Sant of the Secret Service: Some Revelations of Spies and Spying

Apparently the two, in the course of their earnest conversation, arrived at some definite agreement, for when they at length rose and parted, Halbmayr returned direct to the station, where he had left his luggage in the cloak-room, while the Swedish woman went back to her hotel, leaving for Lucerne an hour later.

By the next train I also travelled with Garcia to Lucerne. Immediately on our arrival we all had a consultation, and we were deep in talk when I received a startling message from Hecq in Paris. It had been sent to him by Johnson-Meads, who had promised to communicate with me through Hecq if any further suspicious matter came under his notice. The message read:

“Cancel my last message; most urgent I should see you immediately.”

Now Johnson-Meads’ last message had reported him as being assured of the bona fides of Engström. The “cancellation” of that could only mean one thing – that the Engström we knew was a fraud, and that for some sinister purpose he was trading on the good name of a perfectly reputable firm of engineers in Sweden.

An hour later I was on my way to London.

I arrived there without incident, and for an hour sat with Mr Johnson-Meads in his office in Fenchurch Street.

“I am afraid you will think me criminally careless, Mr Sant,” he said, “in the matter of my assurance that the man you know as Engström was what he professed to be. But I was deceived by a curious coincidence, and can only offer as an excuse that I have not had your training in solving problems of this kind.

“You will remember what I told you when I met you in Curzon Street? Well, that remains true. Where I went wrong was in identifying Engström with the head of the Swedish firm.

“It so happened that I have business friends in Malmö, and, after our conversation, being still very suspicious, I wrote to them asking for information about Engström and Linner. I soon received a reply, which was in every way satisfactory, and my correspondent mentioned, quite casually, that Mr Engström was actually in London and was staying at the Hotel Cecil. As I had that very day seen the man we now know as Engström, that seemed to me to clinch the matter, and perhaps foolishly, I dropped all suspicion.

“Now for the curious coincidence. A few days ago I was going home by train about six o’clock. The trains, of course, were packed, and I was ‘strap-hanging.’ We had just left King’s Cross when, owing to steam in the tunnel, our train ran with considerable violence into a train which was standing in the tunnel.

“The smash was not serious, but the shock was severe, and I was thrown right on top of a gentleman sitting on a seat close by me. A metal dispatch case he was carrying caught my face and, as you will see, cut it very badly. I was stunned for a moment, and when I came round I found the stranger holding me up. He tied a handkerchief round my face, and very kindly helped me out of the train to a hotel, where he got me some brandy, and I soon recovered.

“He had to go on, and as we were about to part he handed me his card. I slipped it into my pocket without looking at it, and went home, very much shaken. It was not until two days later that I looked at it. It read:

“Engström and Linner, Stockholm. Oscar Engström.

“Now, Mr Sant,” he went on, “the Mr Engström who helped me was not the man we both know as Engström! He did not resemble him in the slightest degree. I immediately tried to find Mr Engström, but found to my dismay that he had left the Hotel Cecil and no one knew where he had gone. He was on a holiday tour, and when he tears a few days from business he frequently disappears altogether for a week, in order to get a complete rest from business cares. I have wired Malmö, and all they can tell me is that he will not be back for ten days. Now what can we do?”

I thought deeply for a few moments. Obviously I must see the real Mr Engström as soon as possible. But there was no chance of finding him immediately, and in the meantime much might happen. I soon made up my mind.

“I shall return to Lucerne at once,” I said, “and go from there to Stockholm in time to meet Mr Engström on his arrival. There is nothing else to be done.”

Two days later I was back in Lucerne. “Engström,” his friend Thornton, and Madame Bohman were still there, busy on their plot, whatever it was, and entirely unsuspicious either of the urbane hotel manager or the pretty little Frenchwoman who had apparently developed a lively affection for the handsome Swedish woman.

One day I learned from Luigi that, in the course of a couple of hours, Engström had received three telegrams, and had sent a reply to each of them. Of their purport Luigi could gain no knowledge.

Now, I was particularly anxious to get a sight of those telegrams, for obviously they might throw a good deal of light on the business on which Engström was engaged. I laid my plans accordingly.

That same afternoon, with Luigi’s assistance, I managed to transform myself into a passable imitation of a very unkempt and dirty mechanic, and as soon as the Swedish engineer left the hotel, about half-past five – it was his usual habit to go out to take an apéritif– I took Luigi’s master-key, which unlocked all the doors in the hotel, and crept noiselessly to Engström’s room. I was soon inside, and a few minutes later, with the aid of my own skeleton keys, had opened the big leather travelling trunk, and was hastily examining its contents.

A number of telegrams had been hastily thrust into the trunk. I had grasped my prize and was just about to shut and relock the trunk, when I heard a sound behind me, and, turning, found myself face to face with Oscar Engström himself.

And not only that, but I was looking straight into the barrel of a very serviceable-looking automatic pistol, held without a tremor in Engström’s very capable hands!

Chapter Sixteen
In a Tight Corner

I was caught red-handed – caught as neatly as any bona-fide burglar who ever picked a lock!

I had opened the trunk of a fellow visitor with a skeleton key; I had been caught in the very act of pilfering the contents. Indeed, at that very moment I held in my left hand a tiny leather box containing Engström’s diamond tie-pin and studs, while with my right hand I had been delving into his big trunk. Never was a capture neater or more complete. And, with the menace of the big revolver in Engström’s hand, and knowing something of my captor, I knew better than to attempt a rush for escape. I should never have reached the door alive!

“Well, and what does this mean?” harshly demanded the Swedish engineer, in bad French, still covering me with his pistol. “And who are you?”

Had Engström suspected who I really was, I knew he would have shot me out of hand and chanced all consequences: indeed, he would have had little to fear, for there would have been nothing more than a casual inquiry into the shooting of a thief caught red-handed. Moreover, dead men tell no tales, and Engström would have had no difficulty whatever in excusing himself by some hastily concocted story that I had attacked him as soon as he found me plundering his trunk. My disguise saved me, and it was evident he had no suspicion that I was anything but a common thief.

I broke instantly into a torrent of excuses, putting down the little jewel box and the papers with as guilty an air as I could assume. The situation obviously required both tact and cunning, for I realised that I was in a tight corner and that a slip would cost me my life. I pleaded desperate poverty; I was an honest workman driven to evil courses by want; I am afraid I even invented a story of a wholly mythical wife and family in the last stage of starvation. Finally, I roundly promised amendment of my ways if he would but let me go. “Forgive me this time,” I implored. “Do forgive me – this will ruin me.”

“You dog of a thief, I have caught you stealing from my room,” was his only reply. “I shall call the manager,” and he slammed the door and pressed the electric bell. “Send the manager here at once,” he commanded the messenger who answered the bell.

Luigi came immediately, and there was a great scene in which my friend very cleverly worked himself into a state of virtuous indignation at the slur I had cast upon his hotel’s high reputation. He assured Engström that justice should be done forthwith, and actually handed me over to a police officer, and I was at once marched off as a common hotel thief.

Guess my surprise when, as soon as we had turned the first corner, the officer whispered: “Monsieur Battini has told me all the circumstances. He did not telephone to the Bureau, but called me in out of the street. Dash away from me in a few moments when we come to a lonely place, and I will merely pretend to follow you. But, monsieur, get away from Lucerne as quickly as possible.”

I smiled: Luigi had shown that he possessed a quick and ready resourcefulness. It was most fortunate that Engström, finding me with my skeleton keys on the floor, and his jewellery in my hand, had failed to suspect the truth.

I slipped away at the first convenient corner, and an hour later was well on my way by the St. Gothard route to Milan, the excellent police officer undertaking to let Luigi know whither I had gone. I learned later that, when my “escape” was reported to him, Engström took the matter very quietly, and, beyond roundly abusing the officer for letting me slip through his fingers, did not propose any further action. As a matter of fact, having lost nothing, he was probably well content that the affair should end thus. I have no doubt that, masquerading in the name of another man, publicity was the last thing he would desire.

Our problem now was how to deal with Engström and his associates. Obviously to arrest them, even if we had good ground for doing so, would have been to defeat our own object, for we wanted to find out all the details of the plot upon which they were engaged. But, as a matter of fact, they had done nothing up to this moment to bring themselves within the clutches of the law. Engström, it is true, was posing as someone else, but, so long as he did not attempt to profit by it, this was not a criminal offence. I decided to continue our investigations.

Reaching Milan, I put up at the Cavour, where, of course, I was well known. A few hours later I received a long dispatch in cipher from Madame Gabrielle, and two days later an explicit letter from Luigi. I was also able to secure some further information regarding the mysterious engineer and his friends, and this decided me to go to Sweden myself and see the real Mr Engström.

My journey to Malmö was uneventful, and, arriving there, I lost no time in repairing to the yard of Messrs Engström and Linner, the engineers. There, in the private office of the head of the firm, I soon found myself face to face with the principal, Mr Oscar Engström. He was a short, dark, alert little man, with charming manners, and I took a liking to him at once. I had not previously decided on my course of action, but after a few minutes’ conversation I decided on a policy of complete frankness. As rapidly as possible, I told him the full story of the man who had been using his name in London and on the Continent.

At first he expressed himself as completely puzzled. He could not, he said, imagine what the object of the gang could be. They could hardly commit the firm to anything which would profit themselves, for no one abroad would act without inquiries. At length I happened to mention that Johnson-Meads had told me that the man had for disposal something connected with submarines.

“With submarines!” he exclaimed in obvious surprise. “Why, we have in hand at this moment several submarine inventions, of which we own the patents. Two of them are completely secret, and they are in use only by France and Britain.”

This put a new aspect on the affair. “I begin to see now,” I said, “why your name has been assumed. Have you heard of any attempt to secure the submarine secrets?”

“None whatever,” replied Mr Engström. “Moreover, it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. One of the appliances with which we are concerned is of such importance that, while we make the greater part of it, a vital portion is manufactured in England, and the apparatus is not put together until the whole is actually on the submarine for which it is intended. Consequently, unless a thief or spy secured copies of the plans both here and in England he would be powerless to profit by either. I may mention that this arrangement was arrived at with the British Admiralty at our express wish and suggestion. I am quite frank with you, Mr Sant.”

“One more question, Mr Engström,” I added. “You are in a position to know of any important inventions in connection with submarine work. Have you heard of any recent invention which would bring it within the bounds of possibility that your double is acting honestly and has really something to sell?”

“That is out of the question,” returned the engineer decidedly. “Unless the invention were German, in which case it would not come out of that country, I think I should certainly have heard something of it. Of course, we have rivals in our business, but there is a certain amount of freemasonry even among business rivals. I know all the people who are making submarine parts – there are very few who could or would tackle a big invention. Besides, if the man has an honest bargain to drive, why should he assume my name?”

This argument was unanswerable. But I confess I was still a long way from guessing just what the bogus Engström and his friends were plotting.

My next visit was to the Swedish police in search of information about Madame Bohman. Here, however, I was quite at fault. It was evident she was passing under an assumed name, and I could not succeed in identifying her among the long array of photographs of known German agents laid before me by the chief of the Swedish Secret Police.

Arriving at Bergen, I received, before I sailed for England, a long telegram from Madame Gabrielle, telling me that Engström, Madame Bohman, and Thornton had left for Paris. Fearing that they would immediately recognise her if she followed them, she had telephoned the news to Hecq, and that astute official had promised to take the suspects under his own wing for the immediate future, pending my arrival.

I proceeded to London, where, to my dismay, I learned that, although Madame Bohman had arrived in Paris with Thornton, Engström was missing.

Twenty minutes later I was speaking with Hecq at St. Germain over the official telephone. Three days later I heard that Hecq’s men had succeeded in running the elusive Engström to earth at Marseilles, where he was staying at the Hôtel Louvre et Paix under the name of Jansen, and was constantly meeting a compatriot named Tegelmund.

The situation at this moment remained a complete puzzle so far as the real objective of the gang was concerned. On the one hand, we had at Marseilles the mysterious individual who posed as the Swedish engineer, Engström. On the other, we had his known associates, Thornton and Madame Bohman, in Paris. Engström was living quite openly, with no appearance of concealment, at a good hotel, but he was quite obviously doing nothing and meeting nobody. The other two, however, were just as obviously lying low. They had taken apartments at a very small and not very reputable hotel in the Rue Royale, and both had changed their names, entering France with new and apparently perfectly genuine Swedish passports, issued only a few weeks previously.

Our next discovery was a staggering surprise. One of our agents, who had been watching Madame Bohman, came in and reported that, late the previous night, she had left her hotel and walked swiftly to an obscure café in the Quartier Latin. She had entered the place, taken a seat at a table by herself, and called for a glass of wine. While she was drinking it, a man, very untidy and apparently half intoxicated, lurched up to the table and sat down facing her. She took no notice of him whatever, or he of her. Calling a waiter, the man ordered a double glass of Chianti. Our agent, seated at an adjoining table, saw her then glance quickly at the stranger, and a moment later she ordered an absinthe.

Now, an order for a double glass of Chianti is unusual, especially in a disreputable café in a low part of Paris, and it is hardly customary for women to follow wine with absinthe. Our agent was struck by the oddity of the two orders and listened closely.

Directly the waiter had placed the drinks on the table and left, the man, without even glancing at the woman, muttered something in an undertone which our agent could not catch. It was, however, evidently sufficient, for the woman drank up her absinthe, and, rising, left the café. She took no notice whatever of the man, and he paid, to all appearances, as little regard to her. Apparently half overcome by drink, he remained at the table, nodding drowsily, for a quarter of an hour. It was a clever bit of acting, but he forgot his eyes! Our agent caught a sight of them, and realised at once that the drunkenness was feigned.

At length the man got up and lurched towards the door. The police agent at the same moment left by another exit into an adjoining street, and, casually turning the corner in the direction the supposed drunken man had taken, saw him a few yards ahead, walking steadily enough.

Five minutes later he had overtaken Madame Bohman, and, walking side by side for a few hundred yards, they had a brief conversation and parted.

Our agent was in a quandary. He had the strictest instructions not to lose sight of Madame Bohman, but he was a man of intelligence, and realised that a new factor had appeared on the scene. Accordingly, he decided to follow the man, and soon saw him enter a cheap boarding-house, letting himself in with a latchkey. Five minutes later we had the news, and a couple of men were at once detailed to take up the watch. Madame Bohman, we soon ascertained, had gone straight to her hotel.

The boarding-house which the mysterious stranger had entered was closely watched all night. The next morning the man came out, and was immediately recognised as none other than Halbmayr himself! How he had got into France and Paris was a mystery, for the police had no register of his arrival. I may say here that this point was never completely cleared up, but it was very generally believed that he was put ashore by a submarine, and intended leaving in the same way.

We now had him safely enough; he could not possibly escape. He was a known spy, and there was ample ground for arresting him. But this would have made mincemeat of our plans, as Hecq saw plainly enough.

“Halbmayr is very dangerous,” he declared to me as I sat in his office the same day. “Evil work is on foot somewhere, and our friend the German is director of operations. He would not dare to show his face in France after meeting Brahe in Lisbon unless he were playing for a big coup. But, my dear Sant, what is his motive? What is he after? To that question so far we have got no reply whatever. And we must find the answer.”

I agreed with my chief most cordially. “Give him rope,” I said, “and see if he does not hang himself. At any rate, he won’t escape us this time; we shall get him even if we don’t learn his secret. What worries me is that he may have done his nefarious work, and inflicted untold injury on the Allies before we nab him. But we must take some chances.”

“The telegram sent by Brahe, or Thornton, to Engström just before the former left Lisbon mentioned two things,” said my chief. “The first was that Johnson-Meads was with them – in other words, that his suspicions had been allayed (which we know to be a fact) – and that ‘T.’ was here in Paris ‘to arrange further details and transit of machinery.’ What machinery? And who is ‘T’? ‘T’ must be Tegelmund, the man in Marseilles. We must look out for him.”

Chapter Seventeen
“The Plot Revealed.”

Within a week the man Tegelmund, accompanied by Engström, arrived in Paris and took up his abode in an obscure hotel near the Gare du Nord. But, though we kept a careful watch upon the pair, Engström, ever elusive and resourceful, suddenly disappeared! For six days he was absent. Then, as suddenly and mysteriously, he appeared again at the hotel.

Aubert, who had been detailed to watch Tegelmund, now reported that the latter had been across to the Orleans goods station, inquiring about some heavy cases of goods which had arrived from Lisbon.

“I have contrived to open one of the cases,” he said. “It contains some complicated and apparently delicate machinery, with a small dynamo. Apparently it is some sort of wireless plant, but, beyond that, I cannot make head or tail of it.”

At Aubert’s suggestion I went late one night to the Orleans goods yard. Aubert, by methods of persuasion not wholly original, had contrived to make friends with one of the officials, and we had no difficulty in securing access to the great goods shed, now silent and deserted, in which the mysterious cases lay. Prising open one end of the topmost case, I inspected the contents as closely as I could with the aid of my pocket flash-lamp. Within was what certainly appeared to be a wireless plant of some kind, but it was of a description entirely new to me, and I could not see enough of it to gain any idea of its purpose. Of course we dared not risk unpacking it. But we had made a great advance. The big cases could not be secretly moved, and our friend, the goods official, undertook to let us know promptly when he received orders to release them.

We waited in patience for a week, but still the cases remained untouched and uncalled for. Then came an incident which threw a flood of light on the proceedings of our enemies, though it told us nothing of their real motive; we were to learn that later.

One day I was strolling aimlessly along the Boulevard des Capucines, when I heard my name pronounced in accents of delighted surprise. Turning round, I instantly recognised an old friend in the person of Captain A – , who was one of the experts attached to the submarine branch of the British Admiralty.

“My dear Sant,” he exclaimed joyfully. “Who would have thought of meeting you here? I am alone in Paris. I know no one and am bored to death. What have you got on hand now? I thought you were in New York.”

“I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here,” I replied. “What has brought you over?”

“Come and have some lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it,” he replied, and we repaired to an adjoining café, where Captain A – promptly ordered lunch in a private room.

“We’ve got a new thing on hand in the submarine line,” he told me as soon as the waiter had left the room. “You know we have been trying some experiments in German waters lately, and the Hun destroyers have been so confoundedly active that our fellows have had to pass a lot of their time sitting on the bottom. As a consequence, some of the crew have suffered terribly for want of fresh air. We have a very good system of purifying the atmosphere, but it is not sufficient owing to the long periods the boats have to stay under water, and a number of men have collapsed and died from suffocation. Indeed, one boat only escaped with more than half her crew totally incapacitated.”

I was keenly on the alert. Was I, I wondered, coming to grips at last with our problem?

“Well,” Captain A – went on, “we have been offered a new apparatus, which, if half of what the inventor tells us is true, will enable us to give the Hun a very bad time. We are assured that by its help a boat can stay under water for five days without the slightest risk.”

“Five days!” I repeated incredulously. “Why, it’s impossible!”

“So I thought,” he rejoined, “but when Engström and Linner vouch for anything, you’ve got to listen.”

“Engström and Linner!” I gasped. Things were getting “warm” indeed.

“Yes,” he replied. “Mr Engström is in Paris now with his invention, and we are going to test it off Havre.”

Then I sprang my mine. “Would you be surprised to learn,” I asked, as coolly as I could, “that your Mr Engström is not Mr Engström at all, but a German agent passing under his name?”

I have seen a good many badly surprised men in my life, but I never witnessed before or since such a spectacle of hopeless astonishment as Captain A – presented when he grasped the full significance of this announcement. He sat staring at me, his mouth wide open, and with dismay written legibly on every line of his countenance.

“But, Sant,” he gasped. “Are you sure? Mr Engström came to us in London and told us all about it. He explained that the inventor was a Spaniard who would not trust the ‘neutrality’ of the Spanish Government in the matter, and that he had brought his invention to Engström’s with the idea of getting the best terms from one of the Allies.”

“I have no doubt that the man posing as Engström came to you,” I replied. “But, none the less, he is not Engström at all.”

“Then what is his game?” countered A – . “He has offered us the fullest test before we adopt his machine, and has not asked for a cent.”

“That remains to be seen,” I answered, “but it bodes no good to the Allies. What does he propose?”

“He has offered to instal the apparatus on one of our newest types,” replied A – , “and she is on her way to Havre for the purpose. We are to make any test we like, and, in fact, I am here to see the test carried out. The only condition he makes is that his machinery shall be sealed, and not opened until after the test has proved it to be satisfactory.”

I began to see light. “Did he propose to go with you?” I asked.

“No,” replied A – , rather ruefully, I fancied. “He said the machinery was so perfect that it would practically run itself from our electric accumulators, and that he would give us an absolutely free hand with it.”

“I wonder how many of you would have come back?” I said meaningly.

A – swore fervently, and I saw by the gleam in his eyes that he was fully awake to the possibilities of the trap into which he had been so nearly led.

Our task now, barring some unforeseeable contingency, was fairly easy; there was a good prospect of ensnaring our foes in the pit they had so skilfully dug for us.

“The matter is up to you now,” I told A – . “I’m going to drop out till the very last minute. But I shall be with you then. It is of the utmost importance that we shall do nothing to scare these very wary birds. What is your plan?”

“Well,” said A – , “it seems to me I had better go ahead as if nothing had happened. The arrangement is that Engström shall take his apparatus to Havre and instal it on E77. We are then to put to sea for the tests, and are to meet him later and inform him of our decision.”

“That will do all right,” I said. “I shall come on board the submarine before Engström arrives, and then I think we shall surprise him.”

A – departed at once to make the final arrangements and I busied myself in sending off some telegrams arranging for the final downfall of the Hun plotters.

A week later I found myself on board E77 at Havre. The mysterious cases had been sent on, and with them came Engström, with Thornton and Tegelmund, who professed to be interested in the venture – the former financially, the latter as the inventor. Tegelmund was in high glee at being thus afforded an opportunity of putting his device to a thoroughly satisfactory test. We also had a big surprise in the arrival of Halbmayr, who arrived in Havre under the name of Mennier. That he should have ventured on the scene at all showed how intensely interested he was.

Engström declared that the fitting of the machinery would occupy fully three days, and we, of course, humoured him in every way possible. A – made himself particularly agreeable, playing the part of host to perfection, and it was evident that the conspirators never even dreamed that their nefarious designs were suspected by the genial naval officer who showed such an enthusiastic interest in the wonderful stories with which they plied him on the merits of their great discovery.

The three days went by. Four great cases of machinery had been duly shipped on board, and Engström, Thornton, and Tegelmund spent many hours daily at their work in the interior of the submarine. Of course I could not appear – I should have been recognised at once – but among the crew of the submarine were a couple of the smartest men of the Sûreté, who kept the bogus engineer and his associates under the closest scrutiny. They reported to me that Engström appeared to be the only one of the three with any great amount of mechanical knowledge, and that, while Tegelmund worked assiduously at his machine, the others spent most of their time carefully examining the details of the British vessel, in which they showed the greatest interest. I began to get at last an inkling of the plot!

The fourth day dawned – the day of the dénouement. Early in the morning I slipped on board the submarine, and when the two conspirators arrived we made our coup.

Engström, when he came on board with Tegelmund, found himself suddenly confronted by the Commander, with a stalwart bluejacket standing on either side of him. He was curtly informed that he could not go below.

“But you promised!” he shrieked, livid with vexation.

“True!” said the Commander. “But you call yourself Oscar Engström, of Malmö, and I happen to have the real Mr Engström here.”

The engineer went white to the very lips as Mr Engström, who had come post-haste from Stockholm in response to my urgent cable, emerged from behind the conning-tower, closely followed by myself. The false Engström began a vehement protest, but ceased suddenly, for, glancing round, he saw Tegelmund also under guard. The game was up!

A few minutes later, with Engström and Tegelmund safely in irons, the Admiralty experts who had come over from London began a minute examination of the wonderful “invention.” They soon discovered that the cases contained a jumble of wires and odds and ends of mechanical scraps simply thrown together to look complicated, and of no value whatever for the renewal of vitiated air.