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The Secrets of the German War Office

D >> Dr. Armgaard Karl Graves >> The Secrets of the German War Office



This eBook was produced by Gordon Keener.



The Secrets of the German War Office
Dr. Armgaard Karl Graves
with the collabaration of
Edward Lyell Fox


FOREWORD

In view of the general war into which Europe has been precipitated
just at the moment of going to press, it is of particular interest to
note that the completed manuscript of this book has been in the hands
of the publishers since June 1st. Further comment on Dr. Graves'
qualifications to speak authoritatively is unnecessary; the chapters
that follow are a striking commentary on his sources of information.

The Publishers
August 7, 1914.


Chapter I. How I Became a Secret Agent

_"O Jerum, jerum, jerum, quâ motatio rerum."_

Half past three was heard booming from some clock tower on the twelfth
day of June, 1913, when Mr. King, the Liberal representative from
Somerset, was given the floor in the House of Commons. Mr. King
proceeded to make a sensation.

He demanded that McKinnon Wood, the House Secretary for Scotland,
reveal to the House the secrets of the strange case of Armgaard Karl
Graves, German spy.

A brief word of explanation may be necessary. Supposed to be serving
a political sentence in a Scotch prison, I had amazed the English
press and people by publicly announcing my presence in New York City.

Mr. King asked if I was still undergoing imprisonment for espionage;
if not, when and why I was released and whether I had been or would be
deported at the end of my term of imprisonment as an undesirable
alien.

Permit me to quote verbatim from the Edinburgh _Scotsman_ of June 12,
1913:

The Secretary for Scotland replied--Graves was released in December
last. It would not be in accordance with precedent to state reasons
for the exercise of the prerogative. I have no official knowledge of
his nationality. The sentence did not include any recommendation in
favor of deportation.

Mr. King--Was he released because of the state of his health?

The Secretary for Scotland--I believe he was in bad health, but I
cannot give any other answer.

Mr. King--Were any conditions imposed at the time of his release?

The Secretary for Scotland--I think I have dealt with that in my
answer. (Cries of "No.")

Mr. King--Can the right hon. gentleman be a little more explicit?
(Laughter.) We are anxious to have the truth. Unless the right
hon. gentleman can give me an explicit answer as to whether any
conditions were imposed I will put down the question again.
(Laughter.)

The Speaker intervened at this stage, and the subject dropped.

Heckling began at this point; word was quickly sent to the Speaker,
and he intervened, ruling the subject closed.

Now consider the Secretary for Scotland's statement. "It would not be
in accordance with precedent to state reasons for the exercise of
prerogative." In other words, high officials in Enghand had found it
advisable secretly to release me from Barlinney Prison by using the
royal prerogative. Why? Later you will know.

Also, consider the Secretary for Scotland's statement that he had no
official knowledge as to my _nationality_--significant that, as you
will realize.

There are three things which do not concern the reader: My origin,
nationality and morals. There are three persons alive who know who I
am. One of the three is the greatest ruler in the world. None of the
three, for reasons of his own, is likely to reveal my identity.

I detest sensationalism and wish it clearly understood that this is no
studied attempt to create mystery. There is a certain dead line which
no one can cross with impunity and none but a fool would attempt to.
Powerful governments have found it advisable to keep silence regarding
my antecedents. A case in point occurred when McKinnon Wood,
Secretary for Scotland, refused in the House of Commons to give any
information whatsoever about me, this after pressure had been brought
to bear on him by three mernbers of Parliament. Either the Home
Secretary knew nothing about my antecedents, or his trained discretion
counseled silence.

I was brought up in the traditions of a house actively engaged in the
affairs of its country, for hundreds of years. As an only son, I was
promptly and efficiently spoiled for anything else but the station in
life which should have been mine--but never has been and, now, never
can be. I used to have high aspirations, but promises never kept
shattered most of my ideals. The hard knocks of life have made me a
fatalist, so now I shrug my shoulders. _"Che sara sara."_ I have had
to lead my own life and, all considered, I have enjoyed it. I have
crowded into thirty-nine years more sensations than fall to the lot of
the average half a dozen men.

Following the custom of our house, I was trained as a military cadet.
This military apprenticeship was followed by three years at a famous
_gymnasium_, which fitted me for one of the old classic universities
of Europe. And after spending six semesters there, I took my degrees
in philosophy and medicine. Not a bad achievement, I take it, for a
young chap before reaching his twenty-second birthday. I have always
been fond of study and had a special aptitude for sciences and the
languages. On one occasion I acquired a fair knowledge of Singalese
and Tamul in three months.

From the university I returned home. I had always been obstinate and
willful, not to say pigheaded, and being steeped in tales of wrongs
done to my house and country, and with the crass assurance of a young
sprig fresh from untrammeled university life, I began to give vent to
utterances that were not at all to the liking of the powers that were.
Soon making myself objectionable, paying no heed to their protests,
and one thing leading to another, my family found it advisable to send
me into utter and complete oblivion. To them I am dead, and all said
and done, I would rather have it so.

After the complete rupture of my home ties, I began some desultory
globe trotting. I knocked about in out-of-the-way corners, where I
observed and absorbed all sorts of things which became very useful in
my subsequent career. A native, and by that I mean an inhabitant, of
non-European countries always fascinated me, and I soon learned the
way of disarming their suspicion and winning their confidence--a
proceeding very difficult to a European. After a time I found myself
in Australia and New Zealand, where I traveled extensively, and came
to like both countries thoroughly. I have never been in the western
part of the United States, but from what I have heard and read I
imagine that the life there more closely resembles the clean, healthy,
outdoor life of the Australians than any other locality.

I was just on the point of beginning extensive travels in the South
Sea Islands, when the situation in South Africa became ominous. War
seemed imminent, and following my usual bent of sticking my nose in
where I was not wanted I made tracks for this potential seat of
trouble. I caught the first steamer for Cape Town landing there a
month before the outbreak of war. On horseback I made my way in easy
stages up to the Rand. Here happened one of those incidents, which,
although small in itself, alters the course of one's life. What took
place when I rode into a small town on the Rand known as Doorn Kloof
one chilly misty morning, was written in the bowl of fate.

Doorn Kloof is well named; it means "the hoof of the Devil." A
straggling collection of corrugated iron shanties set in the middle of
a grayish sandy plain as barren of vegetation as the shores of the
Dead Sea, sweltering hot an hour after sunrise, chilly cold an hour
after sunset, populated by about four hundred Boers of the old
narrow-minded ultra Dutch type with as much imagination as a
grasshopper--that is Doorn Kloof.

When I rode into the village I was in a decidedly bad temper. Hungry,
wet to the skin, the dismal aspect of the place, the absence of
anything resembling a hotel, the incivility of the inhabitants, all
contributed to shorten my, by no means long, temper. I was ripe for a
row. As I rode down the solitary street I found a big burly _Dopper_
flogging brutally a half-grown native boy. This humanitarian had the
usual Boer view that the sambrock is more effective than the Bible as
a civilizing medium. After convincing him of the technical error of
his method, I attended to the black boy, whose back was as raw as a
beefsteak. Kim completely adopted me and he is with me still. I
christened him Kim, after Kipling's hero, for his Basuto name is
unpronounceable. He has repaid me often for what he considers the
saving or his life. Not many months later Kim was the unconscious
cause of a radical change in my destiny. I have ceased to wonder at
such things.

By the time Kim had learned sorne of the duties of a body servant we
had reached Port Natal. War had broken out and I volunteered with a
Natal field force in a medical capacity. Field hospital work took me
where the fighting was thickest. During the battle of the Modder
River among the first of the wounded brought in was one of the many
foreign officers fighting on the Boer side. It was Kim who found him.
This officer's wound was fairly serious and necessitated close
attention. Through chance remarks dropped here and there, the officer
placed my identity correctly. It developed that he was Major Freiherr
von Reitzenstein, one of the few who knew the real reasons of my
exile.

In one of our innumerable chats that grew out of our growing intimacy,
he suggested my entering the service of Germany in a political
capacity. He urged that with my training and social connections I had
exceptional equipment for such work. Moreover, he suggested that my
service on political missions would give me the knowledge and
influence necessary to checkmate the intriguers who were keeping me
from my own. This was the compelling reason that made me ultimately
accept his proposal to become a Secret Agent of Germany. No doubt, if
the Count had lived, I would have gained my ends through his guidance
and influence, but he was killed in a riding race, three years after
our meeting in the Veldt, and I lost my best friend. By that time I
was too deep in the Secret Service to pull out, although it was my
intention more than once to do so. And certain promises regarding my
restoration in our house were never kept.

Coming to a partial understanding with Count Reitzenstein, I began to
work in his interests. The Boer War taught Germany many things about
the English army and a few of these I contributed. As a physician I
was allowed to go most anywhere and no questions asked. I began to
collect little inside scraps of information regarding the discipline,
spirit and equipment of the British troops. I observed that many
Colonial officers were outspoken in their criticisms. All these
points I reported in full to Count Reitzenstein when I dressed his
wound. One day he said:

"Don't forget now. After the war, I want to see you in Berlin."

In my subsequent eagerness to pump more details from the Colonial
officers, I too criticised, and one day I was told Lord Kitchener
wanted to see me.

"Doctor," he said curtly, when I was ushered into his tent, "you have
twenty-four hours in which to leave camp--"

Whether that mandate was a result of my joining in with the Colonial
officers' criticism, or because my secret activity for Count
Reitzenstein had been suspected, I cannot say. But knowing the ways
of the "man of Khartoum," I made haste to be out of camp within the
time prescribed.

Later I learned that the Count, being convalescent and paroled, was
sent down to Cape Town. After the occupation of Pretoria, I got tired
of roughing it and made my way back to Europe, finally locating in
Berlin for a prolonged stay. I knew Berlin, and had a fondness for
it, having spent part of my youth there in the course of my education.
It has always been a habit of mine not to seem anxious about anything,
so I spent several weeks idling around Berlin before looking up Count
Reitzenstein. One day I called at his residence, Thiergartenstrasse
23. I found the Count on the point of leaving for the races at
Hoppegarten. He was one of the crack sportsmen of Prussia and never
missed a meeting. He suggested that I go to the track with him, and
while we waited for the servant to bring around his turn-out, he
renewed his proposals about my entering Prussian service.

"I expected you long ago," he said. "I have smoothed your way to a
great extent. We are likely to meet one or two of the Service Chiefs
out at the track, this afternoon. If you like, I'll introduce you to
them."

"Is there any likelihood of my being recognized?" I asked. "You know,
Count, it will be impossible for me to go under my true flag."

He assured me there was not the slightest chance.

"Your identity," he explained, "need be known to but one person."

Later I w as to know who this important personage was.

" Very well," I agreed; "we'll try it."

The Count always drove his own turn-out, and invited me to climb up on
the box. When his attention was not occupied with his reins and
returning the salutes of passers-by, for he was one of the most
popular men in Berlin, we discussed my private affairs. The Count
showed a keen interest and sympathy in them and his proposal began to
take favorable shape in my mind. As he predicted, we met some of the
Service Chiefs at the track. Indeed, almost the first persons who
saluted him in the saddle paddock were Captain Zur See von Tappken and
a gentleman who was introduced to me as Herr von Riechter. The Count
introduced me as Dr. von Graver, which I subsequently altered whenever
the occasion arose to the English Graves. After chatting a bit,
Captain von Tappken made an appointment with me at his bureau in the
Koenigergratzerstrasse 70, the headquarters of the Intelligence
Department of the Imperial Navy in Berlin, but macle no further
reference to the subject that afternoon. I noticed though that Herr
von Riechter put some pointed and leading questions to me, regarding
my travels, linguistic attainments, and general knowledge. He must
have been satisfied, for I saw some significant glances pass between
him and the Captain. The repeated exclamations of "Grossartig!" and
"Colossal!" seemed to express his entire satisfaction.

Following my usual bent, I did not call at Koenigergratzerstrasse 70
as the Captain suggested. About three days passed and then I received
a very courteously worded letter requesting me to call at my earliest
convenience at his quarters as he had something of importance to tell
me. I called.

Koenigergratzerstrasse 70 is a typical Prussian building of
administration. Solid but unpretentious, it is the very embodiment of
Prussian efficiency, and like all official buildings in Germany is
well guarded. The doorkeeper and commissaire, a taciturn
non-commissioned officer, takes your name and whom you wish to see.
He enters these later in a book, then telephones to the person
required and you are either ushered up or denied admittance. When
sent up, you are invariably accompanied by an orderly--it does not
matter how well you are known--who does not leave you until the door
has closed behind you. When you leave, there is the same procedure
and the very duration of your visit is entered and checked in the
doorkeeper's book.

I was admitted immediately. After passing through three anterooms
containing private secretaries not in uniform, I was shown into
Captain von Tappken's private office. He wore the undress ranking
uniform of the Imperial Navy. This is significant, for it is
characteristic of all the branches of the Prussian Service to find
officers in charge. The secretaries and men of all work, however, are
civilians; this for a reason. The heads of all departments are German
officers, recruited from the old feudal aristocracy, loyal to a degree
to the throne. They find it incompatible, notwithstanding their
loyalty, to soil their hands with some of the work connected with all
government duties, especially those of the Secret Service. Though
planning the work, they never execute it. To be sure, there are
ex-officers connected with the Secret Service, men like von Zenden,
formerly an officer of the Zweiter Garde Dragoner, but with some few
exceptions they are usually men who have gone to smash. No active or
commissioned officer does Secret Service work.

Von Tappken greeted me very tactfully. This is another typical asset
of a Prussian Service officer, especially a naval man, and is quite
contrary to the usual characteristics of English officials, whose
brusqueness is too well and unpleasantly known.

After offering me a chair and cigars, Captain von Tappken began
chatting.

"Well, Doctor," he said, "have you made up your mind to enter our
Service? For a man fond of traveling and adventure, I promise you
will find it tremendously interesting. I have carefully considered
your equipment and experience and find that they will be of mutual
benefit."

I asked him to explain what would be required of me, but he replied:

"Before my entering upon that, are you adverse to telling me if you
have made up your mind to enter the Service?"

It was a fair question, and I replied:

"Yes, provided nothing will be directly required of me that is against
all ethics."

I noticed a peculiar smile crossing his features. Then, looking me
straight between the eyes and using the sharp, incisive language of a
German official, he declared:

"We make use of the same weapons that are used against us. We cannot
afford to be squeamish. The interests at stake are too vast to let
personal ethical questions stand in the way. What would be required
of you in the first instance, is to gain for us information such as we
seek. The means by which you gain this information will be left
entirely to your own discretion. We expect results. We place our
previous knowledge on the subject required, at your disposal. You
will have our organization to assist you, but you must understand that
we cannot and will not be able to extricate you from any trouble in
which you may become involved. Be pleased to understand this clearly.
This service is dangerous, and no official assistance or help could be
given under any circumstances."

To my cost, I later found this to be the truth. So far, so good.
Captain von Tappken had neglected to mention financial inducements and
I put the question to him.

He replied promptly:

"That depends entirely on the service performed. In the first
instance you will receive a retaining fee of 4000 marks ($1000) a
year. You will be allowed 10 marks ($2.50) a day for living expenses,
whether in active service or not. For each individual piece of work
undertaken you will receive a bonus, the amount of which will vary
with the importance of the mission. Living expenses accruing while
out on work must not exceed 40 marks ($10) a day. The amount of the
bonus you are to receive for a mission will in each case be determined
in advance. There is one other thing. One-third of all moneys
accruing to you w ill be kept in trust for you at the rate of 5 per
cent interest."

I laughed and said:

"Well, Captain, I can take care of my own money."

He permitted the shadow of a smile to play around his mouth.

"You may be able to," he said, "but most of our agents cannot. We
have this policy for two reasons: In the first place, it gives us a
definite hold upon our men. Secondly, we have found that unless we
save some money for our agents, they never save any for themselves.
In the event of anything happening to an agent who leaves a family or
other relatives, the money is handed over to them."

I later cursed that rule, for when I was captured in England there
were 30,000 marks ($7,500) due me at the Wilhelmstrasse and I can
whistle for it now.

Captain von Tappken looked at me inquiringly, but I hesitated. It was
not on account of monetary causes, but for peculiarly private
reasons--the dilemma of one of our house becoming a spy. The Captain,
unaware of the personal equation that was obsessing me before giving
my word, evidently thought that his financial inducements were not
alluring enough.

"Of course," he continued, "this scale of pay is only the beginning.
As your use to us and the importance of your missions increases, so
will your remuneration. That depends entirely on you."

He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Very well," I said. "I accept."

He held out his hand. "You made up your mind quickly."

"It is my way, Captain. I take a thing or leave it."

"That's what I like, Doctor; a quick, decisive mind."

That seemed to please him.

"Very well. To be of use to us, you w ill need a lot of technical
coaching. Are you ready to start tomorrow?"

"Now, Captain."

"Very good," he said, "but to-morrow will do. Be here at ten A. M.
Then give us daily as much of your time as we require."

He called in one of his secretaries, gave him command briefly and in a
few minutes the man was back with an order for three hundred marks.

"This, Doctor, is your first month's living expenses. Retaining fees
are paid quarterly."

As I pocketed the check I remarked:

"Captain, personally we are total strangers. How is it that you seem
so satisfied with me?"

Again his peculiar smile was noticeable.

"That is outside our usual business procedure," he said. "I have my
instructions from above and I simply act on them."

I was young then, and curious so I asked:

"Who are those above and what are their instructions?"

No sooner had I put that question than I learned my first lesson in
the Secret Service. All traces of genial friendliness vanished from
von Tappken's face. It was stern and serious.

"My boy," he said slowly, "learn this from the start and learn it
well. Do not ask questions. Do not talk. Think! You will soon
learn that there are many unwritten laws attached to this Service."

I never forgot that. It was my first lesson in Secret Service.


Chapter II. The Making of a Secret Agent

The average man or woman has only a hazy idea what European Secret
Service and Espionage really means and accomplishes. Short stories
and novels, written in a background of diplomacy and secret agents,
have given the public vague impressions about the world of spies. But
this is the first real unvarnished account of the system; the class of
men and women employed; the means used to obtain the desired results
and the risks run by those connected with this service. Since the
days of Moses who employed spies in Canaan, to Napoleon Bonaparte, who
inaugurated the first thorough system of political espionage,
potentates, powerful ministers and heads of departments have found it
necessary to obtain early and correct information other than through
the usual official channels. To gain this knowledge they have to
employ persons unknown and unrecognized in official circles. A
recognized official such as an ambassador or a secretary of legation,
envoys plenipotentiary and consuls, would not be able to gain the
information sought, as naturally everybody is on their guard against
them. Moreover, official etiquette prevents an ambassador or consul
from acting in such a capacity.

In this age of rapid developments the need of quick and accurate
information is even more pressing. Europe to-day is a sort of armed
camp, composed of a number of nations of fairly equal strength, in
which the units are more or less afraid of each other. Mutual
distrust and conflicting interests compel Germany, England, France and
Russia to spend billions of money each year on armaments. Germany
builds one battleship; England lays down two; France adds ten
battalions to her army; Germany adds twenty. So the relative strength
keeps on a fair level. But with rapid constructions, new inventions
of weapons, armor, aerial craft, this apparent equality is constantly
disturbed. Here also enters the personal policy and ambitions and pet
schemes of the individual heads of nations and their cabinets.
Because there is a constant fear of being outdistanced, every
government in Europe is trying its utmost to get ahead of the other.
They, hence, keep a stringent watch on each other's movements. This
is possible only by an efficient system of espionage, by trained men
and women, willing to run the risks attached to this sort of work.

For risks there are. I have been imprisoned twice, once in the
Balkans at Belgrade, once in England. I have been attacked five times
and bear the marks of the wounds to this day. Escapes I have had by
the dozen. All my missions were not successes, more often, failures,
and the failures are often fatal. For instance:

Early in the morning of June 11, 1903, the plot which had been brewing
in Servia ended with the assassination of the king, queen, ministers
and members of the royal household of Servia. I shall not go into the
undercurrent political significance of these atrocities as I had no
active part in them, but I was sent down by my government later to
ascertain as far as possible the prime movers in the intrigue which
pointed to Colonel Mashin and a gang of officers of the Sixth
Regiment. All these regicides received Russian pay, for King
Alexander had become dangerous to Russia, because of his flirting with
Austria. Besides, his own idiotic behavior and the flagrant
indiscretions of Queen Draga had by no means endeared him to his
people.

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