The Spy Net

by Henry Landau

  Dumont and A. 91 had a double risk to face. An ordinary inhabitant would have received a month’s imprisonment for a first offence, if arrested trying to cross the frontier and he was not involved in any clandestine activity. But A. 91 had already been reported to the Secret Police as having fled the country; and it would have been impossible for Dumont, a Belgian from Liège, to explain his presence in the area. Knowing that they could not face an interrogation, they started on their hazardous journey across the French frontier on the night of 7 September.

  Eight o’clock was sounding at the village church, when the three of them, dressed as workmen, got under way: A. 91 in a dirty pair of blue-jeans and a cap; Dumont in an old rain coat and a shabby felt hat. Guided by Moreau, who knew every path through the woods, they quickly gained the frontier. They advanced stealthily, a few yards at a time. With ears alert, straining at every sound, they expected each moment to be challenged by some hidden sentry; but so expertly did Moreau guide them that they saw no one. They pressed forward rapidly, anxious to get away from the frontier as fast as they could. The danger was by no means over, but they felt greatly relieved. On the outskirts of Trélon, Moreau left them to continue on their own. A. 91 was now near his home, and could be relied on to find the way.

  Suddenly, as they came out of a clearing, the two men found themselves faced by several German soldiers. They were so close that it was useless trying to run – they would have been mowed down. The only thing to do was to advance resolutely; they were away from the frontier, and most likely would be taken for ordinary inhabitants of the village. Their audacity and the casual air they assumed, worked; they were already about 30 yards past them, and had boldly entered a road leading to the village, when one of the soldiers, apparently as an afterthought, shouted, ‘Halt!’

  Dumont and A. 91, pretending not to hear, hastened their steps. Again shouts of ‘Halt!’ ‘Halt!’ this time followed by the whiz of a bullet. As if by common accord, they threw themselves at the hedge bordering the road – A. 91 to the left, Dumont to the right. Dumont, emerging on the other side of the hedge, was seen by one of the soldiers, who had followed his manoeuvre. As the soldier made a dash for him, Dumont took to his heels. He was rapidly losing breath, when he fell headlong into a ditch which he had failed to see in the dark. Completely exhausted, he lay where he was. The soldier passed by without seeing him.

  In the distance, Dumont heard a struggle going on, terminating a cry of triumph. Then silence. ‘A. 91 has been caught,’ passed through his mind. For an hour Dumont did not stir. Then a heavy rain started falling, and he resolved to make a move. His first thoughts were to reach the house of A. 91’s father, but so convinced was he that A. 91 had been arrested that he dismissed the idea immediately – it would be the very spot where the Secret Police would be waiting for him. There seemed no alternative but to try and get back to Belgium.

  Wandering through the night, aided by the obscurity and the rain, Dumont eventually reached Macon. It was in a pitiful condition, his face and hands torn by the underbrush, wet to the skin, covered with mud, and completely exhausted, that I found him at my front door at dawn. After a change of clothes, and a few hours’ sleep, I drove him in a cart to Chimay, where together with Hanotier, we went over the night’s adventures, and lamented the fate of A. 91.

  What had happened to A. 91 during this time? When he passed through the fence, instead of running away from it as Dumont had done, he ran along it for about 50 yards, and there finding an opening, he pushed his way into the centre of the hedge. Here, afraid to move, he remained for at least three hours. At one time, he heard a group of soldiers, not 10 yards away from him, discussing what had happened to the two of them. It was not until the rain came that he found it safe to move. Eventually, groping his way across the fields, he reached his father’s home at midnight.

  Quickly, he explained to the surprised old man the crowded events of the evening. Anxiously, they waited for Dumont to arrive; and then as morning came, they gave up hope. Dumont had surely been arrested, was their only conclusion.

  During the course of the day, A. 91 explained his mission to his father, himself a rugged veteran of former wars. The father nobly undertook to organise the Hirson Platoon. Much as his family would have liked him to remain at least for a few days, they counselled A. 91 to return to Belgium immediately – everyone in the village knew that he had left to join the French Army, via Holland, several months previously; it would have been suicidal to remain. On the next night, therefore, once again guided by Moreau, he regained my home in Macon without any further adventures. Great was his surprise and joy, when he heard of Dumont’s safe return. It was a still more surprised Dumont, who greeted him, when A. 91 reached Chimay.

  It was to the neighbouring village of Fourmies that Amiable Senior, who had assumed the name of ‘Pierre’, first went. Here lived Felix Latouche (‘Dominique’), a former railway employee of the Compagnie du Nord, with whom A. 91, when still a boy, had made friends. Apart from his ardent patriotism, Dominique had a private score to settle with the Germans: during the earlier stages of the occupation, they had forced him to remain for several months at his post on the railway, threatening deportation of his family and himself if he refused. He joyfully entered the services of the ‘White Lady’, when solicited by Pierre.

  Dominique’s cottage, right on the railway line, was admirably situated for watching the troop trains as they passed by, night and day; and here, the dream of the Allied secret services was at last realised. Aided by his wife, and his two little sisters, aged fourteen and thirteen years, Dominique mounted a train-watching post on the Hirson–Mézières line.

  Everyone in this humble household did their share of watching. By day it was the two small girls, who, through a narrow slit in the heavily curtained windows, scrutinised the trains as they went by; at night it was Dominique and his wife. The composition of the trains was jotted down in terms of comestibles: beans for soldiers, chicory for horses, coffee for guns, and so on. The reports, in readiness for the courier, were hidden in the hollow handle of a kitchen broom, which was left innocently in its place in the corner. On 23 September, the Fourmies post, No. 201 in the service, started working, and from then on until the Armistice, not a single troop train was missed on this the most important railway artery behind the German front.

  Pierre continued the difficult task of recruiting agents. The danger he ran can only be estimated by one who has been in the service. Even after narrowing down his list to the chosen few whom he considered capable and trustworthy, there always remained the risk of refusal, and the fear, not so much of betrayal, but of gossip reaching the ears of one of the many German stoolpigeons to be found in every village.

  At Glageon, mid-way between Trélon and Fourmies, Pierre recruited his next agent, Crésillon, an employee at a sawmill forcibly kept in operation by the Germans. Adjoining the sawmill was a German engineer park, where ladders to place over barbed-wire entanglements, trench floor-boards, mines to be used against tanks, and all kinds of trench material were manufactured. At this park there was a continual coming and going of detachments, sent by their divisions to fetch supplies; and here it was that Crésillon kept watch. To his competent eye, the noting of regimental numbers, and the gleaning of military information became a routine performance; he was one of the principal members of the Hirson Platoon, who, later on in February 1918, sent us that sure indication that it was from the sector opposite this area that the Germans were to launch their great March offensive.

  In addition to this valuable work, Crésillon also undertook the duties of ‘letter box’, and courier. The reports from Fourmies, Avesnes, and other areas were deposited at his house, and from here, regularly twice a week, he carried them half-way to Trélon to hand them over to Pierre. From Pierre, as we have already seen, Moreau carried them over the frontier to Gobeaux in Macon. Fearing that his constant meetings with Pierre, which generally took place during the luncheon hour, would attract attention, he event
ually handed over his courier duties to his wife. In her profession as midwife, she had an excuse to travel. The Germans never suspected, as she hurried out on her frequent calls, that the delivery of deadly spy reports, cunningly wrapped around the whale-bones of her corset, was her special vocation.

  In the face of danger, illness, rain, and snow, the service went on night and day without a break. It was the couriers who had the most dangerous and the most arduous work. None showed a finer devotion to the patriotic cause they served than Eglantine Lefèvre. On the many occasions the Kaiser took up his quarters at the Château de Merode, near Trélon, and all the roads were ferociously guarded, and not even Crésillon’s wife could circulate, it was Eglantine Lefèvre who carried the reports through at night by way of the fields and the woods. Her name is written down in the annals of the Hirson Platoon as having sacrificed her life in the execution of her duties. Stricken at the time of the Spanish influenza epidemic, she insisted on carrying the reports through to Trélon, even though she was running a high temperature and ached in every limb. She collapsed on reaching Pierre’s house and died the next day.

  The Hirson Platoon had now grown to some fifty-odd members. The Trélon-Glageon-Fourmies-Avesnes area was covered by an invisible network, which daily caught every German move; but in spite of Pierre’s heroic efforts, Hirson itself still eluded his grasp. He had penetrated into the town; he had even succeeded in mounting train-watching posts there to control the important branch lines which converged at this centre; but he had been unable to find a courier to surmount the difficulties of the Hirson–Trélon route. It was Gobeaux who came to the rescue.

  Knowing Pierre’s problem, Gobeaux was naturally all attention when one day two Hirson workmen approached him with the object of planning an escape to join the French Army. Gobeaux was quick to suggest to them that they should join the army of the ‘White Lady’. One of them, who took the service name of José, consented, and Gobeaux sent him back immediately to Hirson to mount a courier service between Hirson and Macon.

  José, in spite of his willingness, was unable to find anyone to help him except his wife, and after making two journeys, covering the long distance alone, he gave up in despair. But Gobeaux, realising the importance of the Hirson reports, was not to be discouraged. Accompanied by an intimate friend of his, Delchambre, he set out for Hirson, early in January 1918, determined to solve the problem on the spot. Traversing the forest of St Michel, they managed to reach their destination. There they put fresh courage into José, and after many setbacks succeeded in enrolling two agents to act in a relay with him. They remained long enough to assure themselves that the Hirson train-watching posts had been definitely linked up with Pierre through the Glageon ‘letter box’.

  Jubilant at the success of their mission, the two of them started back on their return journey. They were approaching the frontier, when suddenly out of the night, they heard the traditional ‘Halt!’ There was only one thing to do – they took to their heels. But the two German soldiers who composed the patrol were young, and even though the darkness and the trees prevented use of their rifles, they could run. Gobeaux and his companion realised their only chance was to hide. Crouched behind a bush, they anxiously waited for the soldiers to pass. The soldiers, however, hearing no noise, started searching around. Gobeaux whispered quick instructions to Delchambre. As the soldiers got within reach, the two jumped out on them, and made a grab for their rifles. Each grappled with his man; and, in hand-to-hand struggle which followed, Gobeaux, in trying to grab his man by the throat, stuck his thumb into his mouth. The German bit into the bone; but Gobeaux was a powerful man – with his free fist he knocked him senseless. Springing to Delchambre’s aid, he dealt the other soldier a blow over the head with the butt-end of his rifle. Taking to their heels again, they managed to regain Macon in safety.

  Gobeaux nursed a broken thumb for several weeks, but as he philosophically told me after the Armistice, ‘The Hirson posts were well worth it.’ What annoyed him most of all was that he had to remain in hiding until his thumb healed: for days, the Secret Police searched for a man with a lacerated thumb.

  Such a direct fight with Secret Police or German soldiers was a rarity. It was confined to the frontier struggles at the two borders, where our agents, often poachers or smugglers, were quick with knife and gun. As a rule, it was hopeless to attempt physical resistance. The spy relied on his wits, and in this he was often more than a match for his German opponent.

  The Hirson Platoon functioned until the end of the war without a single arrest – a truly remarkable achievement in the face of the strict German surveillance. Its success was largely due to the paternal guidance of Pierre. Their fervent patriotism, their trust in God, and the affection they had for each other, these were the influences that inspired them.

  A remarkable feature not only of the Hirson Platoon, but of the whole ‘White Lady’ organisation was family co-operation. Husband, wife, children, even the dog (watching at the door), and often the furniture (a hiding place for compromising documents), each played a part.

  Immediately after his return from Trélon, A. 91 went back to Liège with Chauvin. There for a period of six weeks, twice a week, he eagerly scanned the reports; he assisted Dewé and Chauvin in making the necessary criticisms, and watched with satisfaction the gradual extension of his father’s platoon. He knew that it was supplying the Allies with the only information which came out of this vital area, and he was justly proud.

  A. 91’s three months’ leave of absence, which General Bucabeille had granted him, was about to expire. Dewé and Chauvin reminded us of our promise to fetch him, and once again, on 24 November 1917, it was Charles Willekens who brought him safely into Holland. He had crossed the high-voltage electric wire three times – twice as a spy – in itself a heroic achievement.

  After spending a day with him, plying him with eager questions, and listening to his detailed account of every incident that had occurred during his last eventful three months in the interior, I said goodbye and wished him good luck in his new adventure. Like Lawrence of Arabia, he was setting out as a seasoned veteran to become a cog in a machine – a recruit in the French Army. He was drafted into the 26th Battalion of the Chasseurs à Pied. After the war, he entered one of the religious orders.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE GERMAN SECRET POLICE — THEIR METHODS AND ORGANISATION

  LET US NOW look behind the scenes in the German camp to catch a glimpse of the forces arrayed against the ‘White Lady’.

  The German counter-espionage activities in the occupied territories were directed by the military authorities. There were two distinct groups: The Geheimen Feldpolizei, or Secret Field Police; and the Secret Police attached to the Zentralpolizeistelle or Central Police Bureau.

  The Secret Field Police were the police of the German armies in the field, but as each army headquarters remained fixed for the greater part of the war, the various Secret Field Police units had definite areas to watch. Thus, for example, the Secret Field Police of the IVth German Army covered the Ghent sector; while those of the VIth Army had its sphere of action round Lille. In their aggregate these areas composed the Etappengebiet, or area immediately behind the German front; it also included most of Belgian Flanders. Although attached to their own army headquarters, the various Secret Field Police units really took their orders from a central bureau that centralised their reports and ensured co-operation. The head of this bureau, the big chief of the whole Secret Field Police organisation, was Feldpolizei-direktor Bauer. His bureau was attached to German GHQ in Charleville.

  The Zentralpolizeistelle had its headquarters at Brussels, and was attached to the staff of the German governor-general, von Bissing. The zone it covered was all that part of the occupied territory not controlled by the Secret Field Police, that is, all the back areas of Belgium, including the Belgian–Dutch border. This Central Police Bureau, outside of its local attachment to the staff of the governor-general, was controlled by Colonel Nicola
i, the director of all German military secret service activities; his staff comprised Section IIIb, a section of the German GHQ staff. The head of the Central Police Bureau in Belgium was Captain Imhoff, who occupied himself chiefly with administrative duties. The actual counter-espionage activities were directed by Captain Kohlmeier. Contrary to what might have been expected, it was this Central Police Bureau, and not the Secret Field Police, which was responsible for most of the spy arrests. The explanation of this is that both the border zone, and the headquarters of all the Allied spy organisations, fell within the area controlled by it.

  The territory under the supervision of the Central Police Bureau was divided into four districts: the provinces of Antwerp, Limbourge, Namur, and Brabant, each in charge of a captain. These districts were in turn divided into a number of Polizeistelle, or Secret Police posts. The Secret Police posts at Liège, Brussels, and Antwerp were the ones with which the ‘White Lady’ generally came into conflict.

  The chief of the Polizeistelle Lüttich (Liège) was Lieutenant Landwerlen, who was connected with the Lambrecht arrests, and about whom I shall have much to say later.

  At Brussels there were three of these police posts: sections A, B, and C. Lieutenant Bergan, who together with Henri Pinkhoff was responsible for the arrest of Edith Cavell, was in charge of Section B.

  In their drive on spies, the German Secret Police directed their attack along four channels: surveillance at the frontier; control of the population through severe police laws; surveillance in the interior of the occupied territories; and, finally, use of traitors.