Without loss of time von Bohme telegraphed to Ludwig Schoeffer, and twenty-four hours later Ludwig presented himself at von Bohme's house in the Platz Alice at Chemnitz.
Schoeffer, although only twenty-seven years of age, had had an adventurous career. He was one of the very few German spies in England who had eluded the skilfully drawn toils of Sir Basil Thomson. At the outbreak of hostilities the spy was actually holding a British Admiralty position in Whitehall, and during the next two years he was busily serving two rival Governments at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Rosyth. At the latter place a very simple slip nearly "gave him away", and he quickly transferred his activities to the United States. There he specialized in "deferred action bombs"; ingenious contrivances detonated electrically by means of clockwork. Many a good ship owed her destruction to Ludwig Schoeffer's cunning; and, even after the cessation of hostilities, he remained in New York with the object of wrecking the ex-German vessels surrendered under the terms of the Armistice. But at last the spy was caught through the 'cuteness of a Hoboken policeman. Arrested, he was tried, found guilty, and sent for a life-sentence to Sing Sing. Three weeks later he created a record by breaking out of that grim penitentiary, and succeeded in making his way back to Germany, via San Francisco, Sydney, and Colombo.
There was nothing about Ludwig Schoeffer's appearance to betray his nationality. He might, and frequently did, pass for an Englishman, while his command of English defied detection. He was of medium height and build, dark-haired and sallow-featured. There was nothing of Teutonic stolidity about his movements. On the other hand, he walked with the elasticity and easy carriage of an Anglo-Saxon athlete.
Von Bohme received his visitor in his study, drew a thick curtain over the door, and came to the point at once.
"I want you to proceed to England, Schoeffer," he began. "Usual terms—payment by results with immediate advance to meet current expenses. You know Brocklington?"
"I was there in May and June, 1915, Herr Bohme."
"Good; but I fancy you don't know the Brocklington Ironworks."
The spy considered a few moments. To admit that he did not might be a confession of lack of local knowledge. To say that he did when he was not sure of the fact was to lay himself open to being discredited. Then he considered that perhaps his employer was trying to catch him out.
"I saw no ironworks there," he said at length.
Von Bohme grunted in satisfaction.