Germans -- England -- Fiction; Spy stories, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- Fiction
“Well,” he said, “I guess those people in New York have made some
mistake. Pretzl told me I was to come along and report to you and that
you might put some good work in my way. I don’t care what it is,” he
said, swinging his legs and puffing away at his cigar, “anything short
of a business that will send me to the Chair is good enough for me.”
“My dear Jim,” I said mildly. “I am afraid Herr Pretzl is under
altogether a wrong impression.” How I cursed that interfering swine
von Pretzl who had placed my life and freedom in the hands of a common
confidence man! I have frequently warned von Papen that Pretzl was an
old woman and a fool. How much was I justified!
“See here, Heine,” said Jim, speaking with great earnestness, “I want
some kinder job. There ain’t any suckers left in the world--I guess
they’re all gone to war. There’s nothing crossing the Atlantic now but
Dago acrobats on their way to join up with the Alpinis, and they’re
wrapped up so in life-savin’ suits that they couldn’t get at their wad
even if they wanted to give it to you. Them and feeble-minded old men
and women are all the passengers there are--and women as you know are
meaner than hell when it comes to a show-down of real money. I’ve been
across three times dodging submarines and mines and all I could raise
was a game of auction bridge at ten cents a hundred. Now you know the
ropes here. Put me wise to a few.”
I thought rapidly. He might be a useful man. Then again he might be a
source of grave danger. A man of that character would not come to
England without the British police force being informed and probably
he was shadowed. In the circumstances I rejected any offer of personal
help, but I gave him the address of two or three gambling clubs and
promised to call on the ’phone a good friend of mine who was the
proprietor of the largest. He cheered up when I told him this.
“If there is money to be made,” he said, “I am after it. Some of these
young officers have got plenty of money, you say.”
“Some of them are worth millions,” I said solemnly.
He shook hands heartily and I was glad to see the back of him. I
watched through the window his departure. There was a man standing on
the other side of the road, apparently watching the traffic, but as
soon as Jim made his appearance and turned westward the idler turned
too. Of course he was watched. The imbecility of sending such a man to
me with all the interests I represented!
I was in despair, but pulling myself together I put on my hat and
going out into the street hailed a cab and was driven off to my club,
where I told an amusing story to a few of the members who were loafing
in the smoke-room about this confidence man who had come to me with a
letter of introduction. I felt sure that somebody would repeat the
story, and in this I was not mistaken.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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