British Secret Service During the Great War Part 13

In fiction you will perhaps have observed the universal rule seems to ordain that the a.s.sumer of disguises invariably endeavours to change his outward appearance from juvenility to old age. That, to my way of thinking, is merely adding to one's difficulties. In real life it will be found far easier to play the part of a person much younger than you really are than it is to play the part of one who is much older.

On such rare occasions as I had to make it part of my business to disguise myself I selected for choice the transfiguration of my outward appearance to a younger rather than an older person whenever the circ.u.mstances so permitted. For example, I would enter a building to all outward appearances a man of sixty years of age or upwards, and within a very short s.p.a.ce of time reappear as a man of not more than thirty.

These tricks may be attempted at night in artificial lights, but by daylight the risks of discovery are not worth the small gain or advantage that may be believed to be attained by their aid.

The common sailor, or working-man who is badly dressed, very dirty in appearance and who has not shaved for many days, is generally an object which most men avoid and few women find the smallest interest in; whilst he can roam at pleasure in most public places, and if he has the price of a drink in his pocket he invariably gathers around him a mult.i.tude of friends ready to tell him anything they may know or to believe any c.o.c.k-and-bull story as to his own antecedents which force of circ.u.mstances or a very vivid imagination may suggest.

All disguises and concealments of ident.i.ty are of little avail unless very thoroughly attempted and carried out.

Sir Robert Baden Powell, in his book "My Adventures as a Spy," speaks of the importance of remembering the back view. He writes:

"The matter of disguise is not so much one of a theatrical make-up--although this is undoubtedly a useful art--as of being able to a.s.sume a totally different character, change of voice and mannerisms, especially of gait in walking, and appearance from behind."

A Service officer, whether of the Army or Navy, would have far greater difficulties to contend with in this respect than would any ordinary civilian--which is probably one of the main reasons why Service men are avoided when possible by the German Intelligence Department for active executive work.

The face and body are easy to disguise, but the hands are not. For a rough character rough hands are essential. Remember that it is a sure test, when questioning a tramp or hobo before probably wasting one's sympathies as well as one's substance in trying to help him, to demand an examination of his hands. They tell at a glance whether he is a genuine trier, or merely a chronic waster. Therefore, before undertaking to appear as a unit of the working-cla.s.ses, it is advisable to take on a job which will put one's hands into the condition that would appear compatible to one's outward appearance. Unloading or loading bricks into a vessel, or a truck, is the quickest and surest way of accomplishing this purpose. In a few hours, hands which are unaccustomed to this work will crack up and blister beyond recognition. Its continuance for a couple of days will pull the nails out of shape and give the full, true, h.o.r.n.y, hardened grip of a genuine son of toil. Want of soap and water will complete a supreme finish to the seeming ideal.

Once upon a time there arose an occasion when I had to ship as deck-hand and general knockabout on a small Baltic coasting craft of no cla.s.sified definition. It was rough work, rougher living, and roughest weather. But one soon accustoms oneself to one's surroundings in life; and it really is marvellous what a satisfactory clean-up one can make with the a.s.sistance of a little grease and a tiny piece of cotton waste.

The cruise had been completed and the vessel was returning to a friendly port when her skipper undertook to ferry a party of ladies and gentlemen across from one small island to another. The deck hand--need I explain that I acted in that capacity?--was indisposed. He sought his bunk below, only to be sworn at and cursed, and ordered out again in a manner which unfortunately brought him under observation, exactly the opposite to that which his modest, retiring nature desired; more particularly so on the occasion in question.

One lady, a bright-eyed, vivacious, sweet-faced woman of between twenty and thirty years of age, remonstrated on behalf of this seemingly ill-used and unfortunate mortal, and she pleaded with the skipper that the poor man looked frightened and ill. Alas, poor me!

"D----d idle, dirty, good-for-nothing scamp," is the nearest equivalent in English to a translation of his retort. I had been playing up for a discharge, and plead guilty to the indictment.

A few days later a fashionable gathering took place. It was held in a beautifully situated house, having extensive grounds, fine gardens, and magnificent views of the surrounding seaboard. Everyone of any local importance was there. Amongst the guests was an Englishman. Five minutes' intercourse with him would have been amply sufficient to have based the conclusion that he was one of those effeminate, lisping, soft, silly slackers, who hang round tea-tables and curates' meetings, and who have a horror of all things manly.

He was dressed in a neat suit of blue serge. Every speck of dust coming to it was at once flicked off with a silk handkerchief. His trousers were of the permanent turned-up cut, carefully pressed and creased. He sported bright yellow wash-leather gloves and spent most of his time toying with a rimmed eyegla.s.s. That he was shy, reticent, and retiring was at once obvious, but in spite of a vacuous, far-away look, his eyes seemed to travel over most of the company, and whenever any serious conversation took place he appeared to be wandering aimlessly about, but well within earshot.

One lady in the crowd seemed to take a more than ordinary interest in this personage. She was a bright-eyed, vivacious, sweet-faced woman of between twenty and thirty years of age. She was also a clever and far-seeing individual--one who watches, listens, and observes to advantage. The stranger's face attracted her. She felt somehow that it was familiar. She was sure that she had seen it before; but when, or where, puzzled her.

An introduction was an easy matter. Soon she was sipping tea and exchanging views on every-day frivolities with the object which for the moment so attracted her curiosity. I can a.s.sure those who read these lines that the object in question wished himself anywhere but where he was.

"It is most unusual to meet an Englishman who speaks our language, even badly. How is it that you seem to know it so well?" she suddenly asked; experience having apparently taught her that questions leading up to the point desired merely forewarned the interrogated.

"No, no. You flatter me. I'm positively wrotten on the grammar. I only know a number of words. You see, I had to learn those because I come to your delightful country so much on business, also for sport," I replied.

"Business? What kind of business?" she asked.

"Well, you see, I'm rather interwested in wood and in herwings."

"Oh yes! And sport?"

"Well, you see, I come here every year for fishing."

For some moments the lady maintained an ominous silence, whilst her eyes focussed the horizon of some distant islands lying far out upon the smooth and sunlit sea. She smiled to herself, as though she had caught a delusive object of great worth; then, turning her fair head--and she really was pretty--so that she could look me full in the eyes, she asked:

"Is it your business or your sport which gives you so much fascination for the sea?"

"Fascination for the sea?" I exclaimed doubtingly. "Now, weally you are quite wrong. I never go on the sea unless I'm weally forced to do so. In fact, I hate it. It's so beastly wrestless when it might be quiet and let everybody else be quiet too." I lisped painfully.

"I think you said it was herrings that interested you," she replied, following up a point she seemed determined to push home. "Are you sure it's not a larger species of fish?"

"Yes, quite sure," I hastened to add. "I have no interwests in your extensive cod fisherwies; nor in the oil which I am told is such good business."

"I did not mean codfish," she said. "I meant a much larger sort of fish--a big fish closely related to the whale family!" Whilst as she uttered the sentence her bright eyes looked laughingly at me with a keen glance that seemed to wish it could penetrate my very soul.

"Whales! Whales! I've never touched a whaling share in my life, and I'm quite certain I don't mean to in these times," I muttered.

Again the lady favoured silence, but her eyes never left my face a second. She studied every line, every flicker of the eyelid or twitch of the mouth, to try and read what thoughts were pa.s.sing through my brain; but fortunately for me an a.s.sumed innocent expression of countenance successfully concealed the tumult within.

I dared not attempt to change the conversation. I merely followed whatever topic my enchanting _vis-a-vis_ chose to select. I answered her questions quietly and without hesitation, but still she persisted.

"I mean those large whales which have been so frequently seen along our coast ever since the first week of August, 1914. Those great big whales _with iron skins_."

It was a sudden, bold, frontal attack, which, however, failed entirely.

In spite of her many self-satisfied smiles, gentle head-noddings and knowing side-glances, it elicited nothing but a hearty peal of laughter.

This was repeated twice, and the diplomatic lady joined in to hide the chagrin she undoubtedly felt.

"My dear good lady, if you take me for a spy, you flatter me. You do indeed. I'm neither clever enough nor bold enough, nor energetic enough, ever to be selected for such a business. Even if I had the chance offered me I should never know what I ought to do, or how I could or ought to do it; and if I met a clever person--like yourself, for instance--you would be able to twist me wound your little finger and I could not help myself. Spy, indeed! You are funny! You know you are.

Yes, you know you weally are." And I continued to laugh softly, as though the idea suggested was the most humorous thing I had ever heard, although I admit I was perspiring all over.

"Then what were you doing on board that trading boat in which we crossed from ---- to ---- last Monday? And why were you disguised as a common sailorman, all dirt and grease?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I recognised you the moment I saw you here to-day. So it is useless to deny it. Besides, I wish to be your friend." And sinking her voice to a whisper she added, "I can be of great a.s.sistance to you if I like. I am related to several members of the Government. They will tell me anything I want to wheedle out of them--anything it may interest you to know. I love England; I hate the Germans and I adore the English. I think you are very clever indeed, but you are not clever enough to deceive me; so it's utterly useless trying to do so any longer. Am I not right, sir?" Saying which she tapped me playfully on the arm, accompanied by many languishing smiles.

It was a mighty awkward moment, a very trying situation. My only hope was boldness.

At the first words of her last sentence I had raised my face to hers, looking her full in the eyes until its conclusion, and a.s.suming to the best of my ability an amazed expression of absolute astonishment. Then, after a long pause, suitable to the part I was enforced to play, I blurted out: "My dear madam! What on earth are you driving at? Last Monday I was in Copenhagen, miles away from here! Disguised as a common sailor-man! All dirt and grease! What can you mean? Is it another joke, like the whales _with iron skins, or the spy_? Or has someone been telling you fairy tales?"

In vain she continued to pound me with straight, searching, direct questions. In vain she coaxed and cooed to me to confide in her and make her a friend and an ally. In vain she cast amorous glances, full of deep meaning, with those wondrous eyes of hers, which she knew so well how to use; glances which were calculated to move a heart of stone, and, I could not help thinking at the time, would have been sufficient to tempt St. Anthony himself from his lonely cell.

I, however, merely continued to stare at her with an insipid, incredulous, vacant look, until at last she petulantly stamped her tiny foot. Her patience was evidently quite exhausted.

"You must be an imbecile, a bigger fool than I would have believed it possible to find anywhere. My favours are not lightly distributed, nor have they ever before been refused."

As a woman scorned she hissed this sentence into my ear, and tossing her pretty head like an alarmed deer in the wilds of a great forest she trotted away and left me gazing silently after her.

What would be her next step? I wondered. Did she really take me for a blithering idiot, or did she entertain doubts on the matter? Would she remain silent, or would she make further inquiry? To what lengths would she be likely to go if she so decided?

It sent a cold stream of collected perspiration trickling down my back to think of what trouble that pretty creature could create if she really did make up her mind to follow up my trail.

It was terribly bad luck to happen just at that particular time, because I had wanted so much to remain at least a week or ten days in that particular locality; now I had to debate with myself whether I dare risk a stay over, and what it might lead to if I so decided and acted on that decision.

Then I remembered my hands. Good heavens! If she had not got so angry, if she had only kept cool, and had challenged me to remove my gloves.

What a give-away it would have been! Whew!