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

The real object was only revealed when we had got to the very heart of the amazing collection of rubbish. There, cunningly hidden among much that was superfluous, was a highly efficient electric motor, wonderfully made and controlling a powerful bomb by machinery, set to detonate the explosive after six hours’ running. The machinery was to have been operated by the electric batteries of the submarine, and had the E77 gone to sea and begun the “tests” of the bogus apparatus, not a vestige of the vessel or the crew would have been seen again, and the secret of her loss would have been locked for ever in the depths of the Atlantic.

But this, we found, was only a part of the plot – perhaps even the least important part. Tegelmund, finding himself trapped, turned craven and revealed the whole story. The real object of the spies was to get the fullest possible details of the internal arrangements of a British submarine of the latest type, and how well they had succeeded was shown when we cast our net a little wider.

Directly Engström and Tegelmund were in custody, an innocent-looking signal flag flew from the masthead of the submarine, and the officials of the Sûreté ashore made their pounce. Thornton and Halbmayr were seized at once at their hotel, and in their possession we found a wonderful series of drawings in which many of the secrets of the submarine were fully explained. A telegram to Paris brought about also the arrest of Madame Bohman, and a few days later the German agents were safely immured in the convict prison at Tours, where they were sent by the sentence of a court-martial summoned immediately to deal with their case. Their guilt in this particular case was too clear for any possibility of denial, but I am glad to say that their arrest opened up a way to us to deal the Hun Secret Service a blow from which it has never fully recovered. Enormous piles of documents were seized and carefully examined, with the result that numerous associates of Thornton in England found themselves in durance vile “for the duration,” and so many fingers of the Hidden Hand were lopped off that the hand itself was badly crippled for many months to come. How the fingers grew and were again cut off I hope to tell at some later date.

Chapter Eighteen
The Mysterious Cylinders

After over two years of strenuous work without a holiday I found myself at length free, and I found myself one morning busy in my rooms in Curzon Street making final arrangements for a trip to Worcestershire to spend a fortnight with Doris and her mother in their lovely country home. I was jaded and fagged, for I do not mind confessing that my work recently had considerably affected me, and I was looking forward with eager anticipation to the delights of a stay in the country. I had not seen Doris for some months, though of course we were in constant communication, and I was naturally longing for a sight of her.

But I was destined to another disappointment. Just as I was finishing my packing the telephone rang. I found the call was from Morgan, one of the ablest of the Government Experts on Explosives, and he had a curious story to tell me. When I had listened to what he had to say I realised with a heavy heart that my long-promised holiday must be again postponed. I rang up Doris on the telephone and, having broken the news to her, hurried off to Morgan’s office.

I found the expert in a state of utter bewilderment. He was an acknowledged authority on explosives, but a problem had been set before him which had baffled him completely.

A few days previously a mysterious explosion had occurred in some public gardens at Mile End. While a keeper was clearing away a pile of rubbish he found a curious-looking metal cylinder lying in a flower-bed, and while he was examining it it exploded with a tremendous report, injuring the man so severely that he had to be taken, in a very critical condition, to the East End Hospital.

A search by the police had a curious result. In other flower-beds a number of similar cylinders were found. They were very tiny, being only about an inch and a half in length and about a quarter of an inch in diameter. They contained a substance which was evidently the explosive. At one end a piece of wire was attached, evidently as a means of exploding them, and at the other end was a strip of soft lead.

Morgan showed me some of the cylinders, and frankly confessed his ignorance of what they contained.

“I thought I knew every explosive in existence,” he told me, “but this is something entirely new. It must be tremendously powerful, judging by the size of the cylinders and the effect of the explosion on the unfortunate gardener who found the first one.” As I held one of the small cylinders, studying it with great care, an idea came to me.

“May I borrow this for a few days?” I asked. “I think I may be able to help you.”

“Certainly,” replied Morgan; “but be careful. We don’t even know how it is exploded.”

Next day I was in Paris, and took train to Vemeuil l’Étang, some thirty miles from the capital, where I called on the manager of a certain well-known factory.

When I showed him the little cylinder he examined it with minute attention and carefully withdrew some of the mysterious explosive. This he placed under a microscope and a moment later said:

“Monsieur is undoubtedly correct! It is some of our product, herbethite, the invention of our chief director, Mr Herbeth, and the most powerful explosive known to modern science. None has been used in actual work yet, and the only sample that has left our factory is that which was stolen. It is a great secret.”

“Has some been stolen, then?” I asked quickly.

“Yes. Fortunately we discovered the thief – a workman named Pasquet – and we thought we had recovered all that had been taken. Evidently we were wrong and some of the stuff has got into bad hands. Pasquet is awaiting trial by the Assize Court of the Seine.”

I returned to Paris and saw the Minister of Justice, to whom I made a certain proposal. Not without demur, he finally agreed, and I went to the prison armed with authority for a private interview with Pasquet.

I met the thief in a small room in the governor’s quarters of the prison. I found him to be a man of about thirty, quite obviously of the hooligan type, and I soon guessed from his conversation that he had been in the first place the tool of others, who, when they had made use of him, had abandoned him to his fate.

He was naturally resentful and vindictive. I told him I had authority to offer him a free pardon, and a reward which would give him a decent start in life if he would give us the fullest information in his power. He was suspicious, however, and it was not until my promise had been confirmed by the governor of the prison himself that he consented to speak.

His promise once given, he made a clean breast of everything, and his information was so startling that I could hardly credit it. Possibly he saw my incredulity, for he said quietly: “Monsieur will find that I am telling the truth. Why should I lie? My whole life and liberty are in pawn for my veracity.”

I admitted that this was reasonable, and promised to, push things forward as quickly as possible. Something about the man had appealed to me, and I wondered whether, after all, he might not contain the makings of a decent citizen.

My first concern was to send a wire to Madame Gabrielle, who was in Edinburgh, and the following evening she met me in my rooms in Curzon Street, where I unfolded the whole story to her.

“Of course, we are not yet on firm ground,” I pointed out to her. “Pasquet alleges that the real name of his friend Shackleton is Von Schack and that he is a Prussian engineer officer.

“Pasquet first met Shackleton in London, and later on Shackleton approached him at Verneuil with another man, whom he introduced as Norman, and they offered to buy some herbethite from him for three thousand francs. Pasquet told me that he was very hard up owing to his wife’s long illness – I have ascertained that this is quite true – and the temptation proved too much for him. It is only fair to him to remember that, though he looks an abandoned ruffian, he bears a good character as a husband and father, and it seems to be the fact that the only money he spent out of that which he received from Shackleton and Norman went to purchase necessities and delicacies for his wife. The money really seems to have saved her life.

“Anyhow, he stole a quantity of the herbethite, which Shackleton and Norman packed in golden syrup tins and took to England. When Pasquet stole a second lot he was discovered, and the dangerous stuff was found at his lodgings and recovered before he could hand it over to the two men, who pretended to be English.

“One fact of importance at least is established,” I added, “namely, that Schack formerly carried on business as a watchmaker at Newcastle, and sold his business to an Englishman a month before war broke out.”

For weeks we hunted in vain for Shackleton. I visited Newcastle, and found that the man to whom he sold the business had later joined the Army. This meant a journey to France for me, and I had an interview with the man at a certain brigade headquarters in the Somme battle area.

“Shackleton was undoubtedly a foreigner and I should say probably a German,” the watchmaker, now a corporal, told me. “When he left he asked me to forward any letters that might come for him, and gave me the address – ‘Care of Soulsby, High Street, Bristol.’”

With that information I went straight from the British front to the great Severn port. Here I found that Soulsby kept a newsagent’s shop near Bristol Bridge, to which letters could be addressed. He did a big business in this way, for the address was very handy for sea-going men.

Soulsby at first refused to give me the smallest information about his clients, but a sight of my authority opened his mouth, and as soon as he realised that something serious was on foot he was only too willing to help me.

“Of course, Mr Sant,” he said, “you will understand I have no knowledge whatever of the man. But I know that the Bristol Channel ports are full of spies, and it is very generally believed that few vessels leave here unknown to the German submarines lurking about the mouth of the Channel. If I can help you at all, I shall be delighted.”

I then learned that Shackleton had called about a week before, taking away several letters addressed to him, and that he usually called at intervals of a week or ten days. Soulsby promised to let me know at once as soon as he came again, and I wired to the wily Aubert to come to Bristol and keep observation.

Within three days, as I walked with my assistant along Victoria Street towards Temple Meads, he pointed out a middle-aged, keen-eyed, dark-haired man, who had little of the appearance of a Teuton. He looked like a well-dressed, prosperous business man. Yet it was he who had induced the unfortunate Pasquet to steal the herbethite, and he was certainly engaged in some nefarious and deadly plot. For although the actual volume of the stolen explosive was not great, so tremendous was its power that the quantity in the hands of our foes was sufficient to wreak almost unimaginable havoc in half a dozen cities in England. Mr Herbeth had looked very grave when he learned from Pasquet through me that the amount stolen was enough to fill two of the small cans used to hold golden syrup – about a pint and a half altogether.

“I hope monsieur will trace it in time,” he said earnestly. “There is enough of it in their possession to destroy half London.”

We soon found out that Shackleton was living in furnished rooms at Clifton and had one close friend, who, after some difficulty, we proved to be his accomplice Norman.

One morning Aubert arrived at my hotel and reported that the pair had gone to the station and taken tickets for London. At once I advised Madame Gabrielle by telephone to be on the platform at Paddington and watch them wherever they went. I myself took the next train to London, and, driving to Curzon Street, awaited her report.

But although I sat up until after two o’clock the next morning, she did not arrive and I received no word from her! What contretemps had occurred? I was seriously uneasy, for I had impressed upon her the vitally important nature of our task, and if she failed or met with any mishap we should be in a serious predicament, for we had no trace whatever of any of Shackleton’s associations in London, and anything might happen before we could run him to earth again among the teeming millions of the metropolis, the safest hiding-place on earth.

It was not until six o’clock the next evening that I received, by express messenger, a hastily scrawled note in which Madame Gabrielle said:

“Be extremely careful! They have discovered me, and I am being watched, so cannot come near you. Great things are in progress. Get someone to watch Shackleton, who is at the address below. Some great plot is in progress – that is certain. – G.”

Without a moment’s delay, I slipped round to Whitehall, and very soon an expert watcher was at the address given by Madame.

Twelve hours later, I was filled with dismay by a telephone message which told me that neither Shackleton nor Norman had been to the address given. They had both disappeared!

Chapter Nineteen
Spy’s Letter Deciphered

Back in Curzon Street, completely at a loss, I flung myself into a big arm-chair, and over a succession of pipes tried to piece our disconnected facts into a consecutive whole. Shackleton, or Schack, had moved from Newcastle to Bristol before the war, and I had little doubt that he had done so by express orders from the Königgrätzer-strasse. From this I argued mentally that Bristol would almost certainly be the seat of his main activities, and that his early return thither might be looked for with some degree of confidence. Added to this, we knew from the frank declaration of a high port official that the Bristol Channel towns were swarming with spies, and I felt little doubt that they were acting under Schack’s direction. On the whole, now that we had apparently lost the two men in London, Bristol seemed the most promising base for our operations.

I decided therefore to return, and, leaving Madame at the Grosvenor in London, I took Aubert with me, together with an English secret agent whom I will call Moore.

Moore took lodgings opposite Shackleton’s house in Bristol and at once opened an unwinking vigilance over the place. For a fortnight, however, there was no sign. In the meantime two letters arrived, addressed to Shackleton, at Soulsby’s. These were opened by the authorities, photographed, and, after being resealed, were delivered in the ordinary way.

In one of the letters, which had been posted in London and purported to be an ordinary business transaction, was the statement:

“We are having great difficulty with our clients Johnson and Phillips, so we have placed the matter in the hands of our solicitors for advice.”

This letter ostensibly came from a firm of estate agents in the Harrow Road. I made an immediate inquiry, and was not altogether surprised to learn that no such a firm existed. In the meantime I studied the letter on the assumption that it contained a spy cipher, and after some hours’ work succeeded in extracting from its apparently innocent contents the following startling message:

“Angorania will convey troops from Montreal on 30th proximo.”

This set me at work with furious speed. An inquiry at the port offices showed me that the great liner was at the moment lying at Avonmouth, and that she would sail for Montreal a week later in order to bring over several thousand Canadian troops.

Shackleton now made what was to me, I confess, a very welcome return to the scene. I had been seriously perturbed by the fear that we had lost him. While he was under my own immediate observation I felt capable of checkmating his designs, but the knowledge that an able enemy agent was at large and uncontrolled, with enough herbethite in his possession to create an appalling disaster, worried me more than I can tell.

Shackleton appeared on the scene the day after the delivery of the letter we had intercepted and photographed. Where he had been in the interval we never learned, but he did not arrive in Bristol from London; that was certain, for every train, day and night, was closely watched. Evidently the letter meant a good deal to him. He went at once to Avonmouth, closely followed by Moore. To our intense surprise, he seemed very well known at the docks and was freely admitted everywhere. He walked along the quays for some time, and we noted his obvious interest in the Angorania, now busily getting ready for her coming trip. We learned later that Shackleton had very cleverly wound himself into the confidence of a local shipping agent, and by this means had secured such frequent admission to the docks that his presence there was accepted almost as a matter of course.

I now began to feel practically certain that the Angorania was the object of the conspirators, and that the herbethite was the means to be adopted to bring about her destruction. But how?

Madame Gabrielle was to solve the question for us. The great liner was timed to leave at six o’clock, and an hour earlier the boat-train had arrived from London, bringing an unusually large assembly of passengers. These included several Government officials on their way to Canada, a number of highly placed military officers, and the members of two or three important war commissions.

Some time after the arrival of the train, a shabbily-dressed woman in a battered old hat pushed rudely against me. I turned, and to my amazement recognised Madame Gabrielle. She was obviously almost at the end of her strength, pallid with fatigue, and with deep circles round her eyes which spoke eloquently of exhaustion.

She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she gasped out:

“Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on the Angorania, in the name of Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard.” A moment later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms.

I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where the Angorania was lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment’s delay.

The “last bells” were ringing for the steamer’s departure as I rushed on to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some supposed friend on the crowded decks.

I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea flashed into my mind: “He has left the explosive on board!” How I failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman’s return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard.

But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. The Angorania, heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the loss of hundreds of precious lives.

Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol.

And now for the Angorania. I rushed to the “competent military authority,” and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift decision and prompt action.

“She won’t go far, Mr Sant,” he said cheerily, as he picked up the telephone.

A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read the message: “To Q.Q.” (the Angorania’s code letters). “Heave to immediately and await instructions. – Port Commandant.” A few minutes later a clerk brought in the Angorania’s acknowledgment.

A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the wake of the Angorania. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the unexpected stoppage.

As soon as I got on board, I accompanied the Captain to his private cabin and told him the facts. Sending for the purser, he ordered him to bring on deck at once all the luggage which had come on board in the name of Nash. “And carry it carefully,” he added, as he told the purser what it contained.

By great good fortune, there was only one big trunk in the hold, and it was readily accessible. The rest of Nash’s luggage was in his cabin. We soon had the lot on board the destroyer, where the torpedo officer rapidly overhauled it.

In the big trunk, resting quite unconcealed on the top of a pile of clothes, were two tin canisters labelled “Golden Syrup.” I could not repress a shudder.

“I think this is what we want,” said the torpedo officer grimly, as he carefully picked up the dangerous canisters. And then he did a brave thing.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said to the Captain, “I will take them out in a boat and examine them myself.”

The Captain nodded silently, and a few minutes later the ship’s dinghy dropped over the side. The torpedo officer took his seat and rowed away alone, the canisters on the after-thwart winking in the blazing sunshine. He was literally taking his life in his hands. We could not let the liner go until we were sure we had got what we wanted, and no one could be sure that the mere lifting of the canister lids would not explode the terrible compound they contained.

Half a mile away from the ship the rowing-boat came to a stop. Through our glasses we saw the torpedo officer deliberately pick up the canisters and without hesitation prise up the patent lids. A moment later he waved to us, and at once commenced to row back to the ship.

“All right, let her go; I’ve got the stuff,” he shouted, as soon as he was within earshot, and a tremendous cheer went up from the crew, who in the mysterious “wireless” of the sea had learned what was afoot. A signal fluttered from the bridge of the destroyer. The Angorania dipped her pennant in acknowledgment, and soon the great liner was hurling herself through the sea on her interrupted journey.

The rest of the story is soon told. The herbethite, we found, was covered with a thin layer of sweets, and at the customs examination of luggage Nash had boldly lifted the lids and coolly showed the sweets to the officer. It was done so naturally as to defy any possible suspicion. But in the bottoms of the tins we found two exquisitely made detonators, fashioned in the shape of watches, and timed so as to explode the herbethite some twelve hours after the time fixed for the departure of the ship. These removed, the tins could be handled with comparative safety.

We made a clean sweep of the conspirators. No details were ever given to the public, and the stoppage of the big liner was easily explained away to the passengers. We found out that the small cylinder picked up at Mile End had been intended for the purpose of blowing up a munitions train in an important tunnel outside London, but the conspirators found the approaches too closely guarded and gave up the project. They were all sent to Paris for trial on a charge of stealing herbethite, and were eventually sentenced by court-martial to fifteen years’ imprisonment.

Madame Gabrielle, I am glad to say, received a handsome reward from the British Government, for our success was entirely due to her. She had followed Norman without food or rest or sleep for nearly three days, and was in the last extremity of fatigue when she gave me her final and all-important message. Pasquet, I am glad to say, justified the impression I had formed of him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him develop into a respectable member of society, happy in the society of his wife, now fully restored to health, and again enjoying the confidence of his employers. We were able, through him, to account for all the stolen herbethite, and it was a relief to know that none of the terrible compound remained in the hands of our enemies.