The adventures of Heine 8 – Wallace · Verses Across
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The adventures of Heine 8The Jermyn Credit Bank
18
Literature · Short Stories
The adventures of Heine 8
The Jermyn Credit Bank
WallaceEnglish
Theories and lofty idealism have ever been qualities identified with Germanism. We Germans despise duplicity and double dealing. In our bluff, hearty way, we are impatient with the jiggling nonsense of diplomacy and the shining sword of Michael cuts through the cringing wall of our enemies, opening the way to the rich streams of kultur which are dammed in ever-increasing volume by the banks which the envy, barbarism, and frivolity of our enemies erect.
There is a saying in my country: “Trust an Englishman, admire a Frenchman, learn from a Russian, but never argue with an American.” I think it is the deceit of the English race, the mean treachery amounting to sneakiness which so appals we Germans.
I have previously related a certain adventure with a person called Haynes who insinuated himself into my office disguised as a journalist. I learnt that he was a member of the ridiculous secret service which the English had improvised during the war and with which it hoped to counteract the well-organized and foreseeing sagacity of our bureau. I can prove that this same Haynes, an English gentleman forsooth, was no better than an associate of common blackguards, ruffians, and cutpurses of the worst description.
Such is English gentlemanliness!
What a scandal there would be revealed if on a certain day in 1916, I could have walked into this man’s club where he sat with the pampered aristocracy of England and have denounced him!
“Behold!” I would say, “a man who is little better than a common cad of the golf links, and I can prove every word, gentlemen of the British aristocracy!”
How sensational! But, alas! I had higher game than Mr. Haynes. I had the interest and the future of the Fatherland to consider and these matters were of infinitely greater importance than a thousand Haynes.
You must know that when I speak of the “well-organized and far-seeing sagacity” of the German Intelligence Service, I am not in any way exaggerating. For how many years had we been preparing for this most gigantic and world-shocking conflict? How minutely were laid the plans of the Intelligence Department! With what care and thoroughness and brainy preparation did we patiently fashion the pieces of the game!
When I came to England I took charge, as I think I have explained before, of the hundred and one departments which were in some way or other associated with Intelligence. My task was to co-ordinate the whole of the common service of Deutschstrum, to gather up all the strings in my own fingers and to pull them each to serve the higher purpose. One of the most important branches of our work had been inaugurated ten years before I came to England, and I think if you spent the whole of those ten years guessing you would not divine how the business which had been established was to serve Germany in her hour of need.
Perhaps you have noticed, you who have been to London, a modest, yet substantial, building in Jermyn Street, which is known as the Jermyn Credit Bank. It is, or was, a very unpretentious and serious building with a modest facia and a small but imposing interior. If you had not seen the place you would not fail to have seen the advertisements of the bank which ran consistently in most of the English papers.
The advertisement was as follows:
Gentlemen of position, officers of both services and officials of the British or Indian Civil Service may arrange loans on note of hand with the Jermyn Credit Bank. No security required. Interest 7 per cent. per annum. Apply by letter, which will be treated in the strictest confidence, to the Secretary, Jermyn Credit Bank, 642, Jermyn Street, St. James.
There was nothing flamboyant about the advertisement any more than there was about the building. The advertisement occupied a space of two inches in most of the newspapers, but generally in the more respectable and conservative of newspapers. Those who called by appointment were treated with the greatest courtesy. They were ushered into the luxurious room of the manager, the needs of the client were discussed, the question of security delicately touched upon--there is always some security to be had even though the advertisement made a point that none was required--and loans were arranged, very often for considerable amounts.
The bank was very popular with officers of the army and navy. Men who found themselves in a tight corner blessed the name of the Jermyn Credit Bank. If, when their bills became due, there was any difficulty about payment there was certainly no difficulty about renewing the document on a very reasonable basis.
Sometimes, of course, it happened that the bank manager, a polite and charming gentleman who was, alas! killed on the western front by the treacherous English, could not, with all the best will in the world, oblige the client. Needy professional men, doctors, lawyers and unimportant journalists would learn that even with their security the golden coffers of the Credit Bank remained tightly closed. But to any officer, especially to an officer who had the magic letters P.S.C. after his name, or any head of a civil department or any naval gentleman, who had won the slightest distinction and promotion in his profession, might be assured that if not the whole, at least part of his necessities were met.
The business grew to an extraordinary extent. One officer would introduce another. Mr. Rostenberg, the manager, would occasionally give little dinner parties, to which he would invite one of his more exalted clients, on the understanding that he would bring two or three friends.
I cannot say that the business was particularly prosperous from our point of view, but there were singularly few bad debts, and I do not suppose it cost the Fatherland more than £10,000 a year to secure an intimate financial history of every officer serving in the army, plus a pull over such of the bank’s clients as were in its debt. For men who borrow money are very grateful and a grateful man is talkative, especially if conversation is assisted by a little Veuve Clicquot and a chic dinner, and what is more natural than a man should talk about his brother officers and their financial positions?
The bank had the reputation--so valuable--that it never dunned its clients or brought an action against even the most backward and unfaithful amongst them, and such a reputation helped considerably when war broke out and Mr. Rostenberg was called upon by his directors to resign immediately owing to his German origin and his place was taken by Mr. Mathew Ritten, a neutral gentleman of great integrity.
As the English army increased so increased the business of the bank, for young officers are impecunious all the world over. I am not going to say what steps were taken to secure information. This, however, I am willing to confess, that much news came to me which, otherwise, I should not have heard, for Mr. Ritten gave little dinners and went to clubs and met many men who were glad to talk to one who was so enthusiastically an anti-German, and I, Heine, sitting in my little Fleet Street office would receive short notes in the code and would learn that the 10th Blankshires and the division to which the 10th Blankshires were attached were being withdrawn to General Reserve, and the 19th Wessex were training for attack behind the lines and being taught by means of models the topography of the country to the east of Lens.
For myself, I never went to the bank. If you had told me of its existence I should have expressed surprise and wonder. I saw the advertisements as everybody else saw them, but to me, Mr. Ritten was a name and nothing more. We Germans have the reputation of devoting too much attention to insignificant details, but let me tell you, my friends, that the might of Germany was built upon details, expanded on details, and came to its highest and most world-defying decision in August, 1914, upon the faith which we had in the detailed plan.
Though I despised the English Secret Service, though I could shrug my shoulders and snap my fingers at these amateurs, I was too much of a German to rush bull-headed into danger. Realizing that Mister, or Major, Haynes, was a man of duplicity and low cunning, I purposely avoided associating myself in the slightest degree with the Jermyn Credit Bank, though it was originally the idea of those who sent me to England, that I should appear in London in the capacity of manager of that bank.
Happily, I was too shrewd a fellow to agree to such stupidity. There is a certain bat-eyed ignorance about the officials who direct the Intelligence in Berlin, which is deplorable and incomprehensible. That they need new blood at Headquarters, is acknowledged all over the world. If they had had a man there with a knowledge of England and America, a man who himself had carried out difficult and dangerous tasks, and who, by reason of his long service in the department, was well entitled to greater promotion than that which was grudgingly given to him: if, in fact, they had such a man as I, many of the mistakes which disfigured the administration during the years of war would have been avoided.
They chose for me the most incompetent of helpers. They sent me all sorts of impossible assistants, with whom I would not associate my name and my proud record. They foisted upon me unskilful enthusiasts who were often sent to England without any notification coming to me, and these, in most cases, were detected and suffered at the hands of the law. Do not think that I have any axe to grind. I am only concerned with the welfare of the Fatherland, but there were moments when even I, faithful servant and obedient subordinate of higher authorities, “kicked myself against the pricks,” as the English say, at the absurd lack of comprehension and seriousness which was shown.
One afternoon I had returned from the country, where I had been superintending the erection of a temporary wireless plan, when my office-boy informed me that a man was waiting to see me. I found him sitting on the edge of the table, smoking the stump of a cigar. He was a tall man, rather broad, and by the fact that he was wearing his hat in my office, and that the room was filled with the rank smell of tobacco, I gathered that he was an American of the lowest class. He was dressed expensively but loudly. He wore a great bunch of seals which dangled from a broad silk ribbon, and had two diamond rings upon the little finger of his right hand. He nodded as I came in, but did not attempt either to take off his hat or to stand on his feet. For the moment I did not recognize him.
“May I ask to what I owe the honour of this visit?” I demanded politely.
“Cut all that out, Heine,” he said coarsely. “Why, don’t you recognize your old friend, Big Jim?”
“Don’t call me Heine,” I said hastily.
I recognized the man at once as one of the private detective staff of the Hamburg-American line. It had been my duty to keep an eye upon undesirable characters, and Big Jim Riley was as well known to New York as he was to London as a “con.” man. He used to work the boats of the Hamburg-American line in the days before the war, and for some time was one of a gang of crooks that spent their lives crossing and re-crossing the Atlantic.
Though we had many complaints about the man, he had too big a pull in New York for us to interfere with him. I had lived with Big Jim and his gang in that spirit of camaraderie and tolerance which typifies the attitude of a shrewd German detective to the criminal classes.
“Why, so it is,” I said heartily, “but you must not call me Heine, Jim.”
“Ain’t you a Dutchman?” he said.
“I never was a German!” I doubt whether he saw the subtle correction. “I am a Chilian and I am happy to say that I hate the Germans and all their work.”
Big Jim’s eyes opened wide.
“Well, now, if that don’t beat the band,” he said, “so that’s your name, is it?”
He pointed to the name that was painted on the glass panel of the door, and I nodded.
“Well,” he said, “I guess those people in New York have made some mistake. Pretzl told me I was to come along and report to you and that you might put some good work in my way. I don’t care what it is,” he said, swinging his legs and puffing away at his cigar, “anything short of a business that will send me to the Chair is good enough for me.”
“My dear Jim,” I said mildly. “I am afraid Herr Pretzl is under altogether a wrong impression.” How I cursed that interfering swine von Pretzl who had placed my life and freedom in the hands of a common confidence man! I have frequently warned von Papen that Pretzl was an old woman and a fool. How much was I justified!
“See here, Heine,” said Jim, speaking with great earnestness, “I want some kinder job. There ain’t any suckers left in the world--I guess they’re all gone to war. There’s nothing crossing the Atlantic now but Dago acrobats on their way to join up with the Alpinis, and they’re wrapped up so in life-savin’ suits that they couldn’t get at their wad even if they wanted to give it to you. Them and feeble-minded old men and women are all the passengers there are--and women as you know are meaner than hell when it comes to a show-down of real money. I’ve been across three times dodging submarines and mines and all I could raise was a game of auction bridge at ten cents a hundred. Now you know the ropes here. Put me wise to a few.”
I thought rapidly. He might be a useful man. Then again he might be a source of grave danger. A man of that character would not come to England without the British police force being informed and probably he was shadowed. In the circumstances I rejected any offer of personal help, but I gave him the address of two or three gambling clubs and promised to call on the ’phone a good friend of mine who was the proprietor of the largest. He cheered up when I told him this.
“If there is money to be made,” he said, “I am after it. Some of these young officers have got plenty of money, you say.”
“Some of them are worth millions,” I said solemnly.
He shook hands heartily and I was glad to see the back of him. I watched through the window his departure. There was a man standing on the other side of the road, apparently watching the traffic, but as soon as Jim made his appearance and turned westward the idler turned too. Of course he was watched. The imbecility of sending such a man to me with all the interests I represented!
I was in despair, but pulling myself together I put on my hat and going out into the street hailed a cab and was driven off to my club, where I told an amusing story to a few of the members who were loafing in the smoke-room about this confidence man who had come to me with a letter of introduction. I felt sure that somebody would repeat the story, and in this I was not mistaken.
I heard no more of Big Jim, though I saw him one night at dinner at the Ritz-Carlton, and from his prosperous appearance I gathered that he was not in any immediate want. My friend, to whom I had given him an introduction, told me that Jim had cleaned up a lot of money one night at the gaming club, that he was friendly with a number of officers, and that he had become persona grata at a certain Bohemian club, the members of which are mostly of the theatrical profession. I remembered, when this was told me, that Big Jim, before he began his nefarious career, had been an actor, if you can dignify with such a name one who travelled one-night stands with a third-rate burlesque company, and he was alternately comedian and baggage man.
What I expected, and what did not occur, was a visit from the police in regard to Big Jim. For this I was prepared, but apparently the story I told at the club must have been repeated in the proper quarters, as I intended it should be, and nobody questioned me as to my acquaintance with this undesirable American.
Whatever place Big Jim may have occupied in my mind was dispelled by a piece of news which came to me one morning whilst I was in my bath--it was Friday, that being the day I invariably bathe--which was of so remarkable a character, and its possibilities so far-reaching, that nothing else occupied my thoughts.
My servant knocked at the door and told me that there was an urgent message awaiting me from “Mr. Thompson.” Now “Mr. Thompson” was the telephone name for Mr. Ritten, and dressing myself hastily in my bath-wrap I hurried to the room I used as a study, knowing that Ritten would not call me at that unearthly hour unless something important was afoot or unless he had secured some information of an unusual character.
“It is I, Thompson,” said the voice, “can I see you? It is most important.”
“My dear Thompson,” I said testily, “you know very well that it is impossible that we should meet.”
“But I must see you,” he said, “it is a matter of the first importance. I cannot communicate over the telephone.”
“Come then at once,” I said, “bringing some documents which would excuse your presence.”
In ten minutes the bell of my flat rang, and Mr. Ritten was ushered in. He was a suave, gentlemanly man, who was, I believe, well born in his own country. With a preliminary apology for troubling me, which I coldly dismissed, he laid before me the object of his visit.
“I have had a request for a loan of £20,000 for seven days,” he said.
“Twenty thousand pounds!” I was surprised at the largeness of the sum. “That is an enormous amount. Who asks for it?”
“General Sir Stanley Magward!”
I whistled.
“Sir Stanley Magward!”
This was indeed a remarkable request. This general, as everybody knows, commands one of the English armies. He is a famous strategist, and marked for further promotion.
“Here is the letter. It arrived this morning,” said Ritten, and passed me across a sheet of note-paper, which bore at the top the inscription:
“Headquarters of the 9th Army.”
The letter was brief and peremptory:
“Dear Sirs,
“I am in need of £20,000 to pay off a mortgage which falls due on my Somerset property this week. My brother-in-law, Mr. Hiram S. Carter, the well-known railroad magnate of America, is on the ocean homeward-bound, and I cannot, therefore, get in touch with him. Upon his arrival the debt will be liquidated. I agree to pay a sum equivalent to 10 per cent. per annum for the accommodation. I apply to you because I have no desire to let my banker into the secret of my embarrassment. I shall be in London the day after to-morrow, on short leave. A note delivered to the Senior Army Club will find me.”
“Well?” said Ritten, when I pushed the letter back to him.
“By all means let him have the money,” I said.
“You authorize it?”
“Certainly,” I replied.
“I have made inquiries,” said Ritten, “his brother-in-law is on the homeward trip, but the date of his arrival is rather uncertain. The mortgaged property is Penton Close, and the mortgagees are the London and Manchester Bank.”
I nodded.
“That explains why he does not wish to bother his bankers,” I said. “Send a note to the Senior Army Club and have the money ready for the General--this may mean a lot to us. It is the kind of connection that would be very useful.”
Well might I feel elated. That an army commander should place himself in the hands of money-lenders, and such money-lenders, was distinctly a feather in my cap. It would not be well for my Lord Magward that the mighty War Office should know one of their trusted generals was borrowing money. On the other hand, it might be well for the Jermyn Credit Bank, if any question rose as to its bonâ-fides, that it had amongst its clients so august a personage. Whichever way I looked it was all to the good.
The letter was despatched, and on the Monday Mr. Ritten called me up on the ’phone to say that the general was in his private office, and had signed the necessary documents and was waiting whilst the cheque was being cashed.
“Come round and meet him,” suggested Ritten.
“Am I a fool?” I replied sarcastically.
“He is very interesting,” said Ritten. “I have much to tell you when I have the time. He has invited me to go to France to his headquarters, and to bring any friends I wish.”
I could have hugged myself with delight.
“Accept the invitation,” I said quickly, “also discover where the headquarters of the 9th Army are. Find out why he is on leave for such a short time, and whether his army had many casualties in the last offensive.”
Ritten acknowledged my instructions and hung up the receiver, and I sat down at my desk to formulate a plan for the forthcoming visit which I intended to pay to an important headquarters of the British army in the field.
I suppose I must have been working away for two hours when I heard a commotion in the outer office, the door was flung violently open and a tall, broad officer dashed in, slamming the door behind him. He was breathless and could not speak. He was perhaps no more breathless than I, for he wore the cross-batons and stars of a superior general, and across his broad chest were three rows of medals, ribbons and decorations.
He tore off his gold-laced hat and wiped his brow.
“Pardon me, general,” I began.
“Shut up, Heine,” he gasped. “Forget that general stuff, and help me out of this.”
It was my turn to gasp.
“Jim,” I said, “what is the meaning of it?”
He sank down into a chair.
“I have got away with £20,000 from a bank,” he said rapidly. “Gee, it was easy money, Heine. A bit of note-paper that I borrowed from a kid on leave from one of these army headquarters, a suit of clothes, and it was like taking money from a child. But they’re after me; one of those damned English officers spotted me and asked me in the street who I was. I just had time to jump into a cab and bolt.”
The dreadful truth was slowly dawning upon me.
“Twenty thousand pounds,” I said, “you have got £20,000 from a bank--from the Jermyn Credit Bank, Jim?”
“Sure thing,” he said, “do you know them?”
I passed my trembling hand across my brow.
“Leave the money here in my desk, Jim,” I said. “I will take care of it, then, when the coast is clear, you can come back for it.”
“Give nothing,” he said brutally.
He walked across the room and took a cautious glance from the window.
“I am going,” he said, “they didn’t pick me up.”
“Don’t go with that money,” I cried in alarm, “it will be bad if they catch you with the goods. Be a good boy and leave it here,” but before I could finish he had thrown open the door.
“Hell!” said Jim, as Major Haynes walked in.
“Friend of yours, Heine?” said Major Haynes; “dear me, what excellent company you are keeping. I hardly know who to expect next. I shan’t be surprised to find the Minister of War here one of these fine days. How do you do, general?”
“Quit kidding!” growled Jim.
“What horrible language for the commander of the 9th Army,” said Major Haynes, and then--“I suppose you know it is an offence to wear a uniform to which you are not entitled?”
It was now my turn to speak.
“This man,” I broke in, “is a thief. He has robbed a certain bank of a large sum of money.”
“As to that I know nothing,” said Major Haynes, “all that I am concerned with is the fact that your friend is wearing a uniform to which he is not entitled.”
“He is a robber,” I cried excitedly, “he has obtained by trickery and fraud a great amount of money.”
“From the Jermyn Credit Bank?” asked Major Haynes in a tone of interest, “the officers’ friend, the help-one-another association? How perfectly shocking!”
He beckoned with his finger and Jim and he left the room. I saw them drive away in a cab together, and sat in an agony of apprehension, not only that day but for the rest of the week.
Then, one afternoon, Major Haynes strolled into my office.
“Your friend, the general, has sailed,” he said, “and you will be pleased to learn that I took from him everything to which he was not entitled.”
“The money?” I said eagerly.
“The uniform,” said Major Haynes; “I think he was entitled to the money, don’t you? As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I will ease your mind about the money. That also was taken from him, and is now with the rest of the bank’s credits--in the hands of a British official.”
I turned sick and faint.
“You are thinking of your friend von Ritten,” smiled Haynes. “He also is in the hands of a British official!”
