CHAPTER XI
THE PERIL OF LONDON
Certain information obtained by Ray led us to adopt a novel method oftrapping one of the Kaiser's secret agents.
About six months after my curious motoring adventure in Essex I sent tothe _Berliner Tageblatt_, in Berlin, an advertisement, offering myselfas English valet to any German gentleman coming to England, declaringthat I had excellent references, and that I, Henry Dickson, had been inservice with several English noblemen.
The replies forwarded to me caused us considerable excitement. Vera waswith us at New Stone Buildings when the postman brought the bulkypacket, and we at once proceeded to read them one by one.
"Holloa!" she cried, holding up one of the letters. "Here you are, Mr.Jacox! The Baron Heinrich von Ehrenburg has replied!"
Eagerly we read the formal letter from the German aristocrat, dated fromthe Leipziger Strasse, Berlin, stating that, being about to take up hisresidence in London, he was in want of a good and reliable Englishservant. He would be at the Ritz Hotel in four days' time, and he madean appointment for me to call.
"Good!" cried Ray. "You must ask very little wages. Germans are a stingylot. The Baron has been acting as a secret agent of the Kaiser in Paris,but had to fly on account of the recent Ullmo affair at Toulon. He's avery clever spy--about as clever, indeed, as Hartmann himself. Why he iscoming to England is not quite clear. But we must find out."
For the next four days I waited in great anxiety, and when, at theappointed hour, I presented myself at the "Ritz" and was shown into theprivate salon, the middle-aged, fair-haired, rather elegant man eyed meup and down swiftly as I stood before him with great deference.
I was about to play a dangerous game.
After a number of questions, and an examination of my credentials, allof which, I may as well admit, had been prepared by Ray and Vera, heengaged me, and that same evening I entered upon my duties, greatly tothe satisfaction of Vera and her lover.
Fortunately I was not known at the "Ritz," and was therefore able forthe first week or so to do my valeting, brushing my master's clothes,polishing his boots, getting out his dress-suit, and other such duties,undisturbed, my eyes, however, always open to get a glimpse of anypapers that might be left in the pockets or elsewhere.
Twice he drove to Pont Street and dined with Hartmann. The pair were infrequent consultation, it seemed, for one afternoon the chief of theGerman spies in England called, and was closeted closely with my masterfor fully two hours.
I stood outside the door, but unfortunately the doors of the "Ritz" areso constructed that nothing can be heard in the corridors. All I knewwas that, on being called in to give a message over the telephone, I sawlying on the table between them several English six-inch ordnance maps.
No master could have been more generous than the Baron. He was tall,rather dandified, and seemed a great favourite with the ladies. Hartmannhad introduced him to certain well-known members of the German colony inLondon, and he passed as the possessor of a big estate near Cochem, onthe Moselle. He told me one day while I was brushing his coat that hepreferred life in England to Germany. He, however, made no mention ofhis residence in France and how he had ingeniously induced a Frenchnaval officer to become a traitor.
From the "Ritz" we, later on, removed into expensive quarters at"Claridge's," and here my master received frequent visits from a shabby,thin-faced, shrivelled-up old foreigner, whom I took to be a Dutchman,his name being Mr. Van Nierop.
Whenever he called the Baron and he held close consultation, sometimesfor hours. We travelled to Eastbourne, Bournemouth, Birmingham,Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other cities, yet ever and anon the shabby oldDutchman seemed to turn up at odd times and places, as though springingfrom nowhere.
When absent from London, the Baron frequently sent telegraphic messagesin cipher to a registered address in London. Were these, I wondered,intended for Hartmann or for the mysterious Van Nierop?
The old fellow seemed to haunt us everywhere, dogging our footstepscontinually, and appearing in all sorts of out-of-the-way places withhis long, greasy overcoat, shabby hat, and shuffling gait, by which manymistook him for a Hebrew.
And the more closely I watched my aristocratic master, the moreconvinced I became that Van Nierop and he were acting in collusion. Butof what was in progress I could obtain no inkling.
Frequently we moved quickly from one place to another, as though mymaster feared pursuit, then we went suddenly to Aix, Vichy, andCarlsbad, and remained away for some weeks. Early in the autumn we wereback again at a suite of well-furnished chambers in Clarges Street, offPiccadilly.
"I expect, Dickson, that we shall be in London some months," the Baronhad said to me on the second morning after we had installed ourselveswith our luggage. The place belonged to a wealthy young peer of racingproclivities, and was replete with every comfort. All had been left justas it was, even to an open box of cigars. His lordship had gone on atrip round the world.
On the third day--a very wet and dismal one, I recollect--the oldDutchman arrived. The Baron was out, therefore he waited--waited inpatience for six long hours for his return. When my master re-entered,the pair sat together for half an hour. Then suddenly the Baron shoutedto me, "Dickson! Pack my suit-case and biggest kit-bag at once. Put inboth dress-coat and dinner-jacket. And I shan't want you. You'll stayhere and mind the place."
"Yes, sir," I replied, and began briskly to execute his orders.
When the shabby old fellow had gone, the Baron called me into thesitting-room and gave me two cipher telegrams, one written on the yellowform used for foreign messages. The first, which he had numbered "1" inblue pencil, was addressed "Zaza, Berlin," and the second was to"Tejada, Post Office, Manchester."
"These, Dickson, I shall leave with you, for I may want them despatched.Send them the instant you receive word from me. I will tell you which tosend. It's half-past eight. I leave Charing Cross at nine, but cannotgive you any fixed address. Here's money to get along with. Wait hereuntil my return."
I was sorely disappointed. I knew that he was a spy and was in Englandfor some fixed purpose. But what it was I could not discover.
"And," he added, as though it were an afterthought, "if any one shouldby chance inquire about Mr. Van Nierop--whether you know him, or if hehas been here--remember that you know nothing--nothing. You understand?"
"Very well, sir," was my response.
Five minutes later, refusing to allow me to accompany him to thestation, he drove away into Piccadilly with his luggage upon a hansom,and thus was I left alone for an indefinite period.
That evening I went round to Bruton Street, where I saw Ray, anddescribed what had occurred.
He sat staring into the fire in silence for some time.
"Well," he answered at last, "if what I surmise be true, Jack, the Baronought to be back here in about a week. Continue to keep both eyes andears open. There's a deep game being played, I am certain. He's withHartmann very often. Recollect what I told you about the clever mannerin which the Baron conducted the affair at Toulon. He would have beenentirely successful hadn't a woman given Ullmo away. See me as little asyou can. You never know who may be watching you during the Baron'sabsence."
On the next evening I went out for a stroll towards Piccadilly Circusand accidentally met a man I knew, a German named Karl Stieber, a man ofabout thirty, who was valet to a young gentleman who lived in the flatbeneath us.
Together we descended to that noisy cafe beneath the Hotel de l'Europein Leicester Square, where we met four other friends of Karl's, servantslike himself.
As we sat together, he told me that his brother was head-waiter at alittle French restaurant in Dean Street, Soho, called "La BelleNicoise," a place where one could obtain real Provencal dishes. Then, Ion my part, told him of my own position and my travels with the Baron.
When we ascended into Leicester Square again we found the pavementscongested, for Daly's, the Empire, and the Alhambra had just disgorgedtheir throngs.
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sp; As he walked with me he turned, and suddenly asked:
"Since you've been in London has old Van Nierop visited the Baron?"
I started in quick surprise, but in an instant recollected my master'sinjunctions.
"Van Nierop!" I echoed. "Whom do you mean?"
But he only laughed knowingly, exclaiming:
"All right. You'll deny all knowledge of him, of course. But, my dearDickson, take the advice of one who knows, and be ever watchful. Takecare of your own self. Good night!"
And my friend, who seemed to possess some secret knowledge, vanished inthe crowd.
Once or twice he ascended and called upon me, and we sometimes used tospend our evenings together in that illicit little gaming-room behind ashop in Old Compton Street, a place much frequented by foreign servants.
I noticed, however, though he was very inquisitive regarding the Baronand his movements, he would never give me any reason. He sometimeswarned me mysteriously that I was in danger. But to me his wordsappeared absurd.
One evening, in the third week of December, he and I were in the Baron'sroom chatting, when a ring came at the door, and I found the Baronhimself, looking very tired and fagged. He almost staggered into hissitting-room, brushing past Karl on his way. He was dressed in differentclothes, and I scarcely recognised him at first.
"Who's that, Dickson?" he demanded sharply. "I thought I told you Iforbade visitors here! Send him away. I want to talk to you."
I obeyed, and when he heard the door close the Baron, who I noticed wastravel-worn and dirty, with a soiled collar and many days' growth ofbeard, said:
"Don't have anybody here--not even your best friend, Dickson. You'dadmit no stranger here if you knew the truth," he added, with a meaninglook. "Fortunately, perhaps you don't."
Then, after he had gulped down the cognac I had brought at his order, hewent on:
"Now, listen. In a little more than a week it will be New Year's day. Onthat day there will arrive for me a card of greeting. You will open allmy letters on that morning, and find it. Either it will be perfectlyplain and bear the words 'A Happy New Year' in frosted letters, or elseit will be a water-colour snow scene--a house, bare trees, moonlight,you know the kind of thing--with the words 'The Compliments of theSeason.' Upon either will be written in violet ink, in a woman's hand,the words in English, 'To dear Heinrich.' You understand, eh?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Good," he said. "Now, I gave you two telegrams before I left. If thecard is a plain one, burn it and despatch the first telegram; ifcoloured, then send the second message. Do you follow?"
I replied in the affirmative, when, to my surprise he rose, and insteadof entering his bedroom to wash, he simply swallowed a second glass ofbrandy, sighed, and departed, saying:
"Remember, you know nothing--nothing whatever. If there should be anyinquiries about me, keep your mouth closed."
Twice my friend Stieber called in the days that followed, but Iflattered myself that from me he learnt nothing.
On the morning of New Year's day five letters were pushed through thebox. Eagerly I tore them open. The last, bearing a Dutch stamp, with thepostmark of Utrecht, contained the expected card, with the inscription"To dear Heinrich," a small hand-painted scene upon celluloid, withforget-me-nots woven round the words "With the Compliments of theSeason."
Half an hour later, having burned the card according to my instructions,I despatched the mysterious message to Manchester.
That evening, about ten o'clock, Stieber called for me to go for astroll and drink a New Year health. But as we turned from Clarges Streetinto Piccadilly I could have sworn that a man we passed in the darknesswas old Van Nierop. I made no remark, however, because I did not wish todraw my companion's attention to the shuffling old fellow.
Had the telegram, I wondered, brought him to London?
Ten minutes later, in the Cafe Monico, my friend Karl lifted his glassto me, saying:
"Well, a Happy New Year, my dear friend. Take my advice, and don't trustyour Baron too implicitly."
"What do you mean?" I asked. "You always speak in enigmas!"
But he laughed, and would say no more.
Next day dawned. Grey and muddy, it was rendered more dismal by myloneliness. I idled away the morning, anxious to be travelling again,but at noon there was a caller, a thin, pale-faced girl of fifteen orso, poorly dressed and evidently of the working-class.
When, in response to her question, I had told her my name, she said:
"I've been sent by the Baron to tell you he wishes to see you veryparticularly to-night at nine o'clock, at this address."
She handed me an envelope with an address upon it, and then went downthe stairs.
The address I read was: "4A Bishop's Lane, Chiswick."
The mysterious appointment puzzled me, but after spending a verycheerless day, I hailed a taxi-cab at eight o'clock and set forth forChiswick, a district to which I had never before been.
At length we found ourselves outside an old-fashioned church, and oninquiry I was told by a boy that Bishop's Lane was at the end of afootpath which led through the churchyard.
I therefore dismissed the taxi, and after some search, at length foundNo. 4A, an old-fashioned house standing alone in the darkness amid alarge garden surrounded by high, bare trees--a house built in the longago days before Chiswick became a London suburb.
As I walked up the path the door was opened, and I found the old man VanNierop standing behind it.
Without a word he ushered me into a back room, which, to my surprise,was carpetless and barely furnished. Then he said, in that strangecroaking voice of his:
"Your master will be here in about a quarter of an hour. He's delayed.Have a cigarette."
I took one from the packet he offered, and still puzzled, lit it and satdown to await the Baron.
The old man had shuffled out, and I was left alone, when of a sudden acurious drowsiness overcame me. I fancy there must have been a narcoticin the tobacco, for I undoubtedly slept.
When I awoke I found, to my amazement, that I could not use my arms. Iwas still seated in the wooden arm-chair, but my arms and legs werebound with ropes, while the chair itself had been secured to four ironrings screwed into the floor.
Over my mouth was bound a cloth so that I could not speak.
Before me, his thin face distorted by a hideous, almost demoniacal laughof triumph, stood old Van Nierop, watching me as I recoveredconsciousness. At his side, grinning in triumph, was my master, theBaron.
I tried to ask the meaning of it all, but was unable.
"See, see!" cried the old Dutchman, pointing with his bony finger to thedirty table near me, whereon a candle-end was burning straight before myeyes beside a good-sized book--a leather-bound ledger it appeared to be."Do you know what I intend doing? Well, I'm going to treat you as allEnglish spies should be treated. That candle will burn low in fiveminutes and sever the string you see which joins the wick. Look whatthat innocent-looking book contains!" and with a peal of discordantlaughter he lifted the cover, showing, to my horror, that it was a box,wherein reposed a small glass tube filled with some yellow liquid, atrigger held back by the string, and some square packets wrapped inoiled paper.
"You see what this is!" he said slowly and distinctly. "The moment thestring is burned through, the hammer will fall, and this house will beblown to atoms. That book contains the most powerful explosive known toscience."
I could not demand an explanation, for though I struggled, I could notspeak.
I watched the old man fingering with fiendish delight the terriblemachine he had devised for my destruction.
"You and your friend Raymond thought to trap us!" said the Baron. "But,you see, he who laughs last laughs best. Adieu, and I wish you apleasant trip, my young friend, into the next world," and both went out,closing the door after them.
All was silence. I sat there helpless, pinioned, staring at the burningcandle and awaiting the most awful death that can await a man.
; Ah, those moments! How can I ever adequately describe them? Suffice itto say that my hair was dark on that morning, but in those terriblemoments of mental agony, of fear and horror, it became streaked withgrey.
Lower and still lower burned the flame, steadily, imperceptibly, yet,alas! too sure. Each second brought me nearer the grave.
I was face to face with death.
Frantically and fiercely I fought to wrench myself free--fought until agreat exhaustion fell upon me.
Then, as the candle had burned until the flame was actually touchingthat thin string which held me between life and death, I fainted.
A blinding flash, a terrific explosion that deafened me, and a feelingof sudden numbness.
I found myself lying on the path outside with two men at my side.
One was a dark-bearded, thick-set, but gentlemanly-looking man--theother was Ray Raymond.
Of the house where I had been, scarcely anything remained save itsfoundations. The big trees in the garden had been shattered and torndown, and every window in the neighbourhood had been blown in, to theintense alarm of hundreds of people who were now rushing along the dark,unfrequented thoroughfare.
"My God!" cried Ray. "What a narrow escape you've had! Why didn't youtake my advice? It was fortunate that, suspecting something, we followedyou here. This gentleman," he said, introducing his friend, "is Bellamy,of the Special Department at Scotland Yard. We just discovered you intime. Old Van Nierop ran inside again when he met us in the path. Hethought he had time to escape through the back, but he hadn't. He's beenblown to atoms himself, as well as the Baron, and thus saved us thetrouble of extradition."
I was too exhausted and confused to reply. Besides, a huge crowd wasalready gathering, the fire-brigade had come up, and the police seemedto be examining the debris strewn everywhere.
"You watched the Baron well, but not quite well enough, my dear Jacox,"Ray said. "They evidently suspected you of prying into their business,and plotted to put you quietly out of the way. You have evidentlysomehow betrayed yourself."
"But what was their business?" I asked. "I searched every scrap of paperin the Baron's rooms, but was never able to discover anything."
"Well, the truth is that the reason the Baron came to England was inorder to take a house in this secluded spot. Aided by Van Nierop theyhave established a depot close by in readiness for the coming of theKaiser's army. Come with me and let us investigate."
And leading me to a stable at the rear of another house about fiftyyards distant, he, aided by Bellamy, broke open the padlocked door.
Within we found great piles of small, strongly bound boxes containingrifle ammunition, together with about sixty cases of old Martini-Henryrifles, weapons still very serviceable at close quarters, a quantity ofrevolvers, and ten cases of gun-cotton--quite a formidable store of armsand ammunition, similar to that we found in Essex, and intended, nodoubt, for the arming of the horde of Germans already in London on theday when the Kaiser gives the signal for the dash upon our shores.
"This is only one of the depots established in the neighbourhood of themetropolis," Raymond said. "There are others, and we must set to work todiscover them. Germany leaves nothing to chance, and there are alreadyin London fifty thousand well-trained men of the Fatherland, most ofwhom belong to secret clubs, and who will on 'the Day' rise _en masse_at the signal of invasion."
"But the Baron!" I exclaimed, half dazed. "Where is he?"
"They've just recovered portions of him," replied Ray, with a grin.
"But that New Year's card!" I exclaimed, and then amid the excitementproceeded to tell Bellamy and my companion what had happened.
"The message you sent to Manchester was to acquaint Hartmann, who isstaying at this moment at the Midland Grand Hotel, with their intendedvengeance upon you, my dear old chap. Nierop was a Dutch merchant in theCity, and his habit was to import arms and ammunition in smallquantities, and distribute them to the different secret depots, one ofwhich we know is somewhere near the 'Adelaide,' in Chalk Farm Road,another is at a house in Malmesbury Road, Canning Town, a third inShepperton Street, Hoxton, and a fourth is said to be close by thechapel in Cowley Road, Leytonstone."
"And there are others besides," remarked Bellamy.
"Yes," remarked Raymond, "one is certainly somewhere in Crowland Road,South Tottenham, another near the Gas Works at Hornsey, and otherssomewhere between Highgate Hill and the New River reservoir. Besides,there are no doubt several in such towns as Ipswich, Chelmsford,Yarmouth, and Norwich."
The police had by this time taken possession of the stable, but noinformation was given to the public, fearing that a panic might becaused if the truth leaked out.
So the newspapers and the public believed the death of the German andthe Dutchman to be due to a gas explosion--at least that was what thepolice reported at the inquest. Next day the arms and ammunition werequietly removed in closed vans from the house and stable which the spieshad rented, and conveyed to safe keeping at Woolwich--where, I believe,they still remain as evidence of the German intentions.
Londoners, indeed, sadly disregard the peril in which they are placedwith a hostile force already in their midst--an advance guard of theenemy already on the alert, and but awaiting the landing of theircompatriots from the Fatherland.
No sane man can to-day declare that, with our maladministered Navy, theinvasion of England is impossible. Invasion is not a "scare." It is ahard fact which must be faced, if we are not to fall beneath the "mailedfist."
The peril is great, and it is increasing daily. The Germans arestrenuous in their endeavours to make every preparation for thesuccessful raid upon our shores.
As an instance, in February, 1909, what may well be described as acareful, complete, and systematic photographic survey of the coastbetween the Tyne and the Tees was conducted, it is stated, by a party offoreigners, three of whom were Germans.
Every indentation of the coast, and especially those in theneighbourhood of the dunes about Heselden and Castle Eden, wasfaithfully recorded by means of the camera, photographs being taken bothat low tide and at high tide at various points.
Considerable attention was given to the entrances to the Tyne, Tees andWear, and also to the Harbour entrances at Seaham Harbour andHartlepool; whilst the positions of the various coast batteries andcoast-guard stations were also photographed.
Nor did the party, whose operations extended over a period of severalweeks, confine their attention solely to the coast line. Railwayjunctions and bridges near the coast, collieries, and even farm-houseswere photographed; in fact, the salient features of the countrysidebordering the sea were all included in what was altogether a mostexhaustive series of pictures.
A certain number of films were developed from day to day at WestHartlepool, something like two hundred pictures in all being dealt with,but these formed only a tithe of the photographs taken, and theundeveloped films, together with the prints from those that had beendeveloped, were despatched direct to Hamburg and Berlin, while some weresent to the head-quarters of the German espionage in Pont Street,London.