The Spy Net (8 page)

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 eventually 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.

L
ET 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 Nicolai, 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.

By means of the high-voltage electric wire at the Belgian– Dutch frontier, and by the efficient surveillance which I have already described, spies were either caught at the border or were cut off from their base in Holland.

In the interior, by making compulsory the carrying of identity cards and the procuring of passes even for short journeys, the Secret Police not only hindered the transmission of reports, but acquired an effective means of controlling the inhabitants.
Random search of houses, sudden raids at railway stations, at cafes, and on the tram-cars, and often the blocking off of entire streets, frequently left a spy in their net. It was not even necessary to seize reports. Often a false identity card or the lack of a travelling pass started an investigation which enmeshed the spy.

A strict watch was kept at all military centres, and anyone acting at all suspiciously was immediately arrested; above all, houses which could possibly harbour train-watchers were kept under close observation.

But the Secret Police were clever enough to recognise that these measures alone would not suffice. The inhabitants soon learned to recognise even those agents who had been recruited from Germans who had lived for years in Belgium and France before the war, and who often passed for Belgians or Frenchmen. To overcome this disadvantage, and to avail themselves of a source of information which has been used since time immemorial, the Germans resorted to the use of stool-pigeons. It was the employment of these traitors, recruited from the dregs of the French and Belgian population, which accounted for at least 90 per cent of the arrests made. However small it was, every police post had its five or six informers who spied on their neighbours and collected that idle gossip, not harmfully meant, which often spelled death for the victim. Arrests were, of course, always made by the Secret Police, and the identity of these traitors was concealed as much as possible.

These stool-pigeons were successful in Belgium, but it was in Holland that they reaped their richest harvest. Here the Allied secret services, cut off from the interior and continually prodded by headquarters in England or France, were often tricked
by these traitors who came to them with every possible proof that they had means of bringing information out of Belgium. This proof often was the very report the Germans had seized on some frontier courier, and which the stool-pigeon now used in order to get himself enrolled as a substitute courier. The tragic results can well be imagined.

Once the Secret Police had been given sufficient information to effect the arrest of a spy, they could carry on for themselves. They were past masters in the art of delayed arrest, that is, watching a suspect until all his contacts had been discovered. Not satisfied with arresting the spy, his house was also occupied, and anyone having the misfortune to call had to prove his innocence before he was released. If these measures failed to enmesh the entire organisation, third-degree methods were used on the prisoners: drugs, endless interrogation without sleep, and finally physical violence. Stool-pigeons were also frequently employed in the prisons. The unfortunate prisoner, worn out by mishandling, often fell an easy prey to these individuals disguised as fellow prisoners, priests, or nuns.

Since prison stool-pigeons were so frequently used by the Germans, it will be of interest to hear the story of one of them. Practically all were of French and Belgian nationality, but I cannot resist singling out the German, Hans G., for he was the most notorious one of them all.

One morning, towards the end of 1916, Lieutenant Bergan, in charge of the police post in Brussels, handed his assistant, Pinkhoff, an informer's report to investigate. Pinkhoff was not especially interested. He knew all these reports had to be followed up, but he would have preferred being put in charge of a
more important case. Daulne, the Belgian chief of police at Auderghem, was accused of assisting refugees to escape into Holland. Probably some ex-convict trying to get even with the Belgian Police, is what passed through Pinkhoff's mind; he handed the investigation on to one of his minor agents.

Events, however, quickly took a surprising turn. The agent rushed back to Pinkhoff with the exciting information that not only was the report accurate, but that Daulne had in hiding in his house an escaped prisoner-of-war, a Russian officer, Count Jean Potoki. Pinkhoff immediately took charge, the house was put under observation, and Daulne and the Count were eventually arrested.

At the interrogation which ensued, Count Potoki, to Daulne's utter amazement, declared that he was Hans G., a deserter from the German Army, and that he had posed as a Russian to arouse Daulne's sympathy, and to secure a hiding place.

But to Pinkhoff, Count Potoki, a Russian officer of high rank, was of much greater interest than G, the deserter; and so, it was as the Count that the prisoner was charged, and it was still as the Count that he was convicted, and imprisoned in the Prison de St-Gilles in Brussels. Proof was soon forthcoming, however, that G was all that he had claimed to be – a German deserter, and the son of the station master at a small town close to Berlin. Pinkhoff, when called to account for the mistake, had a ready answer: ‘You don't think I really thought he was a Russian, do you? Don't you see, he took Daulne in? He is going to be one of our stool-pigeons.' G demanded nothing better; he was once again in order with the German military authorities; and, above all, he had achieved his original objective: he had escaped service in the firing line.

Those Allied agents who were imprisoned in St-Gilles during the 1916–18 period will recognise the man if not the name: small, dark, thick-set, with high cheek-bones, aquiline nose, small moustache, and an aristocratic bearing. Several years spent as a waiter in Paris had given G a perfect command of the French language. In addition, therefore, to the role of Count Potoki, he often passed himself off as a Frenchman.

Sometimes he was introduced into a cell as a priest. Overflowing with sympathy, he eagerly listened to the confidences that were made him, and was always quick to intimate that he was willing to carry word, either by mouth or letter, to anyone who needed warning. Another variation was that of fellow prisoner. On these occasions, his passage to the cell would always be accompanied by the sound of blows, shrieks of pain, and by shouts of ‘dirty spy' and other German imprecations. The cell door would open, and he would be thrown in a heap at the feet of his victim.

Some of the prisoners were taken in by him; others, acquainted with Secret Police methods, met his advances with insults, or simply refused to speak to him. His victims were many. So successful was he that there were times when he was even lent to the Secret Police in Antwerp. He was well paid. When he was instrumental in securing the arrest of a whole spy organisation, his blood money often ran as high as a thousand marks. Most of the credit, however, for G's work went to Pinkhoff. He was awarded the Iron Cross, and was eventually promoted to chief of the Secret Police in Bucharest.

It was not only stool-pigeons of the types I have already mentioned, who succeeded in tricking the Allied agents and secret
services. There were many members of the Secret Police who, like Pinkhoff, could speak French fluently, and they too were often successful in passing themselves off as Frenchmen or Belgians. B was a typical representative of this class.

An Alsatian by birth, B had lived for many years in Paris. He spoke not only French but even the argot fluently. It is not surprising, then, to find him as M. 25 already enrolled before the war in the German secret service. It was he who, in 1913, stole from one of the forts of Verdun a new type of shell of secret construction which had just been introduced into the French Army. It was a daring coup. While an accomplice attracted the attention of the sentinel at the ammunition magazine, B made his entry and got away with the prize. At the commencement of the war, he was again sent on a mission to France, but, compromised in connection with it, he was transferred to Brussels in 1915, and was there attached to Police Section A under the direction of Lieutenant Schmitz. Working alternately under the assumed names of Paul Forster and Paul Lefèvre, he soon proved himself one of the best of the Secret Police in his section. Posing as a Belgian who had extensive connections in Holland, he gained the confidence of the Mayor of one of the large towns in occupied France, and eventually received a mandate from him to make purchases in Holland for the municipality. Armed with an official letter from the Mayor, to which the seal of the municipality had been attached, and facilitated by a
visa
granted by the Germans, supposedly at the request of the Mayor, B, alias Paul Lefèvre, set out for Holland. On arrival there his papers were an open sesame to several of the Allied secret services. Of the arrests he was responsible for, I shall tell in a later chapter.

This, then, is a brief outline of the German counter-espionage organisation in the occupied territories, as well as a general description of their methods and of a few of the characteristic types employed by them. Since it is outside the scope of this book, I have made no reference to the German secret service branch in Antwerp, which they used both as a spy school and as a base for the recruiting of many of the agents whom they sent into the Allied countries.

Between the two German counter-espionage services, a network was spread over the whole of the occupied territories – each village had its police post. In the aggregate there were several thousand secret agents attached to their payroll. If one adds to this number, the sentries spread along the Belgian–Dutch frontier, one readily realises the size of the German counter-espionage machine. It had to be large to watch and control several million inhabitants.

The German Secret Police were often efficient in making arrests; at other times, they blundered hopelessly. They were handicapped by the competition, and consequent lack of cooperation, between the various police posts. Each, in its endeavour to win credit for arrests, was inclined to keep clues to itself. This happened even among the three Secret Police sections in Brussels. Then, they were often tricked by double agents who, working for both sides at the same time, betrayed the one to the other. Their strength, the stool-pigeon recruited from among the inhabitants, was on occasions their weakness; information purchased at a price could not always be relied on.

In regard to the Secret Police methods, the types of agents they employed, and their treatment of prisoners, I offer no
opinion. I have merely stated the facts. The reader can judge for himself. The Belgian and German points of view can never be reconciled, and I am not going to attempt the impossible.