The Master Spy

Chapter I.—“By the Dark North Sea”-1

Chapter I.—“By the Dark North Sea”“But I tell you, you have been marked down, Herr Mitter,” said Dr. Gottlieb sternly, “and that word has reached us from several quarters that you are now under the suspicion of the authorities. I have made this special journey to warn you.”

It was toward 9 o'clock upon one stormy summer night, and two men were conversing together in the low, oak-panelled and beautifully furnished room of an old house perched high upon a lonely stretch of cliff upon the coast of Suffolk, between the towns of Aldeburgh and Southwold. Glasses, spirits and a syphon had just been placed before them and the soft-footed butler had glided noiselessly from the room. Had the curtains of the long windows not been closely drawn, under a fitful moon could have been seen the heaving waters of the dark North Sea. The sound of the waves came up faintly into the room.

The speaker stirred uneasily in his chair and went on—“Yes, you have blundered, for at Whitehall, as you have always aspired to be, you are now in the way of being regarded”—there was rising anger in his tone—“as the master spy. Poachim writes us you are under the closest surveillance possible.”

The smiling and good looking man he was addressing, seemed amused. “And when I tell you, my dear doctor,” he laughed softly, “that that butler who has just left us is in the pay of the British Secret Service and indeed has been so for upwards of six months; that all my letters are opened before I receive them and that as a matter of daily routine my telephone is listened into—you will realise how closely I am beset.” He made a grimace. “I regret to mention also that, at the local exchange here at Saxmundham, the two very charming young women, whose special duty it is to attend to all calls made and received at this house, are both of our own nationality, one of them being a graduate of a university and speaking four languages”—he threw out his hands in a gesture of mock despondency—“strangely enough, the only four of which I have myself any knowledge.”

The eyes of Dr. Gottlieb burned like coals of fire. “And knowing all this,” he gasped, “you are yet continuing to carry on and risking that they may pick up all the threads of our organisation!” He looked furious. “It is ruin. It is a catastrophe. It is almost treachery on your part.”

“Treachery!” exclaimed Mitter, his eyes now blazing too. “You apply that word to me!” And then suddenly his features relaxed and his face broke into a pleasant smile. “No, no, Herr Doctor, there is no need for you to distress yourself. I am not quite a fool and I assure you my work in no way suffers because I am being watched.” He shook his head emphatically. “They know nothing of our real organisation but are only being spoon-fed with discoveries of no importance to us at all.” He looked scornful. “Suspect me, they undoubtedly do, but still they are learning nothing. I do not allow them to, and so confident that every one of my agents is under observation, they are under-estimating my activities in—to them—a most shocking way.” He snapped his fingers together. “Why, every day I am driving a coach and four through the cordon they have drawn round me and carrying on as if there were no such organisation as the British Secret Service.”

But his companion seemed in no way assured. “And how can you determine the extent of their knowledge?” he asked sharply. “You may be living in a fool's paradise all the time!”

Herr Mitter spoke with the patience of one humoring a little child. “Come, come, Doctor,” he said persuasively, “if you are being served well enough to learn from the several sources you say you have, that I am suspected at Whitehall, have you learnt also that any of the special agents I am employing have been given away.” His voice took on a sarcastic tone. “To mention only a few, have you learnt for instance that Mendel has been dismissed from Devonport Harbor, that Hern has lost his job at Chatham Dockyard that Krootz is no longer working on their super-submarines, or that Captain the Honorable R. T. J. Nathanial has ceased to be a trusted member of the staff at the Admiralty.” He spoke slowly and impressively. “Have you heard now that suspicion has fallen on any of these men? And yet I can furnish the most convincing proof”—his voice was little above a whisper now—“that I am in almost daily communication with each one of them.” He leant back easily in his chair. “Come now, be fair and just with me. Have you heard anything about any of these men?”

Dr. Gottlieb hesitated. “No-o,” he admitted grudgingly, after a long pause, “we have had no ill news there, as yet.”

Herr Mitter laughed gaily. “As yet! And I should think not!” He went on quickly. “And have you ever found that any of the information I have supplied to you was not reliable?” He slapped the table before him with his hand. “Did you not verify what I told you was going to happen, a week before—that the Admiralty had made secret trials of their new bombs upon the battleship Ajax, those hundreds of miles north of the Orkney Isles? Were you not forewarned that Sir Charles Montressor and his chief of staff were meeting the heads of the French army at Nancy at midnight upon the twelfth of last month? Have you not had the complete specifications of their new McHenry Torpedo, a torpedo infinitely superior to any of ours? Did you not learn——”

“Yes, yes, I admit all that,” interrupted Dr. Gottlieb testily, “but you may not have been under suspicion then? Those are things of the past.”

“Things of the past!” exclaimed Mitter. “The very recent past!” His good humor appeared to return and he became all smiles again. “But I know I have been watched for months and months and it has made no difference, for as I say, I have eluded them in all big matters and in trivial ones only, have allowed them to discover what they could.” He nodded. “These petty discoveries of theirs have been my security, because they are thereby quite satisfied they are controlling all the channels of my enquiries.”

“But which of the men working for you have they got to know?” asked Dr. Gottlieb with a frown.

Mitter laughed again. “A few who are quite useless to us; Witten who potters round the harbour of Sheerness asking foolish questions of all he meets; Van Rime who takes photographs with a pocket camera at Devonport; Joseph who hangs round the War Office, tapping the private lives of the junior clerks there, and the Scotchman, McBean, who receives £4 a week from me to become very drunk, hobnobbing with sailors in the lowest public houses of Portsmouth.” He chuckled in amusement. “And these fellows address letters to me here that are opened before I get them, and copies of which are undoubtedly filed as valuable treasure trove at the counter-espionage headquarters in Whitehall.”

“Well, what are your methods then?” asked Dr. Gottlieb after a long pause. “How do you manage to carry on?”

Herr Mitter shook, his head. “No, no, Doctor, as you know, our people have given me a free hand and I prefer to keep my own counsel. I can trust no one with my secrets, not even you”—he smiled ironically—“for with the changing fortunes of all in our beloved country, who knows how long you may hold the position you now do?”

Dr. Gottlieb ignored the last remark. “But it is a great responsibility for one man,” he said slowly, “and if you are not equal to the task, I tremble to think what may be the consequences when The Day comes again.” He hesitated a moment. “You might, too, take offence for some reason and become lukewarm to the cause.” He eyed him intently under heavy brows. “We have no hold upon you, for, as a rich man, money is nothing to you, and I know you are receiving no remuneration for your services.”

“No, you have no hold upon me,” commented Mitter dryly, “but who should know better than you that none is necessary.” He bent forward and lowered his voice to the merest whisper. “You are one of the few who have been told who my father was. Do you forget then that he was shot at the Tower and that his bones lie somewhere in some shameful and unhonored grave?” His voice vibrated passionately. “Am I not myself the son of a spy, and when the report of those rifles rang out in the dawn of that September morning of nineteen fourteen, should not my life have been sealed automatically for vengeance against the country of those who killed him?”

He rose suddenly to his feet with a gesture of impatience. “Add to my hatred of England then, the other obsession of my life—that one great fatherland should fulfill its destiny and become one day the conqueror of the world, and you have no need for any warranty that I shall not be faithful until death.” He smiled bitterly. “I do not forget either, that my beloved mother died of her broken heart in a concentration camp in this country, and I have her, too, to avenge.”

There was sympathy now in Dr. Gottlieb's expression, and he smiled for the first time. “Good!” he nodded, “then we can trust you, I am sure.” He shook his head. “But it was disturbing to receive those reports that you were under such suspicion.”

Mitter shrugged his shoulders. “And whose fault was that? Was it not your own man, Lieder, who betrayed us? He was never my choice, but was passed on to me by you, as a trustworthy man. Happily, I took a dislike to him at once and never admitted him to my inner circle.”

Dr. Gottlieb nodded again. “Well, he is dead now, and I understand his punishment came quickly.”

Mitter spoke sharply. “Yes, he died in this room, and maybe in that very chair in which you are now sitting.” He pointed to a cluster of old weapons upon the wall. “I killed him with that stiletto there, stabbing him in the back as I passed behind him to get some cigarettes. No, no,” he went on with a smile, as the doctor turned to glance apprehensively round the room, “there were no shadows then to receive his ghost, for he was killed on a bright and sunny afternoon.”

“In broad daylight?” gasped Dr. Gottlieb, “and with people about!”

“Certainly,” replied Mitter calmly, “for there were even pretty girls playing tennis just outside. I heard the pings of the balls against the racquets as I was choking him so that he should not cry out.” His face clouded at the memory. “He arrived at a most inconvenient moment, but I was obliged to seize the opportunity while he was here. I am sure he would never have come again, for I saw from the expression in his eyes that he had suddenly become suspicious of me.”

“But his body!” ejaculated Dr. Gottlieb. “How did you get rid of it?”

Mitter pointed to a door leading out of the room they were in. “I hid it there in my bedroom, in a cupboard, and for two nights slept with it only a few yards away from my bed. I could not get rid of it before, because of the moon. Later”—he nodded in the direction of the window and spoke with some feeling—“it was given to those waters that will one day bear our transports when they come to conquer this proud and stubborn people.”

“But did no one know the man had not left the house?” asked the doctor. “What were the servants doing?”

“Serving tea upon the lawn,” replied Mitter. He laughed lightly. “And Herr Lieder disposed of, I washed my hands and went out to resume my interrupted game with our Chief Constable, Colonel Wedgewood.” He looked very pleased with himself. “I was steady as a rock and beat him easily.”

A short silence followed, and then Dr. Gottlieb asked thoughtfully, “And does the knowledge of the fact that you are being watched make no difference to the carrying out of the routine of your daily life?”

Mitter shook his head emphatically. “None whatever, and as long as I act as if I had no such knowledge, I feel assured I shall be quite safe. Whitehall is undoubtedly hoping to pick up all the threads of our organisation through me, and in consequence will leave me alone to the very last moment they can.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know I am sitting on a gunpowder mine, but I don't think I shall be here when it explodes.” He waved round at the beautiful old oak-panelled walls and sighed heavily. “I could not be in more delightful surroundings, yet 48 hours before our aeroplanes come over to bomb London, I am quite aware I shall have to give them all up. Until then, however,” he smiled, “I shall enjoy them with no worry upon my mind.”