In order to make this veracious record perfectly clear it is necessary to retrace our steps. For many months prior to the time mentioned, the relations between the United States and Spain had been greatly strained because of the troublesome Cuban situation. President McKinley had entered a serious protest to the King of Spain, and told him that it was important for our peace that the Cubans should be pacified. But they were not pacified, and things went on from bad to worse until they came to a startling and dramatic climax on the fifteenth of February, 1898, when the cruiser Maine was blown up in the harbor of Havana and a number of Americans were killed.
A wave of indignation swept the country from Maine to California. A chorus went up from all classes in favor of demanding satisfaction from Spain—for, in the popular mind, Spain was responsible for the outrage. The cry everywhere was “Remember the Maine!” Prior to that time the Spanish Minister had been recalled from Washington because of an indiscretion, and now our Minister at Madrid, General Woodford, was handed his passports, and on April 22, President McKinley issued a proclamation saying that a state of war existed between this nation and Spain.
That is history and is known to all. What followed is likewise history, but it is by no means so well known. The first act of the State Department was to inform all of the members of the staff of the Spanish Embassy—in polite language, of course—that their room was preferable to their company. This seemed like a matter of form that did not deserve much thought. And the State Department, having served the required notice, promptly forgot it. But there was one bureau of the United States Government where it was kept in mind, and that was the Secret Service Division.
JOHN E. WILKIE
John E. Wilkie was then the Chief of that most important branch of the Treasury Department, and he had been voted a modest sum by Congress for the purpose of keeping the country free from spies. Heretofore his work had been to keep the nation free from counterfeiters. In both cases he was dealing with crafty and elusive enemies. He proceeded to build up a war organization and he posted his best men in the large cities of this country and Canada. In his office he had a large map of the United States, and by the use of steel pins he could tell at a glance just where his operatives were located. Thus he had men acting as the eyes and the ears of the Government in the cities of Montreal, Toronto, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Newport News, Savannah, Jacksonville, Tampa, Key West, Mobile, New Orleans, Galveston and San Francisco.
Now, when the members of the staff of the Spanish Embassy were told to get out of the country Wilkie determined to make it his business to see that they did get out. To make sure, he furnished them with an escort—an invisible escort—in the person of the operatives of the Secret Service Division. He suspected that some of them would be so interested in the game of war that they might be tempted to remain on this side of the ocean and take part in the game. And his suspicions were perfectly correct. For instance, Ramon Carranza, who had been Naval Attaché at Washington, found it convenient to linger in the city of Toronto. That would have been perfectly proper if he had not been found talking to a person who was far from proper.
And this is where this story really begins—with the episode of the man who asked for a light in the semi-darkened corridor of a Toronto hotel. The operative who had been sent to the Canadian city by Chief Wilkie happened to stop at the same hotel as the former Attaché of the Spanish Embassy. By a curious coincidence he happened to get a room directly adjoining the one occupied by Señor Carranza. And, moreover, he happened to see every one that came in or out of that room. Also, he overheard some of the conversation that went on in the apartment. Thus on the afternoon with which we are concerned he saw a man with a hang-dog look go into the room, and from time to time he caught fragments of conversation. One of the things he heard the Visitor say was “so I will write to the address you have given me in Montreal.” There was some further talk, which could only be heard indistinctly, but the listener managed to discover that the man who was doing the talking had a surprising knowledge of the conditions at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Presently the conversation came to an end and the visitor left the room. The listener left his room at the same moment, and he came into contact with the other man in the hallway. As they gained the head of the stairway he turned to the strange talker in the most casual manner and said:
“I beg your pardon, but will you kindly favor me with a light for my cigarette?”
The mysterious stranger halted and courteously complied with the request. And in those few seconds in that dim hallway, by the light of the burning match, the Secret Service operative obtained what he most desired—a view of the other man’s face. In that brief period of time the characteristics of the suspect were indelibly stamped upon his memory. The two men parted. The one who had been closeted with the former Naval Attaché of the Spanish Embassy went out into the street and proceeded to a remote part of the city. He went to an obscure hotel and registered and was given a room. The operative of the Secret Service followed him and at the first convenient opportunity he scrutinized the hotel register. The name he found inscribed thereon was “Alexander Cree.” His theory was that it was an assumed name. At all events he shadowed his man. He watched his every movement, and soon afterwards he sent a code telegram to John E. Wilkie, the Chief of the Secret Service at Washington.