Evening Star Newspaper, March 2, 1930, Page 87

P THE SUNDAY STAR, \\Z\Slll.\'(;'l‘OTA\I, ”T). C",M‘/\},\‘(.“,Z' 1930. * “Our Secret Like a flash the visitor’s hand pocket. move,” he went 1o “Let his coat one commanded. 0dd way for a Swiss agent to act in a French con- sulate. In the meantime, one French spy after an- other had stood before a German firing squad. When A erim Entered the World War Its Spy System Was a Joke, but It Did Not Take the Yankees Long to Catch On—In This Story Is Told How the Master Spy of Germany, Who Qutwitted the Sharpest Minds of the Allies, Was Trapped in America’s Closely-Woven Net. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first of a series of true stories, by Thomas M. John- somn, famous war correspondent. Never told before, authenticated by records, full of mystery and action, they present an un- usually fascinating picture of our port in the World War. 66 T is a terrible affair,” said the chief of the FPrench secret service in Switzerland. He spoke almost in a whisper. His working face showed strong emotion. «“What a blow they have dealt us, those Ger- mans!” he exclaimed. “Fooled us about their great offensive that almost crushed first the British army, then ours. Tricked our secret service like schoolboys. Caught there in Ger- many 21 of our good men, whom we depended on, and pouf—snuffed them out. A firing squad at dawn. Then, in those men’s names, they sent us forged false reports. We never knew, until too late.” Eyes flashing, he struck the table a blow that made the glasses ring. “One man did that!” he cried. “One man, though the master of many. Ah, what a mas- ter, of things dark and sinister! He is a veritable Mephistopheles!” Cautiously the Frenchman looked about the obscure cafe, then leaned forward and lowered his voice again. “And now,” he whispered, “that man, that devil, that master spy—he is here!” The American officer in civilian clothes started, and looked about, too. He was not yet inured to all the game’s abrupt transitions from dull monotony to sudden transfixing flashes of melodrama that proved stark truth. He smiled apologetically. “You mean somewhere in Switzerland, of course,” he said. “Right here in Bern,” the French chief replied. “Perhaps we pass him on the street and do not know him. Perhaps,” waving his hand toward a nondescript group just out of earshot—-“perhaps he sits at that table and watches us. Who knows? He has two, three, four, one cannot know how many identities.” Then with a shrug: s “Eh, bien, this Mephistopheles is human, for he leaves trails, and he has not caught all the hounds of our Deuxieme Bureau. The trail ends in Bern. He is here, contriving who knows what new evil to the allied cause. It is for us, all of us, to snuff him out in his turn. That is why I asked you to meet me here—to beseech the help of the American service.” The American thrilled at the idea. “You flatter us,” he said, “asking us to help catch the famous Master. We've heard of him, even if we are new at this ‘secret stuff.” The Germans can’t have all the crew of attaches and agents and spies they have in Switzerland without there being some leaks.” He grinned. “And do you know,” he said, “the old American dollar is a regular divining rod when it comes to finding those leaks.” The Frenchman was beginning to smile, too. “Yes,” he said playfully, “I hope so. Last week our man in the office of Capt. von Bis- marck (a schemer, that one, like his famous ancestor) said he was roaring with laughter over some false information they had sold the stupid Yankees.” The American's smile turned to a flush. “Oh, he was, was he?” he said dryly. “Well, mh:;be he’ll be surprised—he and the rest of t! e NOW, that prediction came true. The Americans did catch the master spy. How, is one of the most thrilling true tales of our secret service in the World War—a tale that has never been told until now. This is not fiction. The Master lived and moved in his mysterious ways for the cause of the Gierman Empire. Perhaps he still lives, so in this narrative he must be unnamed, al- though his name (an appropriate one) is known, and more, too—that remains also un- written. He was one of the most formidable figures of that half-world where men and women of strange identity, or none, with mo- tives the highest or the basest, flitted and dodged unstoried and unsung, in the sinister war of the spy and his enemy, the counter-spy. Surrounded by Germany, Austria, Italy and France, ‘great powers. in death struggle, little Switzerland had as much chance of escaping unsmirched as has a child in a white dress making Mud pies. Switzerland was on the line of march of the secret war, a natural base for all sorts of shady operations directed by Germany and Austria. an .the one hand, by Italy and France on the other. Nor were they the only players in the masked game. To this crossroads of Europe all the nations of the world sent mem- bers of their intelligence services. Here were suave and smiling diplomats in their element, army officers trying to hide professional stiff- ness in civilian clothes, ready to buy the in- formation peddled by “traveling salesmen” whose chief stock in trade it was, after trips into one or another of the surrounding coun- tries, or by railroad employes or customs guards or hotel servants. Sples and spying everywhere. Normal, peaceful citizens scarcely knew where to turn. Nominally, the Swiss secret police watched every one impartially, especially the military attaches of all the powers, allied or Teutonic, to prevent violations of Swiss neutrality. ARLY in 1918, long before the Frenchman and the American met in the Berne cafe, all the intelligence services had but one thought, the great German Spring offensive. The Germans sought to conceal their plans, to mislead the allies, who strove by every means to find out when, where and how the blow would fall. Fierce and unscrupulous waged the secret war. Switzerland’s half-world hummed with the allied spy drive to get into Germany and secure the precious information. By land black closed cars sought hidden by- roads near the frontier. By water motor boats slipped across Lake Constance to get strong swimmers within reach of the German shore, before patrol boats brought a pistol fight and sudden death in the dark. In the air hum of motors was heard at night and brave men dropped by parachutes tried the hard task of deceiving grim German spy hunters, who, too, lived with wits astrain, to repel the stealthy invasion. All the allies worked together, the splendid British secret * service, the Italians, War” = B THOMAS- M. Y JoHNSON. Famous War Correspondent. ) adept at stealth, the enthusiastic if ameSwer Americans, and most numerous of all, the French. From a score of points in Switzer« land they tried to get their trained men through the Swiss and German net. At a French vice consulate in a certain smaller Swiss city, perhaps the regular busi- ness that the office did with its right hand concealed and aided what it did with its left, The French were not the only ones thus am- bidextrous. Any way, there were rumors in the half-world. There came one day to this modest and retiring vice consulate a caller who put his food in the door, then showed a badge that the staff recognized all too well. “Swiss secret police,” they whispered. To resist meant at least arrest and deportems tion from Switzerland; to yield might mean a thorough search, producing evidence thal would cause far more serious international complications. With quick, nervous strides the unwelcome visitor gained the center of iheg room, a wiry figure of middle height, domi« nating all. His face, that of a man of abou# 38, bespoke determination, magnetism, eyven dominance; a forehead broad, imposing, over blgck eyes flashing keenly behind glasses; nose straight as an emperor’s; mouth masked by & dark brown mustache. “Let no one leave,” he said in excellent French. “I am, as you see, an officer of the Swiss government. I have come to look for suspected violation of Swiss neutrality.” Then dramatically he thrust forward a pointing hand. “Let me see the contents of that safe!” ha said. “But, Monsieur,” an official remonstratedy “this is a French vice consulate. I assure you, there is nothing wrong here—and we haveg never been asked to open our safe.” . “Nevertheless,” said the visitor, “I demand that you do so.” 4 "THE Prenchman shrugged his shoulders.” The really dangerous things, he leped, were nob in the safe. He stood by while the man with the badge eagerly transferred papers and Continued on Seventeenth Pgae