Part 17 (1/2)

But as I expected, another week brought Captain Robinson again. This time it was late in the evening after all the prisons were shut up tight. The Lieutenant-governor himself took me into the Governor's office. No other warder or prison official observed us.

”Well, Doctor,” was the way Robinson greeted me. ”I have something definite to propose to you. You can be of use to us. You have still sixteen months of your sentence to serve. Are you willing to give these sixteen months of your time to us--terms to be agreed upon later? I am prepared to supply you with proofs that you were deliberately put away, betrayed by your employers, the German government.”

He did so to my complete satisfaction. As I guessed, I had come to learn so much of Germany's affairs that I was dangerous. To betray me in such a way that I would not suspect and squeal was a clever way to close my mouth for seven years in jail or until the Black Forest plans had matured.

”How would you suggest that we go about it?” he asked.

”To be of the slightest degree of use to you, n.o.body must know of my release,” I added. ”Here is my suggestion. I must leave the execution of it to you. The impression I conveyed around Edinburgh was that my health is rather indifferent. So it is also believed here in the prison. On those grounds it should be an easy matter for you to have me ostensibly transferred to another prison; instead of which, have me taken wherever you wish to. I see no necessity that outside the Lieutenant-governor, the Governor and yourself, any one need know of it.”

”Yes, yes,” said Robinson. ”That coincides with my own ideas and plans.” Presently he departed and I went back again to my cell.

At half-past five the next morning, I was aroused by the Lieutenant-governor. He was alone. There were no warders in sight.

In the Governor's office I found all my clothes and effects ready and laid out for me. These I addressed and left with the Lieutenant-governor. We took a taxicab for the Caledonian Station in Glasgow. Few people were abroad in Glasgow at that time of day and there was no danger of recognition. The trip to London was uneventful. At Euston Station we were met by Captain Robinson. We went into a private waiting-room where Captain Robinson signed a paper for the Lieutenant-governor. It was what amounted to a receipt for the prison's delivery of me into his hands. Then the lieutenant-governor left us; then Robinson left, after handing over an envelope containing cash and instructions.

I was alone and free. I could then and there have disappeared.

Obviously the English government trusted me fully.

My first move was to register at the Russel Square Hotel. Opening the envelope in my rooms, I found it contained ten pounds and the following instructions:

”Telephone at 10.30 to-morrow morning, this number Mayfair--”

I telephoned the Mayfair number and was told to hold the wire. Then Captain Robinson got on the phone and told me to meet him at luncheon that day at one o'clock at the Imperial Hotel. There another gentleman joined us--a Mr. Morgan, whom I easily judged and afterwards knew to be of the English Secret Service. Presently Morgan told me that I was to drive with Captain Robinson to Downing Street that afternoon.

”One of our ministers wishes to see you,” he explained.

We drove to Downing Street, Captain Robinson and I, and stopped before the historic governmental building. After we had signed the book that all visitors to ”Downing Street” must sign, I was ushered into an anteroom and Robinson took his leave. My name appears on this book as Trenton Snell, and if the English government challenges a statement that I shall subsequently make, let them produce the ”Downing Street”

book for the date I shall mention, let them have a handwriting expert compare the name ”Trenton Snell” with my handwriting.

I make this statement for what followed is of tremendous importance.

After a twenty-minute wait, which impressed me as being different from the slam-in-and-slam-out methods of the Wilhelmstra.s.se, I was shown up a flight of stairs. The attendant knocked on the door, opened it and announced ”The gentleman.”

I was facing Sir Edward Grey.

He was seated behind a big green-covered mahogany desk. I noticed that the room seemed like a private library; books, memorandas, letters and dispatch cases littered not only the desk but the tables and chairs. The eye was struck by a huge piece of furniture, a tall leather-covered easy chair. I present these details for obvious reasons.

Sir Edward, looking small in the big armchair, was seated with his legs crossed. He was reading some doc.u.ment and without a sign of recognition he kept me standing there, it must have been ten minutes.

I noticed that he glanced at me now and then above the top of the paper. Abruptly he told me to have a seat. When I said that I preferred to stand, he nodded and pulling open a drawer took from it a folder that, as subsequent events verified, I suspected to be a report on me. There was another period during which he seemed to be unaware of my presence, and I took advantage of it to size up my man. He impressed me as being one of those intolerable, typically English icicles, which only that nation seems able to produce in her public servants. Presumably through a century-long contact with the races of the East, the English diplomat of the Sir Edward Grey type presents the bland, imperturbable, non-committal, almost inane expression of the Oriental that hardly gives one any criterion of the tremendous power of perception and concentration beneath the mask.

After twirling his fingers, he said:

”I presume you are familiar with Germany's naval activity.”

”Up to a certain point, sir.”

”What point?” he asked quickly.

”I am familiar only with the Intelligence Department of the Admiralty,” I replied.