Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England

"My mission, Professor, is a somewhat curious one"; and I went on to explain our fears that German secret agents might obtain knowledge of the new process to which he had referred at the London Institution on the previous night.

For a moment he stroked his pointed white beard thoughtfully. I detected that he was as eccentric as he was curious-looking. Then, with a light laugh, he replied:

"Really Mr. – Mr. Jacox, I can't see your motive, or that of your friends, in thus interfering in my private affairs!"

"But is not this splendid discovery of yours of national importance?" I protested. "Will it not give us an enormous advantage over our enemies? Therefore, is it not more than probable that you have already attracted the attention of these spies of Germany?"

"My dear sir," he laughed, "I tell you quite frankly that I don't believe in all these stories about German spies. What is there in England for Germany to discover? Nothing; they know everything. No, Mr. Jacox, I'm an Englishman, a patriot, and I still believe in England's power. We have nothing whatever to fear from Germany."

"Your theory is hardly borne out by facts, Professor," I said, proceeding to tell him of our discovery at Rosyth, and how we had outwitted the spies regarding the new submarine, and also the airship at Lochindorb.

But the strange-looking old scientist, distinguished as he was, only laughed my fears to scorn.

"I'd like to see any German trying to learn my secret," he said defiantly.

"Then I would urge you to take every precaution. These agents employed by the German Secret Police on behalf of the General Staff are bold and unscrupulous."

"And do you allege that there are actually German spies in England?" asked the strange man.

"Most certainly. We have in England and Scotland more than five thousand fixed agents, men of almost every nationality except German, and in every walk of life, from humble labourers to men and women in good positions, all of whom are collecting information at the order of the German travelling agents, who visit them from time to time, collect their reports, and pay them their salaries. French, Swiss, and Italians are mostly employed," I said. "At the present time my friend Raymond has under observation a German band, seven young fellows all army officers, who are playing in the streets of Leeds, and at the same time making a secret map of the water-mains of that city, in order that when 'the Day' of invasion comes, the enemy will be able to suddenly deprive a densely populated area of water."

"But have you any actual proof of this?" he inquired.

As he spoke the door opened, and there entered a pretty dark-haired girl of twenty-two, wearing a light skirt and a pale pink evening blouse.

"Oh, dad!" she exclaimed, halting suddenly, "I'm sorry I didn't know you had a visitor."

"I shan't be a moment, Nella dear," the curious-looking old man said, and after a quick, inquisitive glance at me the girl withdrew.

"Well," exclaimed the Professor, with a smile, "I'm really very obliged to you for troubling to come here to warn me, but I think, my dear sir, that warnings are quite unnecessary. I haven't the slightest fear that any attempt will ever be made to secure my secret"; and he rose impatiently.

"Very well," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "I have warned you, Professor Emden. The Government will not admit the presence of spies amongst us, and for that reason we are now collecting indisputable evidence."

"Ah!" he laughed, "and you want me to help you, eh? Well, sir, I don't believe in a word of this scare – so I must decline that honour."

"And you will take no unusual precaution to keep the truth out of the hands of our enemies, eh?"

"I leave it to Joynson's of Sheffield," he said. "They've paid me a large sum down and a royalty for the secret of my process, and it is scarcely likely that they'll allow it to fall into other hands, is it?"

"They will not, but you, a private individual, may," I said.

"I think not," he laughed, and a moment later I descended the stairs, passing his pretty daughter Nella on the way out.

That night I called on Ray at Bruton Street, but he was out at the theatre with Vera. At half-past eleven they called as they went back to the girl's aunt's, and as they sat before the fire, Vera with her opera-cloak thrown back revealing a pretty pale blue corsage a trifle décolleté, I reported the non-success of my mission.

"He's a pig-headed old ass!" I declared. "One of millions of others in England. They close their eyes to the dangers of this horde of spies among us, and will only open them when the Germans come marching up the street and billet themselves in their houses. But he's a strange man, Ray, a very strange man," I added.

"You're right, Mr. Jacox," the girl declared. "Instead of teaching boys how to scout and instructing young men in the use of popguns, we should strike first at the root of all things. Cut off the source of this secret information which daily goes across the North Sea. Such hidebound patriots as the Professor are a peril to the nation!"

"If he refuses to help himself, Jacox, we must protect him ourselves," Ray declared. "I leave it to you and Vera to keep an open eye until I return from Selkirk next Monday. I'm bound to go down and see my sister. She seems very ill indeed."

And so a very important and delicate affair was thus placed in my hands.

Vera Vallance announced herself ready and eager to assist me, and that night I walked back to Bloomsbury much puzzled how next to act.

That the Germans would attempt to secure the secret of the new steel was absolutely certain. But to us, success meant the keeping of it to Britain, and the armouring of our new Dreadnoughts with a resisting power eight times that of our enemies.

Next day I journeyed down to Sheffield and called upon the manager of Messrs. Joynson and Mackinder, the great steel-makers, who, as you know, hold the contracts for making the armour-plates of our improved Dreadnoughts. He told me how the firm had just constructed six of the new Emden electrical furnaces, and had also taken over the wonderful new process which the Professor had invented.

He then courteously took me across to that portion of the great grimy works, with its wonderful steel melting and refining furnaces, to where the Emden process was about to be carried out.

"I suppose you have no fear of the new method being learnt by any of your rivals – by any German firm, for instance?" I asked.

"Not in the least," laughed the manager, a bluff, grey-bearded man, speaking in his broad Hallamshire dialect; "we take good care of that. Each workman only does a part, the whole of the process being only known to myself. It wouldn't do for us to give Professor Emden forty thousand pounds for the secret and then allow it to fall into foreign hands. The Germans would, of course, give anything for it," he added. "Emden is a patriotic Englishman even though he is very eccentric, and if he liked he could have got almost anything he cared to ask from Krupp's."

"That's just the point," I said; and then, as we walked back to the office, I explained my fears. But, like the Professor himself, he only laughed them to scorn. So that evening I again returned to London filled with anxiety and disappointment.

Just before eleven that same night I strolled past the house of Hermann Hartmann, in Pont Street, vaguely wondering what I could do to prevent a theft which must, I knew, shortly be committed. In all probability the ingenious Hartmann already had a secret agent in Joynson's works, but even if he had, he would certainly not be able to discover the secret. I had quite satisfied myself upon that point.

No, the peril lay in the Professor himself – the strange old pig-headed patriot.

Scarcely had I passed Hartmann's house, the exterior of which I knew so well, when I heard the front door close and saw a man coming down the steps. As he walked in my direction I halted beneath a lamp to light a cigarette, and by so doing I obtained a glimpse of his face as he passed.

He was a young, good-looking, smartly dressed man, with dark eyes and hair and a rather sallow complexion. I put him down to be an Italian, but I had never set eyes upon him before. No doubt he was one of Hartmann's travelling agents – a man who went up and down England visiting the fixed spies of Germany, or "letter-boxes," as they are known in the bureau of secret police in Berlin – collecting their reports and making payments for information or services rendered.

Knowing so much of the ways of the German secret agent, curiosity prompted me to follow him. He strolled as far as the corner of Sloane Street and Knightsbridge, and then boarded a motor-bus as far as Piccadilly Circus. Thence he walked to the German beer-hall, the Gambrinus, just off Coventry Street, where he joined a tall, thin, grey-moustached man, an Italian like himself, who was seated awaiting him. I idled across to a table close by, called for beer, and sat smoking a cigarette and straining my ears to catch their conversation, which was in Italian, a language I know fairly well.

I discovered the following facts. The thin-faced man was called Giovanni, while the elegant young fellow was Uberto, and they were discussing the arrival of somebody. Giovanni seemed dubious about something, while the man who had left Hartmann's seemed enthusiastic.

After a quarter of an hour Uberto glanced at his watch, made some remark to his companion, and they rose and went out together, driving in a taxicab westward, I following in another, which I fortunately found just in time. Through Kensington we went, over Hammersmith Bridge, through Barnes, and across the Common.

Then I realised we were going to Richmond.

The chase grew exciting. Before me I could see the red back-lamp of the taxi as it sped forward, and half an hour later we were crossing Richmond Bridge, where, a short distance along the road to Twickenham, they suddenly swung round to the left into St. Margaret's and pulled up before a good-sized detached house which stood back in its own grounds, in which were several big trees. The thoroughfare was, I noted, called Brunswick road.

My taxi-driver proved himself no fool. I had told him to follow; therefore, unable to pull up sharply, he swept past, and did not stop until we were round the bend in the quiet suburban road and thus out of sight.

I ordered him to remain, and, alighting, strolled back past the house in question. About its dark exterior was a distinct air of mystery. The pair had entered, and the taxi was awaiting them. The house was an old-fashioned one, solid and substantial in character, and apparently the residence of some prosperous City man; yet I wondered why its owner should have visitors at that hour. Surely great urgency had compelled the pair to come all the way from Piccadilly Circus to consult him.

But a surprise was in store for me.

After lurking about in the shadows with that expert evasiveness which I had now acquired, I presently saw the pair make their exit, but, to my surprise, they were accompanied out to the kerb by a woman – apparently a lady in black evening dress, the bodice of which was cut low.

About her shoulders she had wrapped a pale blue shawl, and as the young Uberto entered the taxi I heard her exclaim in Italian:

"Addio! To-morrow at one then, at Prince's."

As she moved I saw her countenance by the light of the cab lamp, a handsome, well-cut face, typical of a woman of Piedmont, for she had spoken in a dialect unmistakably that of Turin. The Turinese are more French than Italian, and are as different in both temperament and language from those of the south as the people of the Ardennes differ from those of Paris.

Both men shook hands with her warmly, bade her "Addio," and entering the taxi, drove away back to London, while I stood still watching.

And as I gazed I saw as she walked back to the house, in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, an old man coming forward towards her.

"Dio!" she cried, half in alarm at seeing him. Then in Italian, she added, "Why do you risk being seen, you imbecile? Why didn't you keep where you were?"

Then the door closed, and seeking my taxi I also returned to Bloomsbury.

But that incident had aroused a good deal of doubt and suspicion within me. Who was that handsome young Italian woman whom the spies had visited at that late hour? And, above all, who was that man with whom she had been annoyed for showing himself?

Next day proved conclusively that some crooked business was in progress, for while I sat alone eating my lunch in a corner of the big room at Prince's Restaurant in Piccadilly, I was amazed to see the well-dressed young Italian – the man whom I had seen emerge from Hartmann's in Pont Street, enter with no other person than Nella Emden.

Surely the spies had already made considerable progress! My indignation was such that I could have walked over to the table where the pair had seated themselves, and denounced that elegant Italian as a spy of the Kaiser. But I foresaw that by patience I might yet discover more that would be of interest.

From my corner I watched the pair unnoticed. The girl was certainly extremely good-looking, young, and by her manner I could see that she was shy at being with a male companion alone in a public restaurant. He, on his part, was exercising over her all the fascination of his nation. Once or twice I saw him smile covertly across behind me, and when I had an opportunity to glance round I realised, to my surprise, that the man whom he had called Giovanni was lunching with the handsome Italian woman from St. Margaret's.

It seemed that they were watching the young pair. For what reason, I wondered?

I remained on the alert, but that day discovered nothing more, though I followed the young pair back to Richmond and saw the Italian part affectionately from Nella Emden near her father's house.

For some days I prosecuted an unceasing vigil, for already I had recognised the seriousness of a secret falling into the enemies' hands which would undoubtedly give them the advantage in the coming struggle.

One afternoon Vera Vallance met me at Waterloo Station, and together we went down to Richmond, where I showed her the Professor's house, and together we waited for the coming of Nella. Vera, enthusiastic as ever, and ingenious at keeping observation, followed the girl, while in fear of being recognised I went back to London.

Next day she called at New Stone Buildings, smart, neat, and altogether sweet and winning.

"Well, Mr. Jacox," she said, seating herself by my fire, "I had a curious experience after I left you yesterday afternoon. Nella went first by tram to Twickenham, and near the Town Hall there met the young Italian, who had a companion – Hartmann himself!"

"Hartmann!" I gasped. "Then our suspicions are surely well grounded!"

"Of course they are," she said. "I at once drew back, fearing that our clever friend of Pont Street should notice me. Fortunately he did not, therefore I was able to watch and ascertain where they went – to the house in St. Margaret's where you saw that Italian woman. They apparently stayed there to tea, for about half-past five the young man came out and walked in the direction of Richmond Bridge. I, however, remained behind, and though I waited for hours, until long after dark, neither Hartmann nor the girl made their reappearance. But at nine a very remarkable incident occurred."

"What?" I inquired eagerly.

"Three men came along the road in the darkness carrying something. When they drew near me and turned into the gate of the house, I stood aghast. Upon their shoulders was a coffin!"

"A coffin!" I echoed, staring at her.

"Yes. And though I waited until midnight, Hartmann did not come forth, neither did the Professor's daughter. What do you make of it?" she asked, looking into my eyes.

I admitted that the affair was a mystery, and suggested that we might ascertain whether Nella had returned to her home.

"Yes," she said. "Go down to Richmond and see."

This I did without delay. I watched the house during that afternoon, and just at dusk saw the dark-eyed maid-servant emerge to post a letter. I followed her up the hill to the pillar-box, and by the application of a couple of half-crowns obtained some information.

"No, sir," replied the girl, "Miss Nella's not come home. The master's in a great state about her. She went out for a walk yesterday afternoon, and though he's been to the police, nobody seems to have seen her."

"She was her father's assistant in his experiments, I've heard?"

"Yes, sir, she was. Ever since poor Mrs. Emden died, two years ago, she's been her father's right hand."

"Had she a lover?"

"Well" – and the girl hesitated. "We in the kitchen have our suspicions. Davis the cook saw her last Sunday walking over in Teddington with a dark young man, who looked like a foreigner. But," she added, "why do you want to know all this?"

"I'm trying to trace the young lady," I said, in the hope that she would believe me to be a detective. "Tell me," I urged; "does the Professor make any experiments at home?"

"Oh yes, sir; his laboratory is up on the top floor – fitted up with an electric furnace and lots of funny appliances."

"Has he any friends who are foreigners?" I inquired.

"Not that I know of," was the girl's reply. And I thought she regarded me rather strangely. Why, I could not conceive. Her name was Annie Whybrow, she told me, and then, unable to detain her longer I allowed her to re-enter the house.

Vera's story of the coffin being taken into that mysterious house in Brunswick Road, combined with the non-return of the pretty Nella, was certainly mystifying.

I returned to London, saw Vera, and we resolved to wire to Ray at Selkirk asking him to return to London as soon as possible.

That night, and the next, I haunted the usual resorts of foreigners in the West End, the underground Café de l'Europe, the Spaten beer-hall in Leicester Square, the Café Monico, the Gambrinus, and other places, in order to discover the young Italian. On the second evening I was successful, for I saw him in the Monico, and on inquiring of a man I knew, I learnt that his name was Uberto Mellini, that until recently he had lived in Paris, and that at the present moment he was staying in a house in Dean Street, Soho.

At midnight, when I returned to Bloomsbury, I found Vera and Ray anxiously awaiting me. The latter had only arrived in London from Scotland an hour before, and his fiancée had evidently told him of the curious events which had transpired and the sinister mystery surrounding the young girl's disappearance.

"I can see no reason for it at all," he declared, when we commenced to discuss the situation. "It's quite plain that our friends the enemy are actively at work, but surely the fact that Nella is missing would put the Professor upon his guard. This young Italian Mellini is evidently a new importation, and has pretended to form an attachment for Nella for some ulterior object."

"Certainly," I said. "But what do you make of the incident of the coffin?"

"There has been no funeral from that house in Brunswick Road?"

"Not as far as I can gather."

"The Registrar of Deaths would be able to inform us," he said reflectively. "We must inquire."

Next day all three of us returned to Richmond, and while Ray and Vera crossed the bridge to the opposite side of the Thames to find the Registrar's office, I lingered and watched in the vicinity of the Professor's house.

I waited for many weary hours in the wet – for rain fell the whole day – but Ray did not return, which caused me considerable misgivings. I was compelled to resort to all sorts of subterfuges in order not to attract attention; but as my friend had directed me to remain and watch, I waited patiently at my post.

Just after the street lamps were lit, a telegraph messenger arrived, and ten minutes after he had gone the girl Annie came out with hat and jacket on, and turning to the left hurried in my direction.

As she passed I spoke to her, and, recognising me, she explained that she was going for a cab to convey the Professor to the station.

"Miss Nella is at Liverpool," she added excitedly. "The master has had a wire from her, asking him to go there at once. She's very ill, it seems. The poor master is greatly excited. He's just telephoned to the police saying that Miss Nella has been found."

And then the girl hurried away, down the hill to the foot of the bridge, where there was a cab-stand.

Nella at Liverpool! What could possibly have occurred?

Later on I watched the Professor, carrying only a handbag, enter a cab and drive rapidly to the station, while Annie returned to the house and closed the front door.

It was then about six o'clock, and I had been watching there for nearly eight hours. Therefore I decided to go in search of Ray, who was over at St. Margaret's, and who, I thought, would most probably be watching the house to which the coffin had been taken.

In this I was not mistaken, for I found him idling at the end of that quiet, dark suburban road. He was on the alert the instant he recognised me, and in a few rapid sentences I told him what had occurred.

It puzzled him greatly.

"I've ascertained that Hartmann is back at Pont Street," he said. "But why the coffin should be in yonder house is still a mystery. The Registrar has had no intimation of any death in Brunswick Road for the past eight months. I've, however, found the local undertaker, who says that a plain coffin was ordered for a gentleman and that they duly delivered it. They did not see the body, being told that the funeral was to be undertaken by a big West End firm, and that the body was to be conveyed for burial somewhere near Leicester."

"Have you found out anything further regarding the occupants of the house?"

"No, only that it was taken furnished by a gentleman a month ago – a foreigner whose description exactly tallies with that of Hartmann – for an old man and his daughter – both Italians. They've kept themselves very much to themselves, therefore the neighbours know practically nothing about their business."

"Well, Nella Emden was enticed in there. I'm certain of that," I said. "Yet the fact that she's in Liverpool rather negatives my first theory of foul play," I added.

"Yes. But we must still remain watchful. Vera has gone to make some inquiries for me over at Mortlake. I expect her back in half an hour. You return and keep a watchful eye upon the Professor's place. One never knows what crooked business may be on hand!"

So back I went, and through the whole evening waited there, chilled to the bone, in vain expectancy.

I had noticed from Ray's manner that he had become very suspicious. He somehow scented the presence of spies at times when, I confess, I felt calm and reassured. And his natural intuition was seldom, if ever, wrong.

The church bells across the river had chimed midnight, the Professor's servants had put out the lights and retired, and the thoroughfare was now deserted. Hungry and tired out, I was contemplating relaxing my vigil when Ray suddenly turned a corner and joined me, saying breathlessly:

"Uberto and his friend are coming up the hill with another man. Vera and I have seen them call at Brunswick Road, and they are now on their way here. We must keep a strict watch. Something is up!"

We separated, and concealing ourselves in the basements of the houses opposite, we witnessed that which caused our heart-beats to quicken.

The three men came along in silence in the night, for they evidently wore rubber heels on their boots. The constable was then some distance down the hill, therefore they passed him.

As they approached the house, the man whom I had heard addressed as Giovanni hurried forward, and slipping suddenly into the narrow front garden, approached the kitchen window. Inserting something between the sashes, he pushed back the latch, carefully drew back the blind, and was within the house almost before the two others had entered the garden.

Then, without a sound, the pair followed him. Indeed, the three spies had entered the premises so quickly that we could scarcely believe our own eyes.

"The police!" whispered Ray. "We must get the constable. Slip down the hill and tell him. We'll make a fine capture this time!"