The first decade of the twentieth century saw a series of books based on the threat of a war with Germany of which Spies of the Kaiser was one of the most influential. It resulted from extensive briefing of the author William Le Queux by his friend Colonel James Edmonds, the head of the War Office’s Secret Service. Le Queux was what is known in the espionage world as an ‘agent of influence’, a role in which he was very effective. ‘I think I can claim to be the first person to warn Great Britain that the Kaiser was plotting war against us,’ Le Queux said. ‘I discovered, as far back as 1905, a great network of espionage spread over the United Kingdom.’
The Daily Mail serialised Le Queux’s novel, The Invasion of 1910, carefully rerouting the invading German troops through towns and villages where its circulation was at its highest. Le Queux’s books sparked a series of spy scares, as Edmonds had hoped they would. The Prime Minister Herbert Asquith ordered an inquiry into ‘the dangers from German espionage’ at which Edmonds forced home his point but left a poor impression on some of those present.
He told them that a secret service’s motto should be to ‘trust no one’ and quoted from Rudyard Kipling’s Kim that one should ‘trust a snake before a harlot and a harlot before a Pathan’. Despite being dismissed by one member of the inquiry as ‘a silly witness’ with ‘espionage on the brain’, his arguments won the day and led to the creation of a Secret Service Bureau with a Home Section to catch German spies coming to Britain and a Foreign Section to collect intelligence on Germany. The Home Section was run by an army officer Colonel Vernon Kell, codenamed K, and became what we now know as MI5. The Foreign Section, was run by a naval officer Commander Mansfield Cumming, codenamed C, and would eventually become MI6. Le Queux’s dubious influence was therefore critical in the creation of today’s British intelligence and security services.
‘WELL, THAT’S RATHER curious,’ I remarked, closing the door of the old oak-panelled smoking-room at Metfield Park, and returning to where my friend Ray Raymond was seated.
‘Was anyone outside the door?’ he asked, quickly on the alert.
‘Mrs Hill-Mason’s German maid. You remember, Vera pointed her out yesterday.’
‘Hm! And she was listening – after every one else has gone to bed!’ he remarked. ‘Yes, Jack, it’s curious.’
It was past one o’clock in the morning. Two months had passed since the affair down at Portsmouth, but we had not been inactive. We were sitting before the great open fireplace where the logs were blazing, after the rest of the men had taken their candles and retired, and had been exchanging confidences in ignorance of the fact that the door remained ajar. I had, however, detected the frou-frou of a woman’s skirt, and creeping across to the door had seen the maid of one of the guests disappearing down the stone passage which led to the great hall now in darkness.
Metfield Park, 3 miles from Melton Constable, in Norfolk, the seat of the Jocelyns, was a fine old Tudor place in the centre of a splendid park, where the pheasant shooting was always excellent. Harry Jocelyn, the heir, had been with us at Balliol, hence Ray and I usually received invitations to the shooting parties. On this occasion, however, Vera Vallance with her aunt, Mrs Mortimer, had been invited, much to Ray’s satisfaction.
Among the party was a well-known naval officer, captain of a first-class cruiser, two military officers, and several smart women, for both Sir Herbert and Lady Jocelyn moved in a very smart set. Several of the ladies had joined us in the smoking-room for cigarettes, and the conversation around the fire had been mainly the usual society chatter, until at one o’clock everyone had left for bed except our two selves.
Over the great fireplace were the arms of the Jocelyns carved in stone, with the date 1573, and in the corner near the window was a stand of armour upon which the dancing flames glinted ever and anon. Through the long uncurtained window shone the bright moon from over the park, and just as I reseated myself the stable clock chimed the half-hour.
We had been there four days, and the sport had been excellent. On the previous day Ray had excused himself on account of the bad weather, and had spent the hours mostly with Vera.
It was of how he had employed his time that he had been telling me when I had discovered the eavesdropper.
‘I wonder why our conversation should prove so interesting to that maid?’ he remarked thoughtfully, gazing into the fire. ‘She’s rather good-looking for a German, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But who is this Mrs Hill-Mason? She seems a rather loud and buxom person, fond of the display of jewellery, dark, somewhat oleaginous, and devoted to bridge.’
‘Harry says his mother met her in Cairo last winter. She’s one of the Somerset Masons – half-sister to the Countess of Thanet.’
‘Of course. But we must get Vera to make some inquiry tomorrow as to where she obtained her maid,’ declared Ray. ‘The woman is interested in us, and we must discover the cause.’
‘Yes, I somehow mistrust her,’ I said. ‘I met her crossing the hall just before dinner, and I detected a curious look in her eyes as she glanced at me.’
‘Merely your fancy, Jack, old chap – because she’s German,’ he laughed, stretching his long legs.
‘Well, what you were telling me about Vera and her discovery has alarmed me,’ I said, tossing away the end of my cigar.
‘Yes, she only returned last week from Emden, where she’s been visiting her old German governess, who, it seems, is now married to an official in the construction department of the German Admiralty. From her friend she was able to learn a lot, which will, no doubt, cause our Lords of the Admiralty a bad quarter of an hour. What would the British public think if they were told the truth – that Germany is rapidly building a secret fleet?’ I said.
‘Why, my dear fellow, the public would simply say you were a liar,’ he laughed. ‘Every Englishman fancies himself top-dog, even though British diplomacy – apart from that of our excellent King – is the laughing-stock of the Powers. No,’ he added, ‘the truth is out. All yesterday I spent with Vera, preparing the information which she forwarded to the Admiralty to-night. I registered the letter for her at the village post office. The authorities owe her a very deep debt for succeeding in obtaining the information which our secret service has always failed to get. She, an admiral’s daughter, is now able to furnish actual details of the ships now building in secret and where they are being constructed.’
‘A matter which will, no doubt, be considered very seriously by the government,’ I said.
‘Oh, I suppose they treat the whole thing lightly, as they always do. We invite invasion,’ he sighed as he rose, adding: ‘Let’s turn in now. Tomorrow we’ll keep an eye upon that unusually inquisitive maid.’
That night the eyes of the German maid haunted me. I could not rid myself of their recollection. Was it that this hunting down of German spies was getting on my nerves?
Next day we were shooting Starlings Wood, about 5 miles distant, but Ray having cried off one day, could not do so again. Therefore, at his suggestion, I made an excuse and remained at home with the ladies.
The morning I spent walking through the park with Vera, a smart, sweet-faced little figure in her short tweed skirt and furs, with her bright and vivacious chatter. From her I learnt some further details concerning her visit to Emden.
‘Ray is most excited about it, Mr Jacox,’ she was saying. ‘Of course, I had to make my inquiries with great caution and discretion, but I managed to find out what I wanted, and I sent all the details to the Admiralty yesterday.’
Then as we went along the wide beech avenue I told her of the curious incident in the smoking-room on the previous evening.
‘Ray was telling me about it just before breakfast,’ she said, turning her splendid eyes to mine. ‘I have already made some inquiries of Mrs Hill-Mason, and it appears that the maid Erna Stolberg was recommended to her by a friend when she was in Dresden last year. She’s a most exemplary person, and has a number of friends in England. She was previously with a French baronne.’
‘Mrs Hill-Mason often moves in a military set, doesn’t she?’ I remarked. ‘Somebody last night stated that she’s the widow of a general, and is well known down at Aldershot.’
‘I believe so.’
‘If Mrs Hill-Mason visits at the houses of military officers, as it seems she does, then this inquisitive maid would be afforded many opportunities for gathering information. I intend to watch her,’ I said.
‘And so will I, Mr Jacox,’ replied the admiral’s daughter, drawing her Astrakhan collar tighter about her throat.
Half an hour later, we drove in the wagonette out to the shooting-party in the woods, where a merry luncheon was served in a marquee. I, however, returned to the house before the rest of the party and haunted the servants’ hall. With Williams the butler I was on friendly terms, and finding him in the great hall, began to make inquiries regarding the guests’ servants.
‘You’ve got a German woman among them, haven’t you?’ I remarked.
‘Yes, sir,’ was his reply. ‘A rather funny one she is, I fancy. She goes out alone for walks after she’s dressed her mistress for dinner, and is out sometimes till quite late. What she does wandering about in the dark nobody knows. But it ain’t for me to say a word, sir; she’s a visitor’s maid.’
I held my own counsel, but resolved to watch.
Tea in the great hall, over which Lady Jocelyn presided, proved the usual irresponsible function, but when I went to my room to dress for dinner I became convinced that certain papers in my suitcase had been turned over and investigated.
That night I did not go in to dinner. I heard the gong sound, and when the company had gone in, I put on thick boots, overcoat, and cap, and passed through the back way along the old wing of the house, through the smoking-room, and out upon the drive.
Behind some holly bushes where I could see any one leave by the great paved courtyard where the servants’ entrance was situated, I concealed myself and waited in patience. The night was dark and overcast.
The stable chimes had rung out half past eight, but I still remained until, about twenty minutes later, footfalls sounded, and from out the arched entrance to the courtyard came a female figure in a close-fitting hat and long dark Ulster.
She passed close by me, under the light of the lamp, and I saw it was the fair-haired woman for whom I was waiting.
Instead of walking straight down the avenue to the lodge-gates, she struck along a footpath which led for a mile across the park, first skirting the lake – the fishpond of the monks who lived there before the Dissolution; then, passing under the dark shadow of a spinney, led to a stile by which the high park wall could be negotiated and the main road to East Dereham reached.
As she went forward so I followed. I knew the path well. I watched her ascend the stile and cross the wall into the road. Then I crept up and peered over into the darkness. She had turned to the right, and I could discern her waiting at the roadside about 30 yards away.
From my place of concealment I could hear her slow footsteps as she idled up and down in the darkness, evidently waiting for someone.
I think about ten minutes passed when I heard the whir of a motor-car approaching, its big glaring headlamps shedding a stream of white brilliance over the muddy road. As it approached her it slowed down and stopped. Then I distinguished it to be a big limousine, the occupant of which opened the door, and she entered with a word of greeting.
I stood peering into the darkness, in surprise and disappointment at not catching sight of the person with whom she was keeping these nightly appointments. As soon as the door had banged the driver drove across the road, backed, and turning, sped away in the direction he had come.
But while he was turning I had gained the road, advancing beneath the hedgerow in an endeavour to see the number of the car. But I was baffled. It was covered with mud.
Afterwards, much disappointed, and certainly hungry, I made my way back across the park to the Hall, where, after managing to get a snack from Williams, I joined the party at bridge.
That night the woman Stolberg returned at five minutes to eleven, and later, when Ray went upstairs with me, I described what I had seen.
Next night, instead of following her out, I waited at the spot at half past ten, when, sure enough, the car returned ten minutes later and deposited her. The number plates, however, were obliterated by the mud both front and back – purposely it seemed to me. The man within shook her hand as she alighted, but I could not see his face. Was he some secret lover? Apparently she went no great distance each evening, going and coming from the direction of Holt.
On the following day I took several opportunities of watching the woman at close quarters. Her eyes were peculiarly set, very close together, her lips were thin, and her cheek-bones rather high. Otherwise she was not bad-looking. Mrs Hill-Mason had, of course, no idea of her maid’s nocturnal motor-rides.
Whether the woman had any suspicion that she was being watched I know not; but on the next night when Ray took a turn at keeping an eye upon her, she did not go out, but on the next she went, and Ray followed her to the park wall, but saw nothing more than I had done.
All this time, of course, Vera was greatly interested in the result of our observations. Through her own maid, Batson, she discovered the room occupied by the German, and to this I made my way, at considerable risk, one morning while the maid was busy attending upon her mistress. I had a good look through her belongings, finding in her trunk a small, flat tin box, japanned dark green, strong, and secured by a lock of well-known make. What, I wondered, did it contain?
Could I have but seen the number of the mysterious car I could have discovered the identity of her nocturnal visitor.
The same day that I discovered the tin box in her trunk, Mrs Hill-Mason, however, returned to London, taking with her the mysterious Fräulein.
Extracted from Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England by William Le Queux (first published by Hurst and Blackett in 1909)