Chapter Fourteen

There was no attempt at secrecy when Mata Hari left Spain, nor again when she entered France. At the time of her departure from Madrid she was attended at the railroad station by the customary court of enthusiastic admirers, many of whom had a sincere admiration for her art as a dancer, although there was a vociferous group of Spanish friends and a sprinkling of German officers to kiss her hand whose admiration was based upon other personal qualities. In spite of the atmosphere of suspicion in which she moved no protest was raised against the Red Dancer when she crossed the Pyrenees, because the path had been smoothed by a complacent French consul to whom she applied for visas for her passport. To anyone less superbly self-confident the ease with which her papers were put in order must have raised visions of future trouble, because travel in those days was notoriously difficult on account of the rigid regulations in force.

Since the Red Dancer’s public appearance at the vaudeville theatres in Paris had not been advertised, her arrival in the French capital was 229unheralded except for one friend. The demonstrative welcome she had grown to love and expect was absent. Apart from the watchful police agents warned of her coming, the only other person present to greet her was the one loyal attendant who had taken a short leave from the Foreign Office to renew their acquaintance. His love, which had already passed through many vicissitudes at the caprice of the bayadère, seems always to have been rekindled by her presence. At the station the police noticed that Mata Hari’s baggage was sent to the Hotel Plaza-Athénée, while the owner, taking only light luggage, took her place in the official’s private car, which sped away to his own residence.

With that evidence it was felt that they could pick up the trail without difficulty, so the newly joined friends were not shadowed as the London police certainly would have shadowed them until Mata Hari would never have been allowed out of their sight. This neglect gave the Paris authorities a fright from which they might have saved themselves with a little more foresight. But when the officers of the Second Bureau thought that they would like to talk with her, the police were unable to find any trace of Mata Hari. For three days they scoured the city for some signs or news of the dancer and her companion. At the Hotel 230Plaza-Athénée nothing could be learned but that they were expecting the arrival of Mata Hari at any time; her luggage had arrived and doubtless the lady was closely following it. At the Foreign Office it was learned that the director was having a few days’ leave, the time was indeterminate, after so many months of arduous labour. But it was known he had not left the city, because he had been in telephonic communication with the Office.

But not a trace of Mata Hari could be found, and as her absence grew hourly longer the anxiety increased. This sudden disappearance bewildered everyone. The officers of the Second Bureau were beginning to suspect that she had embarked upon some other mission, such as that at Vittel, which required her presence in an obscure town, and that she might be stirring another witches’ brew for their consumption. Their dilemma was the greater because it was known that money for her work was awaiting her at the neutral Legation, and it was not like her to neglect collecting it. When at last they did find her, driving unconcernedly to the hotel, the mystery had grown so profound that it was judged advisable to delay action for a few more days in order to ascertain what new mischief was brewing. The Second Bureau were not omniscient, they did not know what was the nature of her immediate 231work in Paris, because, like everyone else, they wondered at her temerity in venturing to reappear in the scenes of her most daring exploits in face of added danger. It was decided, therefore, to take a leaf from the book of their English colleagues and give the spy a little extra freedom before expressing their curiosity in the discharge of her Belgian mission.

There was the grave fear that during her absence from observation in company of a man who was in the confidence of the Cabinet, she might have used their intimacy to learn matters of national policy which, if communicated to the German authorities, would cause irreparable injury to the French nation. It was impossible to conceive the extent of the damage that might be done to the Allied cause through the indiscretions of a highly placed official during a few moments of unguarded confidence. It was already believed that through information acquired in this way, Mata Hari had been able to warn the Germans of the British determination to resume the offensive in the spring of 1917 and the French reluctance to undertake any active measures at that time, information which resulted in the withdrawal on the Somme to more easily defended positions opposite the British, 232but the retention of every inch of ground in face of the French.

However, her equally sudden reappearance in public and the casual resumption of her normal existence restored their confidence in being able to discover her aims. A spy working under observation is a very different matter from one working unseen, and presents only a fraction of the potential danger of one whose object is not even conjectural and whose methods are a matter of speculation. She did find a few spare moments to visit the Legation to collect 15,000 marks that were sent from Amsterdam for her reward, but she had nothing to report to her headquarters, which was a matter of considerable relief, since it proved that during those few days in which Mata Hari had eluded the police she had acquired no knowledge that was worth sending.

Then followed a period of wild pleasures of the old kind. Thanks to the renewal of favour of her diplomatic friend, her public luncheons and dinners assumed a decidedly diplomatic flavour. Grave and dignified representatives of various countries who did not find the task of maintaining the neutrality of their countries to be very onerous, struggled for her notice, and if they were rewarded by a glance from Mata Hari’s sombre eyes they felt 233the day was not wholly wasted, while if she awarded them any signal mark of favour they left her presence as well satisfied as if they had negotiated an advantageous treaty for their country. At one such luncheon given by an ambassador, an observant journalist, who had his own reasons for keeping a close watch on the spy, noticed her amazing power over these men. So complete was her mastery of the situation that this man observed with astonishment that during the course of only a few minutes she changed the truth to suit her own requirements without having any of her false or conflicting statements challenged by her infatuated admirers.

But while rejoicing in the possession of so many amiable and generous friends Mata Hari was not neglecting her old friends, the officers on leave. Almost every night when she had completed her social duties she would start out on a tour of the night haunts until she had found some semi-intoxicated man who, by a little judicious entertainment of her own devising, could be persuaded to become loquacious in his cups. From one such garrulous gentleman, whose art on the stage was recognized as reaching its highest when playing the part of drunken men, she tried to find out what improvements were being made in the tanks and 234whether their tactical handling had undergone any improvement. But this was a fruitless search to undertake in France. The secrets of the newer developments in the tanks were being kept too closely guarded to be available to men in France, and the methods of handling them changed with every action in which they took part. But with this knowledge of her object in their possession, the officers of the Second Bureau felt that they now might call their own spy to account for an explanation of her neglect to report on her mission to Belgium.

The civil police officer charged with the delicate task of approaching Mata Hari was instructed that he must on no account cause her any fright. This officer, a Monsieur Triolet, was an experienced and tactful official, fully conversant with the spy’s career and character, and not unfamiliar with the desperate remedies employed by hysterical law-breakers to improve a bad situation. He knew that Mata Hari was a sufferer from what is now euphemistically called “artistic temperament,” but which in those days was known as outraged vanity expressing itself through plain bad temper, and that at the least sign of contrariness to her wishes there had been scenes of blind rage in which the angry dancer seemed capable of any folly. It was not improbable that a woman with such a violent 235temper might try to inflict bodily injury on herself or the police commissioners if she suspected any harm as the outcome of this visit. They had evidence of her self-cultivated reputation for bloodlust, illustrated by her boast that she had strangled the slayer of her son Norman and had killed with her own hand the favourite pony, rather than allow him to be ridden by a stranger. Such a desperate character as she pretended to be called for special treatment. The most real danger was that if she suspected the police intended to effect her arrest, she might be tempted to destroy any incriminating documents that were in her possession, that is if she felt guilty enough to entertain such suspicion.

All things considered, M. Triolet decided strategy was required. It was imperative that, once he had gained admission to the house, Mata Hari must never leave his sight for a moment. Filled with this good intention, the police commissioner and a subordinate persuaded the hotel staff to facilitate their admission to her suite. The first sight they got of their quarry dispelled any fear of concealed weapons. It also dissipated their strategic intention, for as they walked into the room they were received by the dancer, reclining at her ease on a couch in her favourite costume, or lack of it. The embarrassed M. Triolet and his 236companion had not counted on finding her devoid of all clothing—it destroyed the scheme they had developed of persuading her to accompany them promptly to the offices of the Second Bureau. But fortunately, Mata Hari preserved her composure.

Quite unconcernedly she asked, “To what do I owe the honour of this visit, monsieur?”

The dumbfounded officers floundered hopelessly through some muttered apology for intruding on her privacy, but somehow managed to convey the impression that they had been sent to invite Mata Hari to visit the Bureau. Unless she had some convincing story ready, the prospect was alarming; but the dancer had that unwavering self-assurance which some women derive from the knowledge that they are beautiful, and she scorned to display any outward sign of fear. M. Triolet recalls how she rose to survey her pensive beauty in a long glass while she nonchalantly speculated upon the possible reasons for the desire to interview her. A little less self-confidence might have allowed her the chance of escape had she wanted to avoid the meeting, because the embarrassment of the two officials was so great that their modesty would have allowed her the privilege of leaving their presence to put on some clothes. But she seemed to have no doubt of her impregnable position and gave the 237impression of being genuinely anxious to find a valid reason for the proposed visit.

At last she found a possible excuse.

“Perhaps it is about my journey to Belgium that the officers wish to see me,” she suggested hopefully.

“Precisely, madame,” agreed the police commissioner, not knowing what she was talking about, but hastily grasping at any straw that would rescue him from his dilemma. “It must be that, because, now that you mention it, I did hear an allusion to a journey to Belgium, only I did not associate it with you.”

“Oh yes, I had intended to go.”

“What, a lady to go alone among the Boches?”

“Yes, monsieur,” she modestly replied. “I was going, and alone. Not for myself, but for France, the France that I love so well because it has been so good to me. But you will understand, you must have had experience of the stupid police in London, how they could bungle a delicate mission. Can you imagine that those clumsy men, who were ordered to put me on a boat which would take me to Amsterdam, actually put me on one going to Cadiz? They are not so gallant as the Paris police, and they certainly are not so intelligent. Imagine my predicament to arrive in Cadiz, where I was 238without friends or the means of reaching those who could aid me. Ah, those English police, they are sad bunglers.”

It would have been more gallant for these two officers to have left Mata Hari to complete her toilette unobserved, but now that her unconcern had removed their embarrassment and the little party was on the friendliest footing, they returned to their resolution to watch any movement in order to guard against treachery. There was the danger that this attitude of indifference was an attempt to gain their confidence for the purpose of benefiting by it in some way. They decided against taking any chances. This situation was acceptable to Mata Hari. Thus the two police commissioners hovered anxiously over her toilette with the concern of wardrobe masters, doing their clumsy best to repair the absence of maids, while she prattled gaily of her misadventures. The police agent declares that she rather enjoyed the situation and the opportunity it offered of making favourable comparisons between the Paris and London police.

The amazing woman was so much the victim of her own self-confidence to control any situation in which she found herself, that she displayed no worry about the waiting interview which might have very inconvenient consequences. Having 239dressed with care, for she had now several acquaintances among the officers of the Second Bureau upon whom she wished to exercise her charms, she announced her readiness to accompany the two officers, who informed her that an official car was waiting.

The Second Bureau wanted to see Mata Hari for two reasons. One was that they were curious to have her explanation of the Belgian fiasco; the other was in relation to a radio message concerning the spy.

Both the airplane and the radio reached an advanced stage of development when they became adjuncts of war, but while full honours have been rendered the more spectacular weapon, no one has yet done justice to the romantic possibilities of radio’s accomplishment. All we are concerned with here is its application in secret-service work and to Mata Hari in particular. Many American readers will recall the use made of the German-owned and controlled station at Sayville, on Long Island, which served for some time as the clearing-house for messages for both contestants. Less well known is the story of the telegraphic message which did so much to influence President Wilson in his determination to take an active part in the war.

In January, 1917, Herr Arthur Zimmermann, 240the German Secretary of State, addressed a message to the ambassador in Mexico, von Eckhardt, urging him to invite Mexico to enter into an alliance with Germany and to sound Japan upon the same project. As an inducement to produce the armed activity of Mexico against the United States, the German Minister suggested that the states of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona should be her reward. By one of those curious lapses which are so unaccountable, this message was sent over cables that were known to be in possession of the British, but so absolute was their confidence in their ability to outwit the enemy that the German officials merely had the message transferred into their ordinary code, a code which the head of the secret service had previously warned them was wholly antiquated and no longer proof against interpretation. Unhappily for them, this code was known to the British.

As soon as the text was known it was submitted to Walter H. Page, then ambassador to the Court of Saint James’s, who promptly sent it to President Wilson, at that time hovering on the brink of declaring war, but hoping against hope to maintain neutrality. With this effort to provoke trouble in his hands, American intervention was only a matter of time.

241To finish with this story it is necessary to add that the British had to conceal from their enemy how this piece of information had come into the possession of the President. It became necessary to fabricate a story while the American authorities were endeavouring to prove the authenticity of the document. Acting upon information supplied by Mr. Page, United States agents “listened in” in Mexico City for the message (which had been purposely delayed in transmission), and when it was known that they had intercepted it, certain London papers that were known to be in demand in Germany, launched an attack on Sir Reginald Hall for allowing American agents to discover such invaluable information and for permitting it to escape the notice of the British Intelligence service. This rebuke, which was as severe as the censorship might allow, did not disturb Hall. He had written it himself.

Every combatant nation maintained its stations for the transmission and reception of messages and it soon became a desperate game to pick up one another’s messages and to make what sense was possible from the information so collected. What each country wished to have accepted generally as its view of the situation was broadcast in plain language, so that its message was carried to the 242waiting world; but confidential matter which had to be conveyed to distant agents required great precaution so that none of the meaning should be apparent to enemies. Thus codes and ciphers were used. As we have seen, these were not always successful in maintaining secrecy. During the early stages of the war the British naval code was known to the German representatives in Washington and, by intercepting coded messages, they were able to inform their own naval units in southern seas of the favourable advantage in guns and position they possessed over a weak English squadron, which resulted in the latter being overtaken and defeated at the Coronel. Naturally the code was changed in its entirety after this and the possession of the German code enabled the British to turn the tables on their enemy in precisely the same manner at the battle of Falkland Islands.

Codes and ciphers have their dangers. There was an everlasting battle of wits between secret-service agents to obtain possession of these precious documents, and the war had not long been in progress when it was the proud boast of these services that each possessed a department which could unravel the most complicated message, if only they were given time. Stations like the Eiffel Tower would pick up the code messages cast into the air 243and promptly transmit them to decoding officers, who did their best (or worst) to find out what the messages contained. At times the results were startling.

The Eiffel Tower betrayed the work of more than one spy. There was, for instance, the brilliant young noncommissioned officer, Debrabant, who found life in the Intelligence department’s offices too sedentary after service at the front. He pressed for more congenial employment where his taste for adventure might be gratified, and was sent to Barcelona to watch the operation of the German secret service there under Baron von Rolland. In that city he fell in love with a rich Andalusian widow, but, being a youth of spirit, he required to have money enough to keep him independent of her bounty. He was struck with the bright idea of selling his knowledge of the Intelligence work of the French, which he had gained at headquarters, to their enemies. This information was sent to Madrid and later radioed to Antwerp for necessary action. It was too late to prevent the death of thirteen agents which resulted from the betrayal, but the French were able to read these messages because they had become possessed of the key to the code which was used. Debrabant died a traitor’s death in 1919.

244It will be recalled that when Mata Hari was in Madrid she asked von Kroon to secure some money for her from her headquarters in Amsterdam for use in Paris. The naval attaché must have known that this message broadcast across France would be picked up at some stage of its journey, so he carefully coded the message to make it unintelligible to anyone who did not have the key. Unhappily for Mata Hari, the French did have the key.

It is not suggested that the rape of the code book was the result of any indiscretion on the part of Mata Hari’s friend. The fault must be laid to one of his colleagues, and it makes an interesting story.

The French consul in San Sebastián earned the reputation of being the most enthusiastic user of photography during the war. Knowing that the German propaganda in neutral countries was directed from that town, he was determined to utilize the enemy’s envoys as decoys to betray their agents. To further this purpose he conceived the idea of photographing all the visitors to their headquarters, and so he installed a photographic apparatus in the house immediately opposite that where the Germans worked. By this means he was able to furnish pictures of all the agents calling for instructions to the various branches of the counter-espionage service. The photographer, a very skilled 245young woman, was called into consultation by a man who had set himself the task of securing the German code books.

Had he simply stolen the book his work would have been greatly simplified, but its absence would have been immediately discovered and a new code substituted, thus defeating his purpose. In order to make a job of it he had to conduct the affair in such a way that the Germans would never suspect the book had been out of their possession. The task was more or less simplified by the use of standardized portfolios by the staff of the Embassy. One day an official had cause to pack the code book and some papers into one of these portfolios, which he proposed to take with him to his rooms to complete work after his office hours. On the way he met a friend who suggested that he accompany her to the house of mutual acquaintances, well known to the diplomat as favouring the Central Powers, who had been expecting a visit from him. Since there was ample time to finish his work after the call, the German envoy agreed to the suggestion and a near-by taxi was called. In accordance with his usual custom the diplomat, a man of considerable charm and popularity in Madrid, halted the taxi at a shop where he might buy some flowers to 246be presented as a peace offering to his hostess after his long absence.

The social call was without incident. Only, later in the evening when the diplomat was free to commence the work he had brought to his rooms he made the annoying discovery that the portfolio he had carried from the office was not the one which contained the papers he needed. Hastily telephoning the secretary on duty at the Embassy, he was told that his own portfolio was lying just where he had left it in his office. Naturally concluding that he had picked up the wrong portfolio, the diplomat made an exchange which enabled him to complete his work without any suspicion that the precious papers had ever been out of the possession of the Embassy staff, while, as a matter of fact, they had been photographed page by page during the interval of his entering the flower shop and the time the portfolio was discovered lying in his office.

How was it done? A minor official in the Embassy had been coaxed, bribed, or bullyragged into lending an Embassy portfolio stuffed with harmless routine documents to an audacious French agent who carried it for days on the seat of the taxi he was driving. He and his collaborator, the lady, had to wait patiently before they encountered 247the diplomat under quite the right conditions. At last the fates were kind in arranging the circumstances as they were required for the execution of the plan, with the one exception that the diplomat carried a leather case that contained only a few papers, whereas the portfolio to replace it was stuffed with them. There was barely time to reduce the bulging portfolio to satisfactory dimensions while the diplomat was buying flowers, and the taxi-driver was compelled to finish his journey sitting on a wad of loose papers which might easily have betrayed him. Having dropped his two passengers, the driver hurried back to within sight of the Embassy where the papers were all photographed before being returned (we do not know how) to the diplomat’s office. It was intended, had the attempt proved a failure, to repeat it until the code book was found.

This was a very risky business, as too much was left to the fortuitous arrangement of circumstances, a great contrast to the classic example of “bag-snatching” carried out by the American agent, Houghton, in New York. Here the agent sat behind Dr. Albert, the commercial attaché at Washington, in the Subway, and relieved him of his portfolio and papers at the Fiftieth Street station. The same day the papers, which included the code 248books, were handed over to the New York police as having been “found” in the car. The papers were hastily photographed as soon as the owner was known!

When the Eiffel Tower picked up von Kroon’s message, the decoding officers had their work very much simplified, and were able to inform the Second Bureau that the naval attaché in Madrid had requested the Amsterdam headquarters to furnish H21 with funds for her work in Paris, the money to be sent through the usual channels.

This telegram picked out of the air was the first piece of genuine orthodox evidence the Second Bureau had been able to collect against Mata Hari, and it was because of it that they wished to interview her.

When Police Commissioner Triolet arrived at the offices of the Second Bureau he heaved a sigh of relief at having successfully accomplished a delicate task. For some reason the police had a strong suspicion that Mata Hari meant mischief against herself in case of discovery, and it was because of this that they were so anxious to have her alive and well, for spies differ to this extent from Indians, the good ones live—and talk to their captors. Arrived at the Bureau, the police officer handed Mata Hari a folded paper of ominously 249legal aspect. It was the warrant for her arrest as a spy.

She never even glanced at it.

In the room to which she had been conducted were several officers, and thinking, from her experience of previous visits to the place, that the paper was merely authority to secure her admission to those closely guarded rooms, she asked the police officer:

“To which of these officers should I present this document?”

Anxious to return to aid in the fruitless search of her rooms, already begun at the moment of her departure, M. Triolet indicated the officer charged with the interrogation. Mata Hari approached him without hesitation and laid the warrant under his eyes. The surprised Captain Ledoux was not prepared for such amazing composure, so that he looked at the paper curiously, expecting something quite different. However, when he saw what it was he gravely motioned her to a seat, drew toward him a pad for making notes, and, preparing to write, said to her:

“Tell me how long you have been in the German secret service.”

The shock of the unexpected blow stunned her. For a moment she rocked unsteadily in the chair 250and her face went livid. It was no longer the assured, audacious Mata Hari who looked with terrified eyes at the officer and whimpered:

“I ... I do not understand.”

“Tell me, H21, when you first became a spy in the enemy’s pay.”

With those words Mata Hari must have known that the career of the Red Dancer had drawn to its close. Now, nothing remained except the spy H21.

That night the woman who had loved luxury as the Sybarite who complained that he could not sleep because of a fold in a rose-leaf on his couch, tossed feverishly on the hard bed in a cell of the prison of Saint-Lazare.

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