The Secrets of the German War Office

by Armgaard Karl Graves

I hope I am still a Christian, but contact and intercourse with the mysticism of Africa and India has made me superstitious. I have a curious habit at momentous times of indecision of taking two full packages of cards and playing Napoleon's solitaire. If I get it out once in three times, I generally go into the matter in hand without question. It never has failed me. Twice in my life I went against it; twice I had bitter cause of regret.

Well, I didn't give von Stammer his decision on the moment because I wanted to try the old test. Kim produced the cards and I began to play. I got it out the second time. Going to the 'phone I called von Stammer and told him I would undertake the mission. He asked me to come at once to his house, and there I received final instructions and passports, the latter essential south of the Austrian frontier.

At three o'clock in the morning I boarded the Orient Express via Vienna and made a stop over of a day at Budapest. I went immediately to Donaustrasse 24 and saw the Austrian agent Kowalsky. From him I gained points that were invaluable to me. For instance, he gave me the names of men who frequented certain places in Belgrade, men who would be of use to me. He also warned me of certain persons, especially women whom he knew to be in Russian employ. That night I caught a train for Belgrade, well satisfied with the results of my visit to Kowalsky.

Before dinner time the next day, I was installed at the Hotel de Paris in Belgrade. My rooms had been engaged for me beforehand and they were the most expensive in the hotel--for a reason. I found myself in an elaborate suite on the first door, known as the suite Des Princes. This was a necessary move of the parvenu as money is the first and last word in the Balkans. Belgrade and everybody in it pride themselves on their up-to-date Parisian style. Everybody lives in the Parisian way. Army officers, whose pay is infinitesimal, all live like Russian Grand Dukes. How they are able to manage this on the official Servian army salaries of 65 cents a day would naturally puzzle an outsider. The answer is, Russian gold. It buys anything and everything south of Budapest. It cannot buy in Montenegro where patriotism is supreme, nor can it buy what it wants among the Osmans. To be sure it can buy the Turk; but there is a vast difference between an Osmanly and a Turk.

Through my lavish expenditure of money, I soon was a marked person and courted by all the gay officers of the capital. One of their number was a Major Schuvealoff. A bon vivant and gambler, was Major Schuvealoff, with the tastes of a Grand Duke. On a mission of this kind a secret agent always likes to find a man who is "fast." I knew the Major to be in the Russian pay. Kowalsky tipped me off to that. I knew that it was from him I could get everything I wanted, even though he was taking the Czar's gold.

Into the gay life of Belgrade I plunged a-hunting, the Major the quarry. I gave a series of dinners at the Hotel de Paris. After the dinners there was gambling. I always lost to the Major. He lost to others but I was careful never to win from him. He fell into the way of dropping around at my quarters. Like most of his set, the Major was a heavy drinker. When his face would become very flushed and his tongue very glib, I would try to draw things out of him, but I never could get anything worth while. The slightest suspicious question made him close up as tight as an oyster.

I had seen him often in the company of a French lady, a Mlle. Rene Valon. It was obvious that she and the Major were on pretty good terms. Little incidents, things that happened in a room full of people, led me to guess that she was extremely fond of him. I made it my business to cultivate her acquaintance, for experience had often shown me that where gold and myself failed, a pair of flashing eyes and other felicities will often succeed. Like all the other women of that set in Belgrade, Mlle. Valon was woefully extravagant. She gambled heavily and one night I assisted her with a loan of 500 francs. I came to know her fairly well.

I had no previous indication of her being in any way connected with any foreign service. Indeed everything pointed to the contrary. But when on these missions, one is always on the qui vive. Mlle. Valon's French was perfect. She looked French, her mannerisms were French. Still I wasn't satisfied. In a case like this, it is wise to be suspicious of every one. I began to make the most delicate inquiries. In conversation I tried to draw out little things. I felt she was playing a rôle. I used outside sources, but everything bore out the French origin. Still I wasn't satisfied. Subsequently my quasi suspicions proved to be correct.

One night Mlle. Valon gave a supper party in her apartments in the Hotel de Paris. After the supper there was gambling among the guests. Here in the privacy of her rooms was an opportunity to discover some little thing that would either confirm her French claims or confirm my suspicions. I kept my eyes open, but they could find nothing that would show any connection with Russia. That is, they found nothing until Mlle. Valon got up from the table, went to her boudoir and returned nibbling on a piece of candy. It was the candy that gave her away.

I saw at once it was a particular brand of Russian candy quite distinct from similar confections in France and Turkey. In reality they are natural flowers such as roses and violets with their fragrance and natural taste in a champagne-colored, crystal substance, the nature of which is a secret. Made solely by Demitrof and Sons of Moscow, they are usually appreciated only by a born Moscovite. The taste for them must be acquired. Only a Russian or one who had for years lived in Russia would have it.