Adventures of a British Master Spy

by Sidney Reilly

  ‘When your husband arrived here,’ she told me, ‘I explained to him the exact situation of affairs as far as our organisation was concerned. On our side we have some of the principal Bolshevik officials in Moscow, who are anxious to bring the present regime to an end, if only their safety can be guaranteed. This means support from outside Russia, and it was on this point that we wanted your husband’s advice. I may mention that I am in very close touch with the Moscow heads of this organisation. In fact I live in Moscow, and came here to see Captain Reilly and discuss the chances of outside help with him.

  ‘Captain Reilly was rather sceptical. He said that foreign help could only be obtained if the nation giving it could be assured that the anti-Bolshevik organisation in Russia was more than a shadow. Granted that there was a solid body of support in Russia itself, he thought that the anti-Bolshevik coup d’état could be played without difficulty. But convincing proof would be required before the necessary support could be obtained.

  ‘I assured him that our organisation in Russia was powerful, influential and well-knit, and that it included among its members one or two highly placed Bolshevik officials. And finally I sent a message by an agent to Moscow requesting one of the heads of the organisation to attend.

  ‘The meeting place was fixed at Wyborg, which is much nearer the Russian frontier than Helsingfors. Our man from Russia could not venture very far over the border without arousing suspicions. Besides, there are so many Bolshevik agents here that he was bound to be recognised. Near Wyborg is living a Russian exile, who belongs to our organisation, and at his house the meeting was to take place.

  ‘Well, we all went to Wyborg, George, Mr Bunakoff, your husband and myself, and at the house we met the men who had come out of Russia. Your husband questioned them very searchingly, and they confirmed my words with regard to the strength of the organisation. Captain Reilly was much impressed by them, particularly by their leader, a very highly placed Bolshevik official, who beneath the cover of his office is one of the most ardent enemies of the present regime. This man said that he thought it wise for your husband to meet the other heads of the organisation in order to assure himself of the importance of the movement. With this he pulled out of his pocket a passport made out in the name of Nicholas Nicholaievitch Steinberg, and invited your husband to accompany him to Moscow to verify the truth of his assertions. At the same time he assured him that the organisation was so powerful, and included such influential persons among its members, that there was absolutely no risk in his crossing the border. The ‘Trust’, as we call ourselves, could pull him out of any difficulty. Now Captain Reilly was a very shrewd judge of character and, while the other was talking, I could see your husband eyeing him up and down, summing him up and slowly arriving at a favourable conclusion.

  ‘The upshot of it was that he decided to make this journey to Moscow. He borrowed a suit from my husband, but wore his own linen, which was marked, his watch, which bore his initials, and a photograph of you. I mention this to show that the Bolsheviks would have no difficulty in identifying him, if they caught him.

  ‘So the next day we set out for the frontier. We had already arranged with the Finnish patrols to see our party over the river, and I told George to accompany them as far as the train. For my part I went as far as the frontier to wish them God-speed.

  ‘Now you must know that the frontier between Russia and Finland is marked by a narrow stream. On each side at intervals are the block-houses of the patrols, the Finnish on this side and the Russian on that. The greatest hostility exists between them, and the only communications between the one bank and the other are carried out surreptitiously and under cover of darkness. The country on each side is very sparsely populated, and you may go for miles without meeting a soul. It is necessary for our people to be ferried across this stream when the Red patrols are not looking, and then slink under cover of darkness across the open country to the railway station. They get shelter from our sympathisers among the villagers on the other side of the river.

  ‘Well, we duly arrived at the Finnish block-house, Captain Reilly, George, myself and the men out of Russia. Three Finnish soldiers were there. They had reconnoitred the river bank and found all clear. They provided us with food, and we sat down and waited for night.

  ‘The night was ideal for the venture, fine and clear. We waited for the setting of the moon and then moved off in Indian file to the river. At last our guide called a halt, and peering through the darkness we could see the rising ground the other side of the border, and its bare edge resting opaque against the deep grey of the sky. At our feet the river flowed sluggishly.

  ‘For a long time we waited while the Finns listened anxiously for the Red patrol, but everything was quiet. At last one of the Finns lowered himself cautiously into the water and half swam, half waded across. Your husband followed. Then went one of the men out of Russia, until all were across.

  ‘Two Finns and myself remained on this side. Peering over the water we could distinctly see them filing obliquely across the field on the further bank. Then they vanished into the gloom. By-and-by we saw their figures faintly outlined one by one against the sky as they crossed the crest. We gave them ten minutes. All was as silent as the grave, and we returned to the block-house.

  ‘George returned the following day with the news that they had boarded the train without incident. All had gone well.

  ‘Well, your husband visited Petrograd and Moscow, whence he sent postcards to yourself and Commander E. On the day appointed for his return I was at Wyborg waiting for him. But he did not arrive.’

  Here Mme Schultz laid before me a cutting out of the Bolshevik paper, Isvestia, which ran as follows:

  ‘The night of 28–9 September, four contrabandists tried to pass the Finnish frontier with the result that two were killed, one a Finnish soldier, taken prisoner, and the fourth so badly wounded that he died on the way to Petrograd.’

  ‘This was the first news I had of the disaster,’ Mme Schultz resumed, ‘and I at once sent George across the frontier to confirm the news. He questioned the peasants and they confirmed the story just as the Bolsheviks had told it. They had heard the shooting on the frontier on the night when the party should have returned.’

  ‘And do you think that my husband is dead?’ I asked her.

  ‘Who can doubt it?’ she answered sadly. ‘According to accounts it was he who died on the journey back to Petrograd. But you are not convinced? Why should you think that he is still alive?’

  ‘For these reasons,’ I told her. ‘If he were dead, there is no doubt that the body would have been examined: the Bolshevik police would have noticed that the man wore shirts and underwear marked SR. They would find the watch and my photograph with an inscription in English. And they would find a passport with the name of Steinberg. Then you must remember that the Bolsheviks have in their possession several very good photographs of my husband, and there are plenty of people in Russia who know him perfectly well by sight, and me too. How then can they fail to have identified him? And if they had identified him, why have they simply put in the paper this small notice instead of shouting from the housetops that they had captured the famous Sidney Reilly like a rat? They would have been quite justified in exulting, as Sidney has twice been condemned to death in contumaciam. Why this silence, if he is really dead? Is it not much more likely that he has been badly wounded, but that there is still hope of his recovery, and they are only waiting for that to make a further diabolic move?’

  Mme Schultz could not but admit the force of my reasoning, and admitted that the possibility which I indicated had not previously occurred to her.

  We now decided to work together on this hypothesis and endeavour to get at the truth. But where were we to begin?

  Turning the matter over in my mind hour after hour that night, I suddenly remembered Sidney’s Berlin acquaintance, Orloff, and I hit on an expedient of getting information from Orloff without betraying Sidney’s whereabouts to him.

/>   I wrote him a letter, which purported to be dictated to me by my husband, who was ill and could not write himself. In this I said that a very good friend of his, named Nicholas Nicholaievitch Steinberg, had met with an accident in Russia, and I should be obliged if Orloff could find out anything definite for me about him.

  Orloff telegraphed his answer – to go to such-and-such address, where I could see a friend of his, to whom he had wired the story. The address was in a small street, on the first floor of a house there, and I was to ask for Nicholas Karlovitch.

  So off we went, the two Schultzes and myself to the house indicated. The arrangement was that, if I did not come out in half an hour, they were to come and enquire for me. My heart was beating very fast as I went up to the door and rang the bell.

  The door was opened by a short, thick-set man, whom I asked whether I could see Nicholas Karlovitch. The man bowed and smiled, asked me in and gave me a chair. I explained my mission fully. After I had finished he asked me to wait a minute, and called up a number on the telephone. I tried hard to memorise it, but it was in Finnish, which does not fall within the range of my accomplishments. After a few words with somebody at the other end of the wire, the thick-set man handed me the telephone and said that Nicholas Karlovitch would speak to me.

  ‘But you pretended to be Nicholas Karlovitch,’ I said indignantly. The thick-set man smiled and shrugged.

  In the meantime a suave voice was coming over the wire. It told me that its owner was very pleased I had called, and that he would give himself the honour of calling on me at my pension that night, if it were convenient to me. I answered that I would be delighted to see him and was proceeding to give him my address.

  ‘Do not trouble, do not trouble,’ said the voice with a chuckle. ‘I know perfectly well where you are staying. I know the floor you are on, the room you occupy, and what you had for breakfast this morning. I will be with you at eight o’clock tonight then.’

  I came away with a chill feeling at the base of my spine. I had purposely kept my address a close secret and all my letters came Poste Restante, and yet this terrible man knew all about me. The Schultzes looked grave when I told them. They at once suspected Nicholas Karlovitch of being a Bolshevik agent, and they decided to post themselves where they could watch him when he came to see me, and follow him to see who he was and where he went.

  Eight o’clock came and Nicholas Karlovitch had not arrived. At half past he rang me on the phone and told me he could not come until nine. I knew that the Schultzes were waiting in the bitter cold outside, but I dared not communicate with them for fear of bringing them under observation. And this was not all. They expected my visitor at eight and might follow the wrong man.

  However, at nine o’clock a knock came at my door, and there stood a tall man of military build and appearance, who clicked his heels and introduced himself as Nicholas Karlovitch in the German way. When he had seated himself he told me that he had received a letter from his friend Orloff in Berlin, which left him rather in the dark, and he would be much obliged if I would explain the matter more fully.

  I did so in a few words, telling him the same story as I had told Orloff but adding that my husband was ill in Paris and had sent me to enquire into the fate of his friend Steinberg.

  Nicholas Karlovitch listened to my story without looking at me and without a word. But when I had finished he suddenly leaped to his feet and stared into my eyes in a dreadful, piercing, hypnotic way. His eyes were like steel gimlets and seemed to pierce to the inmost depths of my soul.

  My heart turned to water and my knees became loose beneath me; my blood seemed to freeze in my veins; I felt as if I were paralysed. This then was the famous Tcheka look of which I had heard so much.

  ‘Do you know General K.?’ asked Nicholas Karlovitch.

  It was the most terrible and pregnant question he could ask. It was understood that General K.’s name was never to be mentioned, as his connection with this business was supposed to be unknown save to very few, and never did Commander E. or my husband pronounce those fateful syllables.

  With an effort I controlled myself, and answered with an air of simple unconcern:

  ‘No, I don’t know him. I think I have heard his name. Isn’t he a Russian? It’s a Russian name.’

  ‘Do you think,’ resumed the inquisitor, never for a moment taking his dreadful gaze off my eyes, ‘that you are quite sure that you do not know him?’

  ‘Might he help us?’ I asked innocently. ‘Is he in Finland?’

  The dreadful eyes held mine, and without answering my questions, Nicholas Karlovitch asked again:

  ‘You are quite sure you do not know him?’

  My voice failed me. My tongue stuck. I shook my head. Nicholas Karlovitch looked down.

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I might be able to help you trace your friend, Steinberg, but, of course, it will cost money.’

  ‘I am prepared to pay for the information,’ I answered.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Nicholas Karlovitch, ‘I have a friend in the Tcheka in Russia, who will be able to help you. If this Steinberg is alive, I will find out for you where he is. If he is dead, I will try and get you a photograph of the body. I will come and see you again tomorrow at the same time, and let you know how much it will cost.’

  A few minutes after Nicholas Karlovitch had gone, I dressed and left for the Schultzes’ house. As I descended the stairs of the pension I passed a man on the landing. Outside the door was another. I saw Mme Schultz in a doorway opposite but made no sign, as I realised that I was watched. At the corner of the street I took a taxicab, and the man took another.

  I ordered the driver to go to the station, and arrived there just as the pursuing cab came round the corner. I went in at the door and took shelter behind a kiosk, and my pursuer running into the station almost brushed me where I stood. As soon as he was past I slipped out of the door and jumped into a taxicab, giving the driver an address which I knew to be near the Schultzes’ house. The streets were quite deserted when we arrived, and, making sure that I was not followed I entered the Schultzes’ house.

  Mme Schultz was waiting for me, and lost no time in telling me what she had observed from her vantage point. Two men had been watching in front of my house at eight o’clock. Another man shortly came by and whispered something to the watchers as he passed. On this they disappeared and returned again at about twenty minutes to nine. The Schultzes had seen the arrival of Nicholas Karlovitch at nine o’clock, and had seen him enter after being saluted by the two men. M. Schultz and another man had followed him when he left, but had not yet returned.

  While we were talking together M. Schultz and his friend arrived rather dispirited. They had to own that Nicholas Karlovitch had given them the slip.

  The next day I noticed that a new lodger had taken the room opposite mine. The maid, too, a stupid Finnish woman, on whom no words of mine seemed to make any impression, took to entering my room suddenly and without any pretext. When I was going out that morning, I saw her run suddenly to the back of the house and begin violently shaking a small carpet out of the window. As I passed down the stairs I took a casual glance out of one of the windows which commanded the back of the house. Two men were waiting there.

  I was obviously being closely watched, and the Finnish servant had apparently signalled the news that I was going out. Sure enough I was followed from the door of the pension, and I amused myself by taking my trackers on a long circuitous walk.

  However, I expected Mme Schultz in the course of the afternoon, and the attentions of the two men were becoming something of a nuisance. I discussed the matter with Mme Schultz that afternoon. I was rather amused than anything else, but this constant watching was an annoyance. As we were talking the matter over and wondering how to get to the bottom of the affair, there came a frantic message from Bunakoff asking what was Mrs Reilly doing, as he had just heard from somebody who was in his pay in the secret police that she was to be arrested.

&nb
sp; This, of course, did not suit our plans at all, and Mme Schultz sent her husband to the Chief of Staff of the Finnish Army. The Chief of Staff was a friend and a coadjutor of the organisation, and helped its members to cross the frontier on their various enterprises. Of course he knew all about my husband, and indeed was personally concerned in helping him over the border. M. Schultz then saw this man, explained the position to him and gave him the address which Nicholas Karlovitch had given me. M. Schultz returned with the news that the Chief of Staff was looking into the matter, and we awaited the result rather breathlessly.

  That day my room was searched during my absence. But as I had the day before given into Mme Schultz’s keeping my revolver and various papers and addresses, nothing was found. And when the evening came I sat down and waited for Nicholas Karlovitch to come as he had promised and let me know the price of the investigation he was making.

  Instead of Nicholas Karlovitch there came the following letter:

  Gracious Lady,

  I am very sorry and apologise a thousand times for the fact that I cannot be with you today. Something very important has intervened.

  I have obtained already a little information, but I will tell you about that later. If you will allow me to do so, I will telephone you at 3 o’clock tomorrow.

  Yours,

  Nik K—itch

  Letter from Nicholas Karlovitch to Mrs Reilly

  Meantime the spies remained at their post. The following morning Nicholas Karlovitch telephoned me to say that he could not come that day either, and at lunch time I noticed that the spies had left. Very shortly afterwards Mme Schultz called with the news that I was to have been arrested that afternoon had we not communicated with the Chief of Staff, who had telephoned the secret police instructing them to find out about Nicholas Karlovitch and to have the spies arrested.

  Then the ‘murder’ was out. Nicholas Karlovitch turned out to be an agent of the Finnish Secret Police, who had taken me for a Bolshevik provocateur. And the affair ended with a severe reprimand to the police from the Chief of Staff. It was not until the episode was over that I realised how much it had begun to play upon my nerves.