Eye of the Morning’), has overshadowed all the other cases. Her father was a Dutchman who, while in the Dutch East Indies, married a Javanese woman. He brought her home to Holland, and there the daughter became known as an exponent of a form of voluptuous oriental dancing that was new to Europe at that time. She was tall and sinuous, with glowing black eyes and a dusky complexion, vivacious in manner, intelligent and quick in repartee. She was, besides, a linguist. When she was about twenty she married a Dutch naval officer of Scottish extraction named Macleod, who divorced her.
She was well known in Paris and until the outbreak of war she was believed to be earning considerable sums of money by her professional engagements. She had a reputation in Holland, where people were proud of her success and, so cynics said, of her graceful carriage, which was rare in that country.
In July 1915 she was fulfilling a dancing engagement in Madrid, when information reached England that she was consorting with members of the German Secret Service and might be expected before long to be on her way back to Germany via Holland. This actually happened early
in 1916. The ship put into Falmouth and she was brought ashore, together with her very large professional wardrobe and escorted to London. I expected to see a lady who would bring the whole battery of her charms to bear upon the officers who were to question her. There walked into the room a severely practical person who was prepared to answer any question with a kind of reserved courtesy, who felt so sure of herself and of her innocence that all that remained in her was a desire to help her interrogators. The only thing graceful about her was her walk and the carriage of her head. She made no gestures and, to say truth, time had a little dimmed the charms of which we had heard so much, for at this time the lady must have been at least forty.
I have said she was openness itself. She was ready with an answer to every question and of all the people that I examined during the course of the war she was the ‘quickest in the uptake’. If I quoted to her the name of some person in Spain with whom it was compromising to be seen in conversation she was astounded. He a suspect? Surely we must be mistaken.
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