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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Spy + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May 12, 2006 [EBook #1818] +Last Updated: March 4, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPY *** + + + + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE SPY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + My going to Valencia was entirely an accident. But the more often I stated + that fact, the more satisfied was everyone at the capital that I had come + on some secret mission. Even the venerable politician who acted as our + minister, the night of my arrival, after dinner, said confidentially, + “Now, Mr. Crosby, between ourselves, what's the game?” + </p> + <p> + “What's what game?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean,” he returned. “What are you here for?” + </p> + <p> + But when, for the tenth time, I repeated how I came to be marooned in + Valencia he showed that his feelings were hurt, and said stiffly: “As you + please. Suppose we join the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + And the next day his wife reproached me with: “I should think you could + trust your own minister. My husband NEVER talks—not even to me.” + </p> + <p> + “So I see,” I said. + </p> + <p> + And then her feelings were hurt also, and she went about telling people I + was an agent of the Walker-Keefe crowd. + </p> + <p> + My only reason for repeating here that my going to Valencia was an + accident is that it was because Schnitzel disbelieved that fact, and to + drag the hideous facts from me followed me back to New York. Through that + circumstance I came to know him, and am able to tell his story. + </p> + <p> + The simple truth was that I had been sent by the State Department to + Panama to “go, look, see,” and straighten out a certain conflict of + authority among the officials of the canal zone. While I was there the + yellow-fever broke out, and every self-respecting power clapped a + quarantine on the Isthmus, with the result that when I tried to return to + New York no steamer would take me to any place to which any white man + would care to go. But I knew that at Valencia there was a direct line to + New York, so I took a tramp steamer down the coast to Valencia. I went to + Valencia only because to me every other port in the world was closed. My + position was that of the man who explained to his wife that he came home + because the other places were shut. + </p> + <p> + But, because, formerly in Valencia I had held a minor post in our + legation, and because the State Department so constantly consults our firm + on questions of international law, it was believed I revisited Valencia on + some mysterious and secret mission. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, had I gone there to sell phonographs or to start a + steam laundry, I should have been as greatly suspected. For in Valencia + even every commercial salesman, from the moment he gives up his passport + on the steamer until the police permit him to depart, is suspected, + shadowed, and begirt with spies. + </p> + <p> + I believe that during my brief visit I enjoyed the distinction of + occupying the undivided attention of three: a common or garden Government + spy, from whom no guilty man escapes, a Walker-Keefe spy, and the spy of + the Nitrate Company. The spy of the Nitrate Company is generally a man you + meet at the legations and clubs. He plays bridge and is dignified with the + title of “agent.” The Walker-Keefe spy is ostensibly a travelling salesman + or hotel runner. The Government spy is just a spy—a scowling, + important little beast in a white duck suit and a diamond ring. The limit + of his intelligence is to follow you into a cigar store and note what + cigar you buy, and in what kind of money you pay for it. + </p> + <p> + The reason for it all was the three-cornered fight which then was being + waged by the Government, the Nitrate Trust, and the Walker-Keefe crowd for + the possession of the nitrate beds. Valencia is so near to the equator, + and so far from New York, that there are few who studied the intricate + story of that disgraceful struggle, which, I hasten to add, with the fear + of libel before my eyes, I do not intend to tell now. + </p> + <p> + Briefly, it was a triangular fight between opponents each of whom was in + the wrong, and each of whom, to gain his end, bribed, blackmailed, and + robbed, not only his adversaries, but those of his own side, the end in + view being the possession of those great deposits that lie in the rocks of + Valencia, baked from above by the tropic sun and from below by volcanic + fires. As one of their engineers, one night in the Plaza, said to me: + “Those mines were conceived in hell, and stink to heaven, and the + reputation of every man of us that has touched them smells like the + mines.” + </p> + <p> + At the time I was there the situation was “acute.” In Valencia the + situation always is acute, but this time it looked as though something + might happen. On the day before I departed the Nitrate Trust had cabled + vehemently for war-ships, the Minister of Foreign Affairs had refused to + receive our minister, and at Porto Banos a mob had made the tin sign of + the United States consulate look like a sieve. Our minister urged me to + remain. To be bombarded by one's own war-ships, he assured me, would be a + thrilling experience. + </p> + <p> + But I repeated that my business was with Panama, not Valencia, and that if + in this matter of his row I had any weight at Washington, as between + preserving the nitrate beds for the trust, and preserving for his country + and various sweethearts one brown-throated, clean-limbed bluejacket, I was + for the bluejacket. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, when I sailed from Valencia the aged diplomat would have + described our relations as strained. + </p> + <p> + Our ship was a slow ship, listed to touch at many ports, and as early as + noon on the following day we stopped for cargo at Trujillo. It was there I + met Schnitzel. + </p> + <p> + In Panama I had bought a macaw for a little niece of mine, and while we + were taking on cargo I went ashore to get a tin cage in which to put it, + and, for direction, called upon our consul. From an inner room he entered + excitedly, smiling at my card, and asked how he might serve me. I told him + I had a parrot below decks, and wanted to buy a tin cage. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. You want a tin cage,” the consul repeated soothingly. “The State + Department doesn't keep me awake nights cabling me what it's going to do,” + he said, “but at least I know it doesn't send a thousand-dollar-a-minute, + four-cylinder lawyer all the way to this fever swamp to buy a tin cage. + Now, honest, how can I serve you?” I saw it was hopeless. No one would + believe the truth. To offer it to this friendly soul would merely offend + his feelings and his intelligence. + </p> + <p> + So, with much mystery, I asked him to describe the “situation,” and he did + so with the exactness of one who believes that within an hour every word + he speaks will be cabled to the White House. + </p> + <p> + When I was leaving he said: “Oh, there's a newspaper correspondent after + you. He wants an interview, I guess. He followed you last night from the + capital by train. You want to watch out he don't catch you. His name is + Jones.” I promised to be on my guard against a man named Jones, and the + consul escorted me to the ship. As he went down the accommodation ladder, + I called over the rail: “In case they SHOULD declare war, cable to + Curacoa, and I'll come back. And don't cable anything indefinite, like + 'Situation critical' or 'War imminent.' Understand? Cable me, 'Come back' + or 'Go ahead.' But whatever you cable, make it CLEAR.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head violently and with his green-lined umbrella pointed at + my elbow. I turned and found a young man hungrily listening to my words. + He was leaning on the rail with his chin on his arms and the brim of his + Panama hat drawn down to conceal his eyes. + </p> + <p> + On the pier-head, from which we now were drawing rapidly away, the consul + made a megaphone of his hands. + </p> + <p> + “That's HIM,” he called. “That's Jones.” + </p> + <p> + Jones raised his head, and I saw that the tropical heat had made Jones + thirsty, or that with friends he had been celebrating his departure. He + winked at me, and, apparently with pleasure at his own discernment and + with pity for me, smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course!” he murmured. His tone was one of heavy irony. “Make it + 'clear.' Make it clear to the whole wharf. Shout it out so's everybody can + hear you. You're 'clear' enough.” His disgust was too deep for ordinary + words. “My uncle!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + By this I gathered that he was expressing his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” I said. + </p> + <p> + We had the deck to ourselves. Its emptiness suddenly reminded me that we + had the ship, also, to ourselves. I remembered the purser had told me + that, except for those who travelled overnight from port to port, I was + his only passenger. + </p> + <p> + With dismay I pictured myself for ten days adrift on the high seas—alone + with Jones. + </p> + <p> + With a dramatic gesture, as one would say, “I am here!” he pushed back his + Panama hat. With an unsteady finger he pointed, as it was drawn dripping + across the deck, at the stern hawser. + </p> + <p> + “You see that rope?” he demanded. “Soon as that rope hit the water I + knocked off work. S'long as you was in Valencia—me, on the job. Now, + YOU can't go back, I can't go back. Why further dissim'lation? WHO AM I?” + </p> + <p> + His condition seemed to preclude the possibility of his knowing who he + was, so I told him. + </p> + <p> + He sneered as I have seen men sneer only in melodrama. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course,” he muttered. “Oh, of course.” + </p> + <p> + He lurched toward me indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “You know perfec'ly well Jones is not my name. You know perfec'ly well who + I am.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” I said, “I don't know anything about you, except that your + are a damned nuisance.” + </p> + <p> + He swayed from me, pained and surprised. Apparently he was upon an + outbreak of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Proud,” he murmured, “AND haughty. Proud and haughty to the last.” + </p> + <p> + I never have understood why an intoxicated man feels the climax of insult + is to hurl at you your name. Perhaps because he knows it is the one charge + you cannot deny. But invariably before you escape, as though assured the + words will cover your retreat with shame, he throws at you your full + title. Jones did this. + </p> + <p> + Slowly and mercilessly he repeated, “Mr.—George—Morgan—Crosby. + Of Harvard,” he added. “Proud and haughty to the last.” + </p> + <p> + He then embraced a passing steward, and demanded to be informed why the + ship rolled. He never knew a ship to roll as our ship rolled. + </p> + <p> + “Perfec'ly satisfact'ry ocean, but ship—rolling like a + stone-breaker. Take me some place in the ship where this ship don't roll.” + </p> + <p> + The steward led him away. + </p> + <p> + When he had dropped the local pilot the captain beckoned me to the bridge. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you talking to Mr. Schnitzel,” he said. “He's a little under the + weather. He has too light a head for liquors.” + </p> + <p> + I agreed that he had a light head, and said I understood his name was + Jones. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I wanted to tell you,” said the captain. “His name is + Schnitzel. He used to work for the Nitrate Trust in New York. Then he came + down here as an agent. He's a good boy not to tell things to. Understand? + Sometimes I carry him under one name, and the next voyage under another. + The purser and he fix it up between 'em. It pleases him, and it don't hurt + anybody else, so long as I tell them about it. I don't know who he's + working for now,” he went on, “but I know he's not with the Nitrate + Company any more. He sold them out.” + </p> + <p> + “How could he?” I asked. “He's only a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He had a berth as typewriter to Senator Burnsides, president of the + Nitrate Trust, sort of confidential stenographer,” said the captain. + “Whenever the senator dictated an important letter, they say, Schnitzel + used to make a carbon copy, and when he had enough of them he sold them to + the Walker-Keefe crowd. Then, when Walker-Keefe lost their suit in the + Valencia Supreme Court I guess Schnitzel went over to President Alvarez. + And again, some folks say he's back with the Nitrate Company.” + </p> + <p> + “After he sold them out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you see he's worth more to them now. He knows all the + Walker-Keefe secrets and Alvarez's secrets, too.” + </p> + <p> + I expressed my opinion of every one concerned. + </p> + <p> + “It shouldn't surprise YOU,” complained the captain. “You know the + country. Every man in it is out for something that isn't his. The pilot + wants his bit, the health doctor must get his, the customs take all your + cigars, and if you don't put up gold for the captain of the port and the + alcalde and the commandant and the harbor police and the foreman of the + cargadores, they won't move a lighter, and they'll hold up the ship's + papers. Well, an American comes down here, honest and straight and willing + to work for his wages. But pretty quick he finds every one is getting his + squeeze but him, so he tries to get some of it back by robbing the natives + that robbed him. Then he robs the other foreigners, and it ain't long + before he's cheating the people at home who sent him here. There isn't a + man in this nitrate row that isn't robbing the crowd he's with, and that + wouldn't change sides for money. Schnitzel's no worse than the president + nor the canteen contractor.” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand at the glaring coast-line, at the steaming swamps and + the hot, naked mountains. + </p> + <p> + “It's the country that does it,” he said. “It's in the air. You can smell + it as soon as you drop anchor, like you smell the slaughter-house at + Punta-Arenas.” + </p> + <p> + “How do YOU manage to keep honest,” I asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I don't take any chances,” exclaimed the captain seriously. “When I'm in + their damned port I don't go ashore.” + </p> + <p> + I did not again see Schnitzel until, with haggard eyes and suspiciously + wet hair, he joined the captain, doctor, purser, and myself at breakfast. + In the phrases of the Tenderloin, he told us cheerfully that he had been + grandly intoxicated, and to recover drank mixtures of raw egg, vinegar, + and red pepper, the sight of which took away every appetite save his own. + When to this he had added a bottle of beer, he declared himself a new man. + The new man followed me to the deck, and with the truculent bearing of one + who expects to be repelled, he asked if, the day before, he had not made a + fool of himself. + </p> + <p> + I suggested he had been somewhat confidential. At once he recovered his + pose and patronized me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe it,” he said. “That's all part of my game. 'Confidence + for confidence' is the way I work it. That's how I learn things. I tell a + man something on the inside, and he says: 'Here's a nice young fellow. + Nothing standoffish about him,' and he tells me something he shouldn't. + Like as not what I told him wasn't true. See?” + </p> + <p> + I assured him he interested me greatly. + </p> + <p> + “You find, then, in your line of business,” I asked, “that apparent + frankness is advisable? As a rule,” I explained, “secrecy is what a—a + person in your line—a—” + </p> + <p> + To save his feelings I hesitated at the word. + </p> + <p> + “A spy,” he said. His face beamed with fatuous complacency. + </p> + <p> + “But if I had not known you were a spy,” I asked, “would not that have + been better for you?” + </p> + <p> + “In dealing with a party like you, Mr. Crosby,” Schnitzel began + sententiously, “I use a different method. You're on a secret mission + yourself, and you get your information about the nitrate row one way, and + I get it another. I deal with you just like we were drummers in the same + line of goods. We are rivals in business, but outside of business hours + perfect gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + In the face of the disbelief that had met my denials of any secret + mission, I felt to have Schnitzel also disbelieve me would be too great a + humiliation. So I remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “You make your report to the State Department,” he explained, “and I make + mine to—my people. Who they are doesn't matter. You'd like to know, + and I don't want to hurt your feelings, but—that's MY secret.” + </p> + <p> + My only feelings were a desire to kick Schnitzel heavily, but for + Schnitzel to suspect that was impossible. Rather, he pictured me as shaken + by his disclosures. + </p> + <p> + As he hung over the rail the glare of the sun on the tumbling water lit up + his foolish, mongrel features, exposed their cunning, their utter lack of + any character, and showed behind the shifty eyes the vacant, half-crooked + mind. + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel was smiling to himself with a smile of complete + self-satisfaction. In the light of his later conduct, I grew to understand + that smile. He had anticipated a rebuff, and he had been received, as he + read it, with consideration. The irony of my politeness he had entirely + missed. Instead, he read in what I said the admiration of the amateur for + the professional. He saw what he believed to be a high agent of the + Government treating him as a worthy antagonist. In no other way can I + explain his later heaping upon me his confidences. It was the vanity of a + child trying to show off. + </p> + <p> + In ten days, in the limited area of a two-thousand-ton steamer, one could + not help but learn something of the history of so communicative a + fellow-passenger as Schnitzel. His parents were German and still lived in + Germany. But he himself had been brought up on the East Side. An uncle who + kept a delicatessen shop in Avenue A had sent him to the public schools + and then to a “business college,” where he had developed remarkable + expertness as a stenographer. He referred to his skill in this difficult + exercise with pitying contempt. Nevertheless, from a room noisy with + type-writers this skill had lifted him into the private office of the + president of the Nitrate Trust. There, as Schnitzel expressed it, “I saw + 'mine,' and I took it.” To trace back the criminal instinct that led + Schnitzel to steal and sell the private letters of his employer was not + difficult. In all of his few early years I found it lying latent. Of every + story he told of himself, and he talked only of himself, there was not one + that was not to his discredit. He himself never saw this, nor that all he + told me showed he was without the moral sense, and with an instinctive + enjoyment of what was deceitful, mean, and underhand. That, as I read it, + was his character. + </p> + <p> + In appearance he was smooth-shaven, with long locks that hung behind wide, + protruding ears. He had the unhealthy skin of bad blood, and his eyes, as + though the daylight hurt them, constantly opened and shut. He was like + hundreds of young men that you see loitering on upper Broadway and making + predatory raids along the Rialto. Had you passed him in that neighborhood + you would have set him down as a wire-tapper, a racing tout, a would-be + actor. + </p> + <p> + As I worked it out, Schnitzel was a spy because it gave him an importance + he had not been able to obtain by any other effort. As a child and as a + clerk, it was easy to see that among his associates Schnitzel must always + have been the butt. Until suddenly, by one dirty action, he had placed + himself outside their class. As he expressed it: “Whenever I walk through + the office now, where all the stenographers sit, you ought to see those + slobs look after me. When they go to the president's door, they got to + knock, like I used to, but now, when the old man sees me coming to make my + report after one of these trips he calls out, 'Come right in, Mr. + Schnitzel.' And like as not I go in with my hat on and offer him a cigar. + An' they see me do it, too!” + </p> + <p> + To me, that speech seemed to give Schnitzel's view of the values of his + life. His vanity demanded he be pointed at, if even with contempt. But the + contempt never reached him—he only knew that at last people took + note of him. They no longer laughed at him, they were afraid of him. In + his heart he believed that they regarded him as one who walked in the dark + places of world politics, who possessed an evil knowledge of great men as + evil as himself, as one who by blackmail held public ministers at his + mercy. + </p> + <p> + This view of himself was the one that he tried to give me. I probably was + the first decent man who ever had treated him civilly, and to impress me + with his knowledge he spread that knowledge before me. It was sale, + shocking, degrading. + </p> + <p> + At first I took comfort in the thought that Schnitzel was a liar. Later, I + began to wonder if all of it were a lie, and finally, in a way I could not + doubt, it was proved to me that the worst he charged was true. + </p> + <p> + The night I first began to believe him was the night we touched at + Cristobal, the last port in Valencia. In the most light-hearted manner he + had been accusing all concerned in the nitrate fight with every crime + known in Wall Street and in the dark reaches of the Congo River. + </p> + <p> + “But, I know him, Mr. Schnitzel,” I said sternly. “He is incapable of it. + I went to college with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care whether he's a rah-rah boy or not,” said Schnitzel, “I know + that's what he did when he was up the Orinoco after orchids, and if the + tribe had ever caught him they'd have crucified him. And I know this, too: + he made forty thousand dollars out of the Nitrate Company on a + ten-thousand-dollar job. And I know it, because he beefed to me about it + himself, because it wasn't big enough.” + </p> + <p> + We were passing the limestone island at the entrance to the harbor, where, + in the prison fortress, with its muzzle-loading guns pointing drunkenly at + the sky, are buried the political prisoners of Valencia. + </p> + <p> + “Now, there,” said Schnitzel, pointing, “that shows you what the Nitrate + Trust can do. Judge Rojas is in there. He gave the first decision in favor + of the Walker-Keefe people, and for making that decision William T. Scott, + the Nitrate manager, made Alvarez put Rojas in there. He's seventy years + old, and he's been there five years. The cell they keep him in is below + the sea-level, and the salt-water leaks through the wall. I've seen it. + That's what William T. Scott did, an' up in New York people think 'Billy' + Scott is a fine man. I seen him at the Horse Show sitting in a box, bowing + to everybody, with his wife sitting beside him, all hung out with pearls. + An' that was only a month after I'd seen Rojas in that sewer where Scott + put him.” + </p> + <p> + “Schnitzel,” I laughed, “you certainly are a magnificent liar.” + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel showed no resentment. + </p> + <p> + “Go ashore and look for yourself,” he muttered. “Don't believe me. Ask + Rojas. Ask the first man you meet.” He shivered, and shrugged his + shoulders. “I tell you, the walls are damp, like sweat.” + </p> + <p> + The Government had telegraphed the commandant to come on board and, as he + expressed it, “offer me the hospitality of the port,” which meant that I + had to take him to the smoking-room and give him champagne. What the + Government really wanted was to find out whether I was still on board, and + if it were finally rid of me. + </p> + <p> + I asked the official concerning Judge Rojas. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he said readily. “He is still incomunicado.” + </p> + <p> + Without believing it would lead to anything, I suggested: + </p> + <p> + “It was foolish of him to give offence to Mr. Scott?” + </p> + <p> + The commandant nodded vivaciously. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Scott is very powerful man,” he assented. “We all very much love Mr. + Scott. The president, he love Mr. Scott, too, but the judges were not + sympathetic to Mr. Scott, so Mr. Scott asked our president to give them a + warning, and Senor Rojas—he is the warning.” + </p> + <p> + “When will he get out?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The commandant held up the glass in the sunlight from the open air-port, + and gazed admiringly at the bubbles. + </p> + <p> + “Who can tell,” he said. “Any day when Mr. Scott wishes. Maybe, never. + Senor Rojas is an old man. Old, and he has much rheumatics. Maybe, he will + never come out to see our beloved country any more.” + </p> + <p> + As we left the harbor we passed so close that one could throw a stone + against the wall of the fortress. The sun was just sinking and the air + became suddenly chilled. Around the little island of limestone the waves + swept through the sea-weed and black manigua up to the rusty bars of the + cells. I saw the barefooted soldiers smoking upon the sloping ramparts, + the common criminals in a long stumbling line bearing kegs of water, three + storm-beaten palms rising like gallows, and the green and yellow flag of + Valencia crawling down the staff. Somewhere entombed in that blotched and + mildewed masonry an old man of seventy years was shivering and hugging + himself from the damp and cold. A man who spoke five languages, a just, + brave gentleman. To me it was no new story. I knew of the horrors of + Cristobal prison; of political rivals chained to criminals loathsome with + disease, of men who had raised the flag of revolution driven to suicide. + But never had I supposed that my own people could reach from the city of + New York and cast a fellow-man into that cellar of fever and madness. + </p> + <p> + As I watched the yellow wall sink into the sea, I became conscious that + Schnitzel was near me, as before, leaning on the rail, with his chin sunk + on his arms. His face was turned toward the fortress, and for the first + time since I had known him it was set and serious. And when, a moment + later, he passed me without recognition, I saw that his eyes were filled + with fear. + </p> + <p> + When we touched at Curacoa I sent a cable to my sister, announcing the + date of my arrival, and then continued on to the Hotel Venezuela. Almost + immediately Schnitzel joined me. With easy carelessness he said: “I was in + the cable office just now, sending off a wire, and that operator told me + he can't make head or tail of the third word in your cable.” + </p> + <p> + “That is strange,” I commented, “because it's a French word, and he is + French. That's why I wrote it in French.” + </p> + <p> + With the air of one who nails another in a falsehood, Schnitzel exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Then, how did you suppose your sister was going to read it? It's a + cipher, that's what it is. Oh, no, YOU'RE not on a secret mission! Not at + all!” + </p> + <p> + It was most undignified of me, but in five minutes I excused myself, and + sent to the State Department the following words: + </p> + <p> + “Roses red, violets blue, send snow.” + </p> + <p> + Later at the State Department the only person who did not eventually + pardon my jest was the clerk who had sat up until three in the morning + with my cable, trying to fit it to any known code. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after my return to the Hotel Venezuela Schnitzel excused + himself, and half an hour later returned in triumph with the cable + operator and ordered lunch for both. They imbibed much sweet champagne. + </p> + <p> + When we again were safe at sea, I said: “Schnitzel, how much did you pay + that Frenchman to let you read my second cable?” + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel's reply was prompt and complacent. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred dollars gold. It was worth it. Do you want to know how I + doped it out?” + </p> + <p> + I even challenged him to do so. “'Roses red'—war declared; 'violets + blue'—outlook bad, or blue; 'send snow'—send squadron, because + the white squadron is white like snow. See? It was too easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Schnitzel,” I cried, “you are wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel yawned in my face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't have to hit the soles of my feet with a night-stick to keep + me awake,” he said. + </p> + <p> + After I had been a week at sea, I found that either I had to believe that + in all things Schnitzel was a liar, or that the men of the Nitrate Trust + were in all things evil. I was convinced that instead of the people of + Valencia robbing them, they were robbing both the people of Valencia and + the people of the United States. + </p> + <p> + To go to war on their account was to degrade our Government. I explained + to Schnitzel it was not becoming that the United States navy should be + made the cat's-paw of a corrupt corporation. I asked his permission to + repeat to the authorities at Washington certain of the statements he had + made. + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel was greatly pleased. + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome to tell 'em anything I've said,” he assented. “And,” he + added, “most of it's true, too.” + </p> + <p> + I wrote down certain charges he had made, and added what I had always + known of the nitrate fight. It was a terrible arraignment. In the evening + I read my notes to Schnitzel, who, in a corner of the smoking-room, sat, + frowning importantly, checking off each statement, and where I made an + error of a date or a name, severely correcting me. + </p> + <p> + Several times I asked him, “Are you sure this won't get you into trouble + with your 'people'? You seem to accuse everybody on each side.” + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel's eyes instantly closed with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry about me and my people,” he returned sulkily. “That's MY + secret, and you won't find it out, neither. I may be as crooked as the + rest of them, but I'm not giving away my employer.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “I mean not a second time,” he added hastily. “I know what you're thinking + of, and I got five thousand dollars for it. But now I mean to stick by the + men that pay my wages.” + </p> + <p> + “But you've told me enough about each of the three to put any one of them + in jail.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I have,” cried Schnitzel triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd let down on any one crowd you'd know I was working for that crowd, + so I've touched 'em all up. Only what I told you about my crowd—isn't + true.” + </p> + <p> + The report we finally drew up was so sensational that I was of a mind to + throw it overboard. It accused members of the Cabinet, of our Senate, + diplomats, business men of national interest, judges of the Valencia + courts, private secretaries, clerks, hired bullies, and filibusters. Men + the trust could not bribe it had blackmailed. Those it could not corrupt, + and they were pitifully few, it crushed with some disgraceful charge. + </p> + <p> + Looking over my notes, I said: + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have made every charge except murder.” + </p> + <p> + “How'd I come to leave that out?” Schnitzel answered flippantly. “What + about Coleman, the foreman at Bahia, and that German contractor, Ebhardt, + and old Smedburg? They talked too much, and they died of yellow-fever, + maybe, and maybe what happened to them was they ate knockout drops in + their soup.” + </p> + <p> + I disbelieved him, but there came a sudden nasty doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Curtis, who managed the company's plant at Barcelona, died of + yellow-fever,” I said, “and was buried the same day.” + </p> + <p> + For some time Schnitzel glowered uncertainly at the bulkhead. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “When I was in the legation I knew him well,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” said Schnitzel. “He wasn't murdered. He murdered himself. He + was wrong ten thousand dollars in his accounts. He got worrying about it + and we found him outside the clearing with a hole in his head. He left a + note saying he couldn't bear the disgrace. As if the company would hold a + little grafting against as good a man as Curtis!” + </p> + <p> + Schnitzel coughed and pretended it was his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “You see you don't put in nothing against him,” he added savagely. + </p> + <p> + It was the first time I had seen Schnitzel show emotion, and I was moved + to preach. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you quit?” I said. “You had an A-1 job as a stenographer. Why + don't you go back to it?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, some day. But it's great being your own boss. If I was a + stenographer, I wouldn't be helping you send in a report to the State + Department, would I? No, this job is all right. They send you after + something big, and you have the devil of a time getting it, but when you + get it, you feel like you had picked a hundred-to-one shot.” + </p> + <p> + The talk or the drink had elated him. His fish-like eyes bulged and shone. + He cast a quick look about him. Except for ourselves, the smoking-room was + empty. From below came the steady throb of the engines, and from outside + the whisper of the waves and of the wind through the cordage. A barefooted + sailor pattered by to the bridge. Schnitzel bent toward me, and with his + hand pointed to his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I've got papers on me that's worth a million to a certain party,” he + whispered. “You understand, my notes in cipher.” + </p> + <p> + He scowled with intense mystery. + </p> + <p> + “I keep 'em in an oiled-silk bag, tied around my neck with a string. And + here,” he added hastily, patting his hip, as though to forestall any + attack I might make upon his person, “I carry my automatic. It shoots nine + bullets in five seconds. They got to be quick to catch me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you have either of those things on you,” I said testily, “I + don't want to know it. How often have I told you not to talk and drink at + the same time?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, go on,” laughed Schnitzel. “That's an old gag, warning a fellow not + to talk so as to MAKE him talk. I do that myself.” + </p> + <p> + That Schnitzel had important papers tied to his neck I no more believe + than that he wore a shirt of chain armor, but to please him I pretended to + be greatly concerned. + </p> + <p> + “Now that we're getting into New York,” I said, “you must be very careful. + A man who carries such important documents on his person might be murdered + for them. I think you ought to disguise yourself.” + </p> + <p> + A picture of my bag being carried ashore by Schnitzel in the uniform of a + ship's steward rather pleased me. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, you're kidding!” said Schnitzel. He was drawn between believing I + was deeply impressed and with fear that I was mocking him. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” I protested, “I don't feel quite safe myself. Seeing me + with you they may think I have papers around MY neck.” + </p> + <p> + “They wouldn't look at you,” Schnitzel reassured me. “They know you're + just an amateur. But, as you say, with me, it's different. I GOT to be + careful. Now, you mightn't believe it, but I never go near my uncle nor + none of my friends that live where I used to hang out. If I did, the other + spies would get on my track. I suppose,” he went on grandly, “I never go + out in New York but that at least two spies are trailing me. But I know + how to throw them off. I live 'way down town in a little hotel you never + heard of. You never catch me dining at Sherry's nor the Waldorf. And you + never met me out socially, did you, now?” + </p> + <p> + I confessed I had not. + </p> + <p> + “And then, I always live under an assumed name.” + </p> + <p> + “Like 'Jones'?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sometimes 'Jones',” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “To me,” I said, “'Jones' lacks imagination. It's the sort of name you + give when you're arrested for exceeding the speed limit. Why don't you + call yourself Machiavelli?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, I'm no dago,” said Schnitzel, “and don't you go off thinking + 'Jones' is the only disguise I use. But I'm not tellin' what it is, am I? + Oh, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Schnitzel,” I asked, “have you ever been told that you would make a great + detective?” + </p> + <p> + “Cut it out,” said Schnitzel. “You've been reading those fairy stories. + There's no fly cops nor Pinks could do the work I do. They're pikers + compared to me. They chase petty-larceny cases and kick in doors. I + wouldn't stoop to what they do. It's being mixed up the way I am with the + problems of two governments that catches me.” He added magnanimously, “You + see something of that yourself.” + </p> + <p> + We left the ship at Brooklyn, and with regret I prepared to bid Schnitzel + farewell. Seldom had I met a little beast so offensive, but his vanity, + his lies, his moral blindness, made one pity him. And in ten days in the + smoking-room together we had had many friendly drinks and many friendly + laughs. He was going to a hotel on lower Broadway, and as my cab, on my + way uptown, passed the door, I offered him a lift. He appeared to consider + the advisability of this, and then, with much by-play of glancing over his + shoulder, dived into the front seat and drew down the blinds. “This hotel + I am going to is an old-fashioned trap,” he explained, “but the clerk is + wise to me, understand, and I don't have to sign the register.” + </p> + <p> + As we drew nearer to the hotel, he said: “It's a pity we can't dine out + somewheres and go to the theatre, but—you know?” + </p> + <p> + With almost too much heartiness I hastily agreed it would be imprudent. + </p> + <p> + “I understand perfectly,” I assented. “You are a marked man. Until you get + those papers safe in the hands of your 'people,' you must be very + cautious.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he said. Then he smiled craftily. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you're on yet to which my people are.” + </p> + <p> + I assured him that I had no idea, but that from the avidity with which he + had abused them I guessed he was working for the Walker-Keefe crowd. + </p> + <p> + He both smiled and scowled. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you wish you knew?” he said. “I've told you a lot of inside + stories, Mr. Crosby, but I'll never tell on my pals again. Not me! That's + MY secret.” + </p> + <p> + At the door of the hotel he bade me a hasty good-by, and for a few minutes + I believed that Schnitzel had passed out of my life forever. Then, in + taking account of my belongings, I missed my field-glasses. I remembered + that, in order to open a trunk for the customs inspectors, I had handed + them to Schnitzel, and that he had hung them over his shoulder. In our + haste at parting we both had forgotten them. + </p> + <p> + I was only a few blocks from the hotel, and I told the man to return. + </p> + <p> + I inquired for Mr. Schnitzel, and the clerk, who apparently knew him by + that name, said he was in his room, number eighty-two. + </p> + <p> + “But he has a caller with him now,” he added. “A gentleman was waiting for + him, and's just gone up.” + </p> + <p> + I wrote on my card why I had called, and soon after it had been borne + skyward the clerk said: “I guess he'll be able to see you now. That's the + party that was calling on him, there.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded toward a man who crossed the rotunda quickly. His face was + twisted from us, as though, as he almost ran toward the street, he were + reading the advertisements on the wall. + </p> + <p> + He reached the door, and was lost in the great tide of Broadway. + </p> + <p> + I crossed to the elevator, and as I stood waiting, it descended with a + crash, and the boy who had taken my card flung himself, shrieking, into + the rotunda. + </p> + <p> + “That man—stop him!” he cried. “The man in eighty-two—he's + murdered.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk vaulted the desk and sprang into the street, and I dragged the + boy back to the wire rope and we shot to the third story. The boy shrank + back. A chambermaid, crouching against the wall, her face colorless, + lowered one hand, and pointed at an open door. + </p> + <p> + “In there,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + In a mean, common room, stretched where he had been struck back upon the + bed, I found the boy who had elected to meddle in the “problems of two + governments.” + </p> + <p> + In tiny jets, from three wide knife-wounds, his blood flowed slowly. His + staring eyes were lifted up in fear and in entreaty. I knew that he was + dying, and as I felt my impotence to help him, I as keenly felt a great + rage and a hatred toward those who had struck him. + </p> + <p> + I leaned over him until my eyes were only a few inches from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Schnitzel!” I cried. “Who did this? You can trust me. Who did this? + Quick!” + </p> + <p> + I saw that he recognized me, and that there was something which, with + terrible effort, he was trying to make me understand. + </p> + <p> + In the hall was the rush of many people, running, exclaiming, the noise of + bells ringing; from another floor the voice of a woman shrieked + hysterically. + </p> + <p> + At the sounds the eyes of the boy grew eloquent with entreaty, and with a + movement that called from each wound a fresh outburst, like a man + strangling, he lifted his fingers to his throat. + </p> + <p> + Voices were calling for water, to wait for the doctor, to wait for the + police. But I thought I understood. + </p> + <p> + Still doubting him, still unbelieving, ashamed of my own credulity, I tore + at his collar, and my fingers closed upon a package of oiled silk. + </p> + <p> + I stooped, and with my teeth ripped it open, and holding before him the + slips of paper it contained, tore them into tiny shreds. + </p> + <p> + The eyes smiled at me with cunning, with triumph, with deep content. + </p> + <p> + It was so like the Schnitzel I had known that I believed still he might + have strength enough to help me. + </p> + <p> + “Who did this?” I begged. “I'll hang him for it! Do you hear me?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + Seeing him lying there, with the life cut out of him, swept me with a + blind anger, with a need to punish. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see they hang for it. Tell me!” I commanded. “Who did this?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes, now filled with weariness, looked up and the lips moved feebly. + </p> + <p> + “My own people,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + In my indignation I could have shaken the truth from him. I bent closer. + </p> + <p> + “Then, by God,” I whispered back, “you'll tell me who they are!” + </p> + <p> + The eyes flashed sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “That's my secret,” said Schnitzel. + </p> + <p> + The eyes set and the lips closed. + </p> + <p> + A man at my side leaned over him, and drew the sheet across his face. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spy, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPY *** + +***** This file should be named 1818-h.htm or 1818-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/1818/ + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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