Strange Intelligence: Memoirs of Naval Secret Service by Hector C. Bywater, H. C. Ferraby

after this incident another British Army officer came to me with an introduction. He was a captain in the Royal Garrison Artillery, and was spending a fortnight’s leave in Germany. Sitting in the lounge of the Hotel Bristol in Berlin, he outlined his plans to me. He had in his pocket a map showing the defences of Kiel harbour, namely, the batteries at Friedrichsort, Möltenort, and Laboe, with the supposed number and calibre of the guns marked thereon. His intention was to visit these forts in person and check the information on the map.
    Quite apart from the extremely hazardous nature of the enterprise – which to my knowledge was, in fact, impossible – I saw at once that he was entirely the wrong sort of man to undertake work of this kind. He was garrulous, excitable, and temperamentally indiscreet. Often I had to check him when he was beginning to discuss matters that ought not to have been mentioned except behind locked doors.
    He rather resented my attitude, and this made him obstinate when I tried to persuade him to abandon his hare-brained scheme. I pointed out that while his safety was purely his own concern, his inevitable capture – if he persisted in trying to visit the Kiel forts – would not only embarrass the British government, but would also put fresh difficulties in the way of our regular intelligence men, who were already finding the German authorities far more vigilant as a result of these frequent, if always futile, attempts by amateurs to do the work of professional secret service agents.
    But all my arguments fell on deaf ears. My companion had made up his mind to go to Kiel, and to Kiel he was going on the morrow. In these circumstances I not only refused to have anything to do with the business, but mentally resolved to put a spoke in his wheel, for the sake of all concerned, his own included.
    An hour later a lengthy telegram was despatched, by indirect route, to a certain address in London. The following morning my visitor had a wire, cancelling his leave and directing him to rejoin his regiment forthwith. He was naturally much puzzled and rather angry, but had no suspicion of my connection with the affair. I saw him off by the Hook of Holland express. To this day – assuming him to have survived the war – he is doubtless ignorant of the fact that my cipher telegram to London in all probability saved him from a long term of captivity within the depressing walls of Glatz or Wesel.
    After these experiences, which were but two among many of a similar kind, I made strong representations at headquarters as to the imprudence of giving even the mildest official encouragement to amateurs, and, above all, of putting them into touch with me. My own position in Germany was quite precarious enough, and I simply could not afford to incur any risk additional to that which my own work entailed. This protest must have been effectual, for I was not troubled again by indiscreet visitors.
    This particular agent had the distinction of becoming an object of special interest to no less a personage than Baron von Kühlmann, the German Chargé d’Affaires in London during the last two years before the war. Acting, no doubt, on instructions from Berlin, the Baron made extensive inquiries in certain circles where he hoped to find people who were personally acquainted with the agent, and who might be persuaded to disclose his whereabouts. These inquiries, however, were conducted with so little finesse that they led to nothing.
    One illuminating example of Herr von Kühlmann’s diplomatic methods may be cited. He made the acquaintance of a well-known London journalist, invited him to dinner, and there introduced him to two German naval officers, who were visiting England.
    ‘These friends of mine,’ he told his guest, ‘are very anxious to meet “X” (mentioning the British agent’s name), who is believed to be living somewhere in Germany. He seems to be a most interesting person. Do you happen to know where he