My adventures as a German secret agent

In spite of my dreams and extreme self-satisfaction, I found the atmosphere of Gross Lichterfelde as drab and monotonous as ever it had been before my masquerade. Discipline sits lightly upon one who is accustomed to it solely, but to me, fresh from a glorious fortnight of intrigue and festivity, it was doubly galling. Yet there was one avenue of escape open to me, that was denied my fellows, for I was required to pay a weekly visit to my tutor in the Wilhelmstrasse, there to continue my studies in the art of diplomatic intrigue.

It is a significant comment upon the life at Gross Lichterfelde that I could regard these visits as a kind of relaxation. Surely no drill-master was ever so exacting as this tutor of mine. And yet, despite his dryness and the complete lack of cordiality in his manner, there was somewhere the gleam of romance about him. To me he seemed, in a strangely inappropriate way, an incarnation of one of those old masters of intrigue who had been my heroes in former days at home; and my imagination distorted him into a gigantic, shadowy being, mysterious, inflexible and potentially sinister.

We studied history together that autumn; not the dull record of facts that was forced upon us at Gross Lichterfelde, but rather a history of glorious national achievement, of ambitions attained and enemies scattered—a history that had the tone of prophecy. And I would sit there in the soft autumn sunlight viewing the Fatherland with new eyes; as a knight in shining armor, beset by foes, but ever triumphing over them by virtue of his righteousness and strength of arm.

Then I would return to Gross Lichterfelde and its discipline.

Yet even at Gross Lichterfelde, we contrived to amuse ourselves, chiefly by violating regulations. That is generally the result of walling any person inside a set of rules; his attention becomes centered on getting outside. Your own cadets at West Point, so I have been told, have their traditional list of deviltries, maintained with admirable persistence in the face of severe penalties. At Gross Lichterfelde one proved his manliness by breaking bounds at least once a week, to drink beer, and flirt with maids none the less divine because they were hopelessly plebian.

In the prevailing lawlessness, I bore my share, and in the course of my escapades, I formed an offensive and defensive alliance with a cadet of my own age against that common enemy of all our kind, the Commandant of the school, Willi von Heiden, I will call my chum, because that was not his name. We became close friends. And through our friendship there came an event which I shall remember to my last day. It gave me a glimpse into the terrible pit of secret diplomacy.

Often at the present, I find myself living it over in my mind. If I have learned to take a lighter view of life than most men, my attitude dates from that time when a careless word of mine, spoken in innocence, condemned a man to death. I will try to tell very briefly how it came about.

The Christmas after my excursion to St. Petersburg I was invited by Willi von Heiden to visit him at his home. His father was a squireling of East Prussia, one of the Junkers. He had an estate in that rolling farm land between Goldap and Tilsit, which was the scene of countless adventures of Willi’s boyhood.

Just before we left Gross Lichterfelde—yes, even there they allow you a few days vacation at Christmas—Willi received a letter and came to me with a joyous face.

“Good news,” he cried, “we are sure to have a lively holiday. Brother Franz is getting a few days’ leave, too.”

I had heard much of Willi’s older brother, Franz. He was a young man in the middle twenties, an officer of a famous fighting regiment of foot, one of the Prussian Guards. Willi had dilated upon him in his conversation with me. Franz was his younger brother’s hero. From all accounts Franz von Heiden was possessed of a mind of that rare sort which combines unremitting industry with cleverness. His future as a soldier seemed brilliant and assured.

“Where is Franz?” was Willi’s first question when we reached his home.

I shall be long forgetting my first impressions of the man. I had been looking for a dry, spectacled student, or a stiff young autocrat of the thoroughly Prussian type, which I, like many other Germans, thoroughly disliked and inwardly laughed at. Instead, I found another chum. Franz was an engaging young man of slight build but very vigorous and athletic. I found him frank, friendly, unassuming, apparently wholly carefree and full of quiet drollery. From his first greeting any prejudice that I might have formed from hearing my chum, Willi, chant his excellencies, was quite wiped away. And as the days passed I found myself drawn to seek Franz’s company constantly. I have no doubt it flattered my vanity—always awake since my exploit in St. Petersburg—to find this older man treating me as a mental equal. It seemed to me that he differentiated between me and Willi, who was quite young in manner as well as years. At times the impulse was very strong for me to confide in Franz, to let him know that I was not a mere cadet, that I had been in Russia for my government. Luckily for myself I suppressed that impulse. Luckily for me, but very unluckily for Lieutenant Franz von Heiden—as it turned out.

One sunny December morning we were all three going out rabbit shooting. While Willi counted out shells in the gun room, I went to summon Franz from the bedroom he was using as his study. It was characteristic of him that without any assumption of importance, he gave a few hours to work early every morning, even while on leave. I found him intent upon some large sheets of paper, but he pushed them aside.

“Time to start now?” he asked. “Good! Wait a minute, while I dress.” He stepped into the adjoining dressing-room.

And then, as if Fate had taken a hand in the moment’s activities, I did a thing which I have never ceased to regret. Fate! Why not? What is the likelihood that by mere vague chance I, of all the cadets of Gross Lichterfelde, should have become Willi von Heiden’s chum and shared his holidays? That by mere chance I should have been an inmate of his home when Franz was there, three days out of the whole year? That by mere chance, I, with my precocious knowledge and thirst for yet more knowledge, should have entered his study when he was occupied with a particular task? Why did I not send the servant to call him? And why, instead of doing any one of the dozen other things I might have done while I was waiting for Franz to change his clothes, should I have stepped across and looked at the big sheets of paper on his table?

I did just that. I did it quite frankly and without a thought of prying. I saw that the sheets were small scale maps. They were the maps of a fort and the names upon them were written both in French and in German. The thrill of a great discovery shot all through me. It flashed upon me that I had heard Willi say that during the previous summer Franz had spent a long furlough in the Argonne section of France. He had been fishing and botanizing—so Willi had said. Indeed, only the night before Franz himself had told us stories of the sport there; and all his family had accepted the stories at their face value. So had I until that moment when I stood beside his desk and saw the plans of a French field fortress. Then I knew the truth. Lieutenant Franz von Heiden was doing important work—so confidential that even his family must be kept in ignorance about it—for the intelligence department of the German General Staff. Like me, he was entitled to the gloriously shameful name of spy!

If I had obeyed my natural impulse to rush into Franz’s room and exchange fraternal greetings with this new colleague of the secret service, so romantically discovered, he might have saved himself. Instead, something made me play the innocent and be the innocent, too, as far as intent was concerned.

When Franz returned, dressed for the shoot, I was standing looking out of his window, and I said nothing about my discovery.

We had our rabbit shoot that day. We crowded all the fun and energy possible into it. It was our last day together and by sundown I felt as close to Franz von Heiden as though he were my own brother. A few days later Willi and I went back to Gross Lichterfelde.

Shortly after I returned from my Christmas leave, my tutor sent for me. He even recognized the amenities of the occasion enough to unbend a little and greeted me with a trace of mechanical friendliness.

“I trust you had a pleasant holiday,” he said, “you told me, did you not, that you were to spend it at the Baron von Heiden’s?”

That touch of friendliness was the occasion of my tragic error. I remember that I plunged into a boisterous description of my vacation, of the pleasant days in the country, of the shooting, of Franz. As my tutor listened, with a tolerant air, I told him what a splendid fellow Franz was, how cleverly he talked and how diligently he worked. And then, with a rash innocence for which I have never forgiven myself, I told him of what I had seen on that day of the rabbit shooting—of the maps on the table. Franz was one of us!

But my tutor was not interested. Abruptly he interrupted my burst of gossip; and soon after that he plunged me into a quiz in spoken French. My progress in that seemed his only preoccupation.

A month later Willi von Heiden staggered into my room. “Franz is dead,” he said.

The brilliant young lieutenant, Franz von Heiden, had come to a sudden and shocking end. He was shot dead in a duel. His opponent was a brother officer, a Captain von Frentzen. The “Court of honor” of the regiment had approved of the duel and it was reported that the affair was carried out in accordance with the German code.

Later I learned the story. Captain von Frentzen was suddenly attached to the same regiment as Franz. His transfer was a cause of great surprise to the officers and of deep displeasure to them, for the captain had a notorious reputation as a duelist. Naturally the officers, Franz among them, had ignored him, trying to force him out of the regiment. Upon the night of a regimental dance, the situation came to a head.

In response to the gesture of a lady’s fan Franz crossed the ball room hurriedly. He was caught in a sudden swirl of dancers and accidentally stepped on Captain von Frentzen’s foot. In the presence of the whole company von Frentzen dealt Franz a stinging slap in the face. “Apparently,” he sneered, “you compel me to teach you manners.” Franz looked at him, amazed and furious. There was nothing that he had done which warranted von Frentzen’s action. It was an outrage—a deadly insult. There was but one thing to do. A duel was arranged.

To understand more of this incident you must understand the unyielding code of honor of the German officer. Franz von Heiden’s original offense had been so very slight that even had he refused to apologize to Frentzen the consequences might not have been serious. But Frentzen’s blow given in public was quite a different matter. It was a mortal affront. I heard that Franz’s captain had been in a rage about it.

“My best lieutenant,” he had said to the colonel. “An extremely valuable man. To be made to fight a duel with that worthless butcher, von Frentzen. Shameful! God knows that laws are sometimes utterly unreasonable by many of our ideas, as officers are equally senseless. I have racked my brain to find a way out of this difficulty, but it seems impossible. Can’t you do something to interfere?”

The colonel looked at him steadily. “Your honest opinion. Is von Heiden’s honor affected by Frentzen’s action?”

There was nothing Franz’s captain could do but reply, “Yes.”

The duel was held on the pistol practice grounds of the garrison, a smooth, grassy place, surrounded by high bushes; at the lower end there was a shed built of strong boards, in which tools and targets were stored. At daybreak Franz von Heiden and his second dismounted at the shed and fastened their horses by the bridle. They stood side by side, looking down the road, along which a carriage was coming. Captain von Frentzen, his second, and the regimental surgeon got out. Sharp polite greetings were exchanged. On the faces of the seconds there was a singular expression of uneasiness, but Frentzen looked as though he were there for some guilty purpose. The prescribed attempts at reconciliation failed. The surgeon measured off the distance. He was a long-legged man and made the fifteen paces as lengthy as possible.

Just at this moment the sun came up fully. Pistols were loaded and given to Franz and Frentzen. Fifteen paces apart, the two men faced each other. One of the seconds drew out his watch, glanced at it and said, “I shall count; ready, one! then three seconds; two!—and again three seconds; then, stop! Between one and stop the gentlemen may fire.” He glanced round once more. The four officers stood motionless in the level light of the dawn. He began to count. Presently Franz von Heiden was stretched out upon the ground, his blue eyes staring up into the new day. He lay still....

When I heard that story I ceased to be a boy. My outlook on the future had been that of an irresponsible gamester, undergoing initiation into the gayest and most exciting sports. All at once my eyes were hideously opened and I looked down into the pit that the German secret service had prepared for Franz von Heiden, and knew I was the cause of it. It was terrible! By leaving that map where I could see it Franz von Heiden had been guilty of an unforgivable breach of trust. By his carelessness he had let someone know that the Intelligence Department of the General Staff had procured the plans of a French fortress in the Argonne. Wherefore, according to the iron law of that soulless war machine, Franz von Heiden must die.

And this is the sinister way it works. Trace it. I innocently betray him to my tutor, an official of the Secret Diplomatic Service. A few days later one of the deadliest pistol shots in the German army is transferred to Franz’s regiment. A duel is forced upon him and he is shot down in cold blood.

Not long after the news of the duel, my tutor sent for me. “Is it not a curious coincidence,” he began, his cold gray eyes boring into mine, “that the last time you were here we spoke of Lieutenant Franz von Heiden? The next time you come to see me he is dead. I understand that certain rumors are in circulation about the way he died. Some of them may have already come to your attention. I caution you to pay no attention whatever to such silly statements. Remember that a Court of Honor of an honorable regiment of the Prussian Guards has vouched for the fact that Lieutenant von Heiden’s quarrel with Captain von Frentzen and the unfortunate duel that followed was conducted in accordance with the officers’ code of the Imperial Army.”

I hung my head, sick at heart; but he was relentless.

“Remember also,” he said in a pitiless voice, “that men of intelligence never indulge in fruitless gossip, even among themselves. I hope you understand that—by now.” He paused a moment, as if he remembered something.

“For some time,” he went on, in the most casual way, “I have been aware that it will be necessary for me to talk to you seriously. Now is as good a time as any. You know that your training for your future career has been put largely in my hands. I am responsible for your progress. The men who have made me responsible require reports about your development. They have not been wholly satisfied with what I was able to tell them. Your intentions are good. You show a certain amount of natural cleverness and adaptability, but you have also disappointed them by being impulsive and indiscreet.

“Now,” he said, “I ask you to pay the closest attention to everything I shall say. Your attitude must be changed if you are to go on, and some day be of service to your government. You must learn to treat your work as a deadly serious business—not as a romantic adventure. We were just speaking of von Heiden. I seem to remember vaguely that the last time you were here you had some sort of a cock-and-bull story to tell me of—what was it?—of seeing some secret maps of French fortifications on the unfortunate young man’s table. I could hardly refrain from smiling at the time. Such poppycock! You do not imagine for a moment, do you, that if he had proved himself discreet enough to be intrusted with such highly confidential things, he would have been so imprudent as to betray that fact to a mere casual friend of his little brother? I hope you see how absurd such imaginings are.”

I groaned mentally as he continued.

“Remember now,” my tutor said icily, “every man in our profession is a man who not only knows very much, but may know too much, unless he can be trusted to keep what he knows to himself. There are three ways in which he can fail to do that—by carelessness, by accident, and by deliberate talking. Never talk—never be careless—never have accidents happen to you. Then you will be safe, and in no other way can you be so safe. Keep that in your mind. You will find it much more profitable and useful than remembering what anybody has to say about Franz von Heiden. It was a commonplace quarrel with Captain von Frentzen which killed him. A court of honor has said so.”

That night at Gross Lichterfelde, after lights were out, Willi von Heiden came creeping to my bed. I was the only intimate friend he had there and he felt the need of talking with some one about the big brother who had been his hero. Need I go into details of how his artless confidence made me feel? But human beings are exceedingly selfish and self-centered creatures. I had a heart-felt sorrow for my chum and his family in their tragic bereavement. And, blaming myself as I did for it, I was abased completely. Yet there was another feeling in me at least as deeply rooted as those two emotions. It was dread.

Dread was to follow me for many years. I had learned the dangers of the dark secret world in which I lived. Its rules of conduct and its ruthless code had been revealed to me, not merely by precept but by example. And with that realization all the thrill of romance and adventure disappeared. For I knew that I, too, might at any time be counted among the men who “knew too much.”