Graham Greene (31 page)

The story of the conveyance of the book to Germany, which Hall left amongst his papers, reads like sensational fiction:

‘But it was more difficult to convey it into the hands of the enemy in such a way that no suspicion of “planting” would enter their heads. Luckily there was one channel with distinct possibilities. For some little time we had been receiving reports from Holland about a particular hotel in Rotterdam. I need not mention its name, but it was one very frequently used by English people, and by consequence German agents were paying it unusual attention. The hall-porter, we knew, was in German pay, and it had been noticed that if anybody arrived at the hotel from England who seemed in any way “official”, a blonde lady would almost inevitably take a room there the next day. We knew, too, not a little about the lady—she was married to a Belgian and was afterwards shot by the French—and we had some respect for her abilities. It was just possible that those abilities could be used to our own advantage.

‘There remained the choice of a suitable “victim”, and here our good luck held. Mr G. L., now a distinguished figure in the City, was exactly the right man for the job. At that time he was Private Secretary to a Member of Parliament, but for years he had been in the Foreign Office and was therefore well acquainted with all the official ropes. He could carry a dispatch-case in just the right way. He could assume that manner which, rightly or wrongly, is considered by foreigners to be peculiar to the British diplomatic service. Also he was not without the taste for unusual adventure. I asked him if he would care to take on the job and he joyfully accepted the invitation.

‘And so it happened that on the afternoon of Saturday, May 22nd, the day when Lord Fisher first absented himself from the Admiralty, there arrived in Rotterdam a British official, armed with a special passport and carrying “important” papers for the Consulate in an obviously official dispatch-case which also contained a copy of the “new Naval cipher-book”. He had deliberately chosen to arrive that particular afternoon, for the Consulate would be closed at any rate until Monday morning and possibly even until Tuesday, for Whit Monday would be intervening, and a British holiday is (or should be) a British holiday wherever you happen to be. There would therefore be nothing for him to do but “hang about” for at least a day and a half, and that was exactly what he desired to do.

‘He engaged his room at the hotel, and strolled out into the garden. A well-built hotel, he saw: and the third window from the left on the second floor must surely belong to the room they had given him. The quay, too, was quite close: he might as well have a look at it. And the quay proved interesting, in particular a little piece of it which was crowded with barrels. There was nothing unusual about the barrels themselves, but he walked about amongst them until he had discovered a position from
which, while completely hidden himself, he could keep in view the third window from the left on the second floor of his hotel. After which discovery he returned to his room and very carelessly unlocked his dispatch-case before “hiding” it beneath a suit of clothes.

‘Nothing unusual happened that evening, but on the Sunday afternoon a lady arrived and asked for a room. She was a blonde lady who seemed to be by herself. She took no notice of the Englishman who was quietly reading in the foyer, and he did not seem to be particularly interested in her. After dinner, too, he continued to read, and the hall-porter taking pity on a foreigner without friends good-humouredly entered into conversation with him. It must be very dull, he was afraid, for the visitor.

‘The visitor agreed, but—what was a man to do on a Sunday?

‘The hall-porter smiled, and edged nearer. Perhaps the gentleman would like a little fun?

‘The gentleman thought that he would. Unfortunately, he said, he was a stranger to Rotterdam.

‘The hall-porter became confidential. There was an exceedingly amusing place to go to in the town. Any gentleman from the hotel would be cordially welcomed. If he cared to be given the address and instructions how to get there …

‘Five minutes later a very grateful gentleman was hurrying from the hotel. He was so eager, it seemed, for the promised entertainment that he forgot to lock up his dispatch-case. Yet in spite of the careful instructions he never discovered that “amusing place”. Once out of sight of the hotel, indeed, he doubled down a side turning, came out on to the quay and hid himself amongst the barrels—with the prospect of a very long wait.

‘(Incidentally, it is interesting to note that although the Germans went to some little pains to get L. out of the hotel for some hours, they made no attempt to discover whether he had
actually gone downtown. But often enough we would find a blind spot of this kind in their Intelligence work.)

‘The blonde lady and her friends wasted little time. Less than half an hour after he had left the hotel, the watcher among the barrels saw the lights switched on in his room. Shadows moved across the blind. Good: they were paying him a visit, and it ought not to take them very long to find the cipher-book. Ah! they must have found it. The light was out. An excellent piece of work. An enemy cipher-book well and truly stolen, almost under its guardian's nose!

‘But—what would they do with it? There were some agents who, no doubt, would be content to get away with the spoil; but would the blonde lady be so dreadfully clumsy? No, surely she would favour a subtler plan. She would calculate that the “amusing place” would keep the silly Englishman entertained for at least three hours—more than sufficient time in which to photograph the book page by page and restore it to its hiding-place beneath the clothes. And in that case he would have to remain where he was until the lights in his room had been switched on, and off, again.

‘So he waited, and at about 1 a.m. his patience was rewarded. The lights went on for a minute or two. Splendid! The cipher-book had been restored. In a little while it would be safe to return.

‘And at half-past one a very “drunken” Englishman reeled into the hotel. He tried to explain to the hall-porter what a good time he had had, but found some difficulty with his words. He also found some difficulty in walking upstairs. The kindly porter put him to bed, and everybody was satisfied.

‘I have only to add that about a year later G.L. was sent over to Rotterdam again. The time had come, we judged, when an appendix to the Secret Emergency War Code was about due. This time, however, it was felt that we ought not to give away
our most secret ciphers for nothing, and after a little bargaining we were able to sell this appendix to the Germans for £500, which seemed to me to be a fairly good price.'

G.L. is now Sir Guy Locock, who after twelve years at the Foreign Office served on many Government Committees. He was Industrial Adviser in connection with the World Economic Conference, 1933; Member of the Ministry of Supply Mission to India, 1940–1; Director of the Federation of British Industries, 1932–45, and Vice-President, 1946.

ADMIRAL SIR WILLIAM JAMES

cene.
Private sitting-room of the Wave Crest Hotel, on the South Coast. September, 1914. It is about 4.30 in the afternoon. The curtain rises on an empty stage.
MRS SANDERSON
enters and is about to ring the bell, when
FRÄULEIN SCHROEDER,
returned from a walk, appears upon the verandah. She peers through the window to ascertain if the room is occupied, and, having satisfied herself that
MRS SANDERSON
is alone, taps upon the panes.

MRS SANDERSON
opens the windows to admit her.

Mrs Sanderson:
Back already, Luise? You've been very quick.

Fräulein
(
moving down to the table and sitting
R.
of it
): I have been fortunate. The cliffs were deserted. Everybody was at tea. No one to interrupt. But one half-hour, and my drawings were complete.

Mrs Sanderson
(
as she closes the windows and comes down
R.
of Fräulein
): The harbour defences?

Fräulein:
Every detail.

Mrs Sanderson:
I congratulate you.

Fräulein: Dank dir, meine Kamaradin.

Mrs Sanderson:
Sh! We must still be careful.

(
FRÄULEIN SCHROEDER
shrugs her shoulders
.)

Fräulein:
The English have no ears. How, then, should their walls have them? … Where is everybody?

Mrs Sanderson:
Need you enquire?

Fräulein
(
amused and contemptuous
): At their tea?

Mrs Sanderson:
At their tea. Had you brought news that our Admiral had landed upon their shores, they would still ask for a second cup before inquiring the place of his landing! … They are a strange people—these enemies of ours!

Fräulein
(
with fanatical vehemence
): They are fools and the sons of fools! They dwell in a fool's paradise, and bitter shall be their awakening, for it is into our hands that the Lord has delivered them.

Brent
(
mysteriously
): Ah! That's where “Uzz” comes in!

Miriam
(
mystified
): Uzz?

Brent:
Yes; don't you remember: “Uzz awaits signal”—what that chap said on the wireless this morning?—Well, I've discovered who “Uzz” is.

Miriam:
You have?

Brent:
Or rather what it is.

Miriam:
It?

Brent:
Yes, he's an it!

Miriam:
Oh, do explain!

(
BRENT
rises, and sits beside her on the Chesterfield.
)

Brent:
Well, it's taken me the dickens of a time to worry it out,
and it's the simplest thing in the world. In nearly all codes, as we both ought to have remembered, the same sign stands both for letters and for numbers. For instance, A might be one, B two, C three, and so on. Sometimes they work it in a similar way from the opposite end of the alphabet, and in this case I think Z stands for one.

Miriam:
Whatever have you got there? A box of cigarettes?

Brent:
Looks like it, doesn't it?

Miriam:
Then it isn't?

Brent:
No, not exactly.

(
He opens the lid of the box. It would appear to contain only cigarettes. In point of fact a number of dummy cigarettes have been glued to a stout piece of cardboard, which is secured to the box by hinges, and forms a second and inner lid. Having displayed the cigarettes to
MIRIAM,
and to the audience,
BRENT
lifts this lid and discloses a coil of wire to either end of which is attached a disc rather after the style of the receivers employed by telephone operators.
)

(
MIRIAM
peers into the box.
)

Miriam:
It isn't dangerous, is it?

Brent
(
laughing
): Not to you! As a matter of fact, it's rather a cute little dodge—generally known as “The Eavesdropper's Friend”!

(
He gives the box to
MIRIAM,
and walks upstage
R.,
uncoiling the wires from it as he goes.
)

It'll detect sounds entirely indistinguishable by the naked ear, and convey them quite clearly for a mile or more. Oh, it's a useful little feller!

(
Whilst he has been talking he has been busily engaged in concealing
one end of the apparatus amongst the foliage of a palm near by the window. With
MIRIAM'
s assistance he slips the remainder of the coil through the space between the window-doors and the floor. Then he goes out by the window for a moment, conceals the receiver on the verandah, and returns.
)

There! “Little boys should be seen and not heard.” Well, if necessary, this little boy's going to hear and not be seen! Comes to the same thing, doesn't it?

(
He closes the window.
MIRIAM
laughs and moves
C.
above the table.
)

Miriam:
Oh, Kit, you're a wonderful person! Every time I see you you've got some new trick.

LECHMERE WORRALL
AND J. E. HAROLD TERRY

t a rather late hour that night the Confidential Secretary put the minutes of the meeting together with the map-tracing and notes into a lock-up portfolio and took a hansom from Arlington Street to Downing Street with the object of putting the contents of the portfolio in safety among the other State papers in the keeping of the Foreign Office.