Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England

"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?"

"You are perfectly correct in your surmise, m'sieur. Here they have an unpleasant habit in their treatment of foreign spies."

"And does it not usually take two persons to play a game?" I asked, perfectly cool. "Are you not a spy also?"

"Go to the police, mon cher ami, and tell them what you will," he laughed defiantly. "Straus, the chief of police here, is my friend. You would not be the first person who has tried to secure my arrest and failed."

His words confounded me. I saw that I alone was in peril, and that he, by reason of his personal friendship with the chief of police, was immune from arrest.

I had walked deliberately, and with eyes wide open, into the trap!

"You see," he laughed, pointing to the telephone instrument on the little writing-table, "I have only to take that and call up the police office, and your British Government will lose the services of one of its shrewdest agents."

"So that is your revenge, eh?" I asked, realising how utterly helpless I now was in the hands of my bitterest enemy – the man who had turned a traitor. I could see no way out.

"Bah!" he laughed in my face. "The power of your wonderful old country – so old that it has become worm-eaten – is already at an end. In a month you will have German soldiers swarming upon your shores, while America will seize Canada and Australia, and Russia will advance into India. You will be crushed, beaten, humiliated – and the German eagle will fly over your proud London. The John Bull bladder is to be pricked!" he laughed.

"That is not exactly news to me, M'sieur Pierron," I answered quite coolly. "The danger of my country is equally a danger to yours. With England crushed, France, too, must fall."

"We have an army – a brave army – while you have only the skeleton that your great Haldane has left to you," he sneered. "But enough! I have long desired this interview, and am pleased that it has taken place here in Berlin," and he deliberately walked across to the telephone.

I tried to snatch the transmitter from his hand, but though we struggled, he succeeded in inquiring for a number – the number of the police head-quarters.

I was caught like a rat in a trap, fool that I was to have come there at risk of my liberty – I who was always so wary and so circumspect!

I sprang at his throat, to prevent him speaking further.

"You shall not do this!" I cried.

But his reply was only a hoarse laugh of triumph.

He was asking for somebody – his friend, the chief of police! Then turning to me with a laugh, he said:

"Straus will undoubtedly be pleased to arrest such big game as yourself."

As he uttered the words there sounded a low tap upon the door, and next second it opened, revealing the neat figure in pale blue.

Pierron turned quickly, but in an instant his face was blanched.

"Dieu! Suzette!" he gasped, staring at her, while she stood upon the threshold, a strange look overspreading her countenance as she recognised him.

"Ah! Look, M'sieur Jacox!" she shrieked a second later. "Yes – yes, it is that man!" she went on, pointing her finger at him. "At last! Thank God! I have found him!"

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "This is M'sieur Pierron."

"I tell you," she cried, "that is the man whom I saw at the Rue de Royat – the man who strangled poor Madame Levitsky!"

"You lie!" he cried, stepping towards her. "I – I've never seen you before!"

"And yet you have just uttered mademoiselle's name, m'sieur," I remarked quietly.

"He knows that I was present at the time of the tragedy," exclaimed Suzette quickly, "and that he was the paid assassin of Henry Banfield. He killed the unfortunate woman for two reasons: first, in order to obtain her husband's papers, which had both political and financial importance; and secondly, to obtain her jewellery, which was of very considerable value. And upon me, because I was defenceless, the guilt was placed. They said I was jealous of her."

"Suzette," I said slowly, "leave this man to me."

Then, glancing towards him, I saw what a terrible effect her denunciation had had upon him. Pale to the lips, he stood cowed, even trembling, for before him was the living witness of his crime.

I stood with my back to the door, barring his escape.

"Now," I said, "what is your defence?"

He was silent.

I repeated my question in a hard, distinct voice.

"Let's cry quits," he said in a low, hoarse tone. "I will preserve your secret – if you will keep mine. Will you not accept terms?"

"Not those," I replied promptly. "Suzette has been accused by Banfield, and by you, of the crime which you committed. She shall therefore name her own terms."

Realising that, by the fortunate discovery of the assassin of Madame Levitsky, she had at once freed herself from the trammels cast about her by Banfield, it was not surprising that the girl should stipulate as a condition of allowing the spy his freedom that he should hand over to me all the copies of the secret diplomatic correspondence which he possessed.

At first he loudly protested that he had none, but I compelled him to hand me the key of his despatch-box, and accompanying him to his room at the further end of the corridor, we searched and there found within the steel box a file of papers which he held ready to hand over to the Quai d'Orsay – the actual information of which I had been in such active search.

The German inducements were all set out clearly and concisely, the copies being in the neat hand of the traitorous clerk in the Treaty Department.

Pierron, the tables thus turned upon him, begged me to allow him at least to have copies. This I refused, triumphantly taking possession of the whole file and bidding him good-night.

In an hour we had both left the German capital, and next day I had the satisfaction of handing the copy of the German proposals and the whole correspondence to the Minister for Foreign Affairs at Downing Street.

An extraordinary meeting of the Cabinet was held, and cipher instructions at once sent to each of His Majesty's Ambassadors abroad – instructions which had the result of successfully combating the intrigue at Berlin, and for the time being breaking up the proposed powerful combination against us.

The bitter chagrin of the German Chancellor is well known in diplomatic circles, yet to Suzette Darbour our kid-gloved coup meant her freedom.

In my presence she openly defied Henry Banfield and cut herself adrift from him, while Charles Pierron, after his ignominious failure in Berlin, and possibly on account of certain allegations made by the rich American, who wished to get rid of him, was dismissed from the French Secret Service and disappeared, while the pretty Suzette, three months afterwards, married Armand Thomas.

I was present at the quiet wedding out at Melun in the first days of 1909, being the bearer of a costly present in the form of a pretty diamond pendant, as well as a dozen pairs of sixteen-button-length kid gloves from an anonymous donor.

She alone knew that the pendant had been sent to her as a mark of gratitude by the grave-faced old peer, the confirmed woman-hater, who was Minister for Foreign Affairs of His Majesty King Edward the Seventh.

More than once lately I have been a welcome visitor at the bright little apartment within a stone's-throw of the Étoile.

CHAPTER IX

THE SECRET OF OUR NEW GUN

Ray and I were in Newcastle-on-Tyne a few weeks after our success in frustrating the German plot against England.

Certain observations we had kept had led us to believe that a frantic endeavour was being made to obtain certain details of a new type of gun, of enormous power and range, which at that moment was under construction at the Armstrong Works at Elswick.

The Tyne and Tees have long ago been surveyed by Germany, and no doubt the accurate and detailed information pigeon-holed in the Intelligence Bureau at Berlin would, if seen by the good people of Newcastle, cause them a mauvais quart d'heure, as well as considerable alarm.