This man was an old crony of mine. While a magnificent organizer of espionage, he was a poor observer himself, and I had already succeeded on one occasion in imposing myself on him under a false identity.
I had brought with me the papers which I had obtained by bribery from the police agent Rostoy, representing me as an inspector in the secret police of the Russian Empire.
Wearing my pilot’s dress, but carrying these and other papers in my pocket, I presented myself at Finkelstein’s office, and asked to see him.
I was shown in first, as I had expected, to Finkelstein’s secretary, who asked me my business.
“I can tell that only to the Herr Superintendent himself,” I said.
“If you will let him know that I have just come from Petersburg, I am sure he will receive me.”
The secretary seemed to think so too. He went straight into his chief’s room and came out immediately to fetch me in.
As soon as I found myself alone with the head of the German service, I said quietly,
“I have brought you a message from M. Petrovitch.”
“Petrovitch!” exclaimed the Superintendent, surprised out of his usual caution. “But he is dead!”