I knew this of course to
be a mere subterfuge; whether or not he suspected that
I was a Spy I cannot say. I was muffled up, to avoid
recognition, in a long overcoat with the collar turned
up and reaching well above my ears, while the black beard
and the moustache, that I had slipped on in entering the
hotel, concealed my face. "Let me speak a moment to the
manager," I said. When he came I beckoned him aside and
taking his ear in my hand I breathed two words into it.
"Good heavens!" he gasped, while his face turned as pale
as ashes. "Is it enough?" I asked. "Can I have a room,
or must I breathe again?" "No, no," said the manager,
still trembling. Then, turning to the clerk: "Give this
gentleman a room," he said, "and give him a bath."
What these two words are that will get a room in New York
at once I must not divulge. Even now, when the veil of
secrecy is being lifted, the international interests
involved are too complicated to permit it. Suffice it to
say that if these two had failed I know a couple of others
still better.
I narrate this incident, otherwise trivial, as indicating
the astounding ramifications and the ubiquity of the
international spy system. A similar illustration occurs
to me as I write.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25