for intelligence work. As far as Tremayne knew, he had no abilities whatsoever in carpentry or mechanical engineering.
‘We have a problem,’ Cumming began, and Tremayne knew better than to interrupt. The two men enjoyed an easy and familiar relationship, for a variety of reasons, but Cumming was still Tremayne’s boss, and the summons he had received had made it clear that something serious was going on.
‘We have a problem,’ Cumming repeated, ‘and it’s all the bloody Kaiser’s fault.’
That didn’t come as a surprise to Tremayne. The military and economic development of Germany had been startling. In the forty years between 1870 and 1910, the population of the country had rocketed from 24 million to 65 million, and some 40 per cent of its total workforce was now employed in industry. Its industrial development was the fastest in the world. Germany had increased coal production by 400 per cent since 1870; steel, engineering, chemicals and armaments had grown rapidly, and its international trade had quadrupled. The country had the most efficient army in the world, with some half a million men under arms, and the second largest navy, though not as yet even beginning to approach the strength of the Royal Navy.
Any impartial observer would have come to the obvious conclusion that Germany was preparing for war. And Britain, with its vast Empire and almost limitless resources, was the major obstacle to the Kaiser’s global ambitions, and clearly the country’s most likely potential enemy.
‘What’s happened?’ Tremayne asked, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he stared at Cumming.
‘You knew David Curtis?’ Cumming asked.
The past tense wasn’t lost on Tremayne. ‘Yes, I did. What’s happened to him?’ he asked.
‘He’s dead, shot on the street three nights ago in Berlin.’ Cumming never believed in sugar-coating the truth, no matter how unpalatable. ‘He had a meeting with a low-level informer, but something obviously tipped off the German secret police. He was chased through the streets and then shot dead right outside the British Embassy. The events leading up to his killing were somewhat confused, as you’d expect, but we’ve received reports that the man he’d been talking to in a bar a few minutes earlier was arrested, so we presume they got the informer as well.’
The question seemed obvious, but Tremayne asked it anyway. ‘If he was only meeting a low-level informer, why did he end up dead?’
Mansfield Cumming smiled bleakly. ‘That’s the point,’ he said. ‘In fact, the man was only a clerk. But he was looking for some easy money, and when one particular report was given to him to register and then file away, he read it, or part of it anyway. What he saw prompted him to contact one of the staff members at the British Embassy, with the result that we paid him quite a lot of money for details of a particularly nasty little scheme that the Germans are engaged in. Of course, he won’t be able to spend it now. The Germans’ll probably just shoot him.’
‘So where did Curtis fit in?’
‘That’s simple. Most of the embassy staff are employed to push bits of paper around. They’re not trained for any kind of covert activity, so after this German clerk – his name was Klaus Trommler – contacted them, they reported the fact to the Foreign Office, and the Foreign Secretary called me in and told me to sort it out.’
‘So you sent David Curtis because he speaks – or rather he spoke – fluent German? His family came from Bavaria, if I remember correctly, and he came over here to Britain in his twenties. You were a bit reluctant to recruit him, too.’
Cumming nodded. ‘You’re right, I was, though he proved his worth to me several times over. Anyway, this should have been a simple enough job, but because of what happened I think the Germans were already watching Trommler. Either that or they’d been following Curtis. The mechanics don’t matter. All that concerns
‘We have a problem,’ Cumming began, and Tremayne knew better than to interrupt. The two men enjoyed an easy and familiar relationship, for a variety of reasons, but Cumming was still Tremayne’s boss, and the summons he had received had made it clear that something serious was going on.
‘We have a problem,’ Cumming repeated, ‘and it’s all the bloody Kaiser’s fault.’
That didn’t come as a surprise to Tremayne. The military and economic development of Germany had been startling. In the forty years between 1870 and 1910, the population of the country had rocketed from 24 million to 65 million, and some 40 per cent of its total workforce was now employed in industry. Its industrial development was the fastest in the world. Germany had increased coal production by 400 per cent since 1870; steel, engineering, chemicals and armaments had grown rapidly, and its international trade had quadrupled. The country had the most efficient army in the world, with some half a million men under arms, and the second largest navy, though not as yet even beginning to approach the strength of the Royal Navy.
Any impartial observer would have come to the obvious conclusion that Germany was preparing for war. And Britain, with its vast Empire and almost limitless resources, was the major obstacle to the Kaiser’s global ambitions, and clearly the country’s most likely potential enemy.
‘What’s happened?’ Tremayne asked, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he stared at Cumming.
‘You knew David Curtis?’ Cumming asked.
The past tense wasn’t lost on Tremayne. ‘Yes, I did. What’s happened to him?’ he asked.
‘He’s dead, shot on the street three nights ago in Berlin.’ Cumming never believed in sugar-coating the truth, no matter how unpalatable. ‘He had a meeting with a low-level informer, but something obviously tipped off the German secret police. He was chased through the streets and then shot dead right outside the British Embassy. The events leading up to his killing were somewhat confused, as you’d expect, but we’ve received reports that the man he’d been talking to in a bar a few minutes earlier was arrested, so we presume they got the informer as well.’
The question seemed obvious, but Tremayne asked it anyway. ‘If he was only meeting a low-level informer, why did he end up dead?’
Mansfield Cumming smiled bleakly. ‘That’s the point,’ he said. ‘In fact, the man was only a clerk. But he was looking for some easy money, and when one particular report was given to him to register and then file away, he read it, or part of it anyway. What he saw prompted him to contact one of the staff members at the British Embassy, with the result that we paid him quite a lot of money for details of a particularly nasty little scheme that the Germans are engaged in. Of course, he won’t be able to spend it now. The Germans’ll probably just shoot him.’
‘So where did Curtis fit in?’
‘That’s simple. Most of the embassy staff are employed to push bits of paper around. They’re not trained for any kind of covert activity, so after this German clerk – his name was Klaus Trommler – contacted them, they reported the fact to the Foreign Office, and the Foreign Secretary called me in and told me to sort it out.’
‘So you sent David Curtis because he speaks – or rather he spoke – fluent German? His family came from Bavaria, if I remember correctly, and he came over here to Britain in his twenties. You were a bit reluctant to recruit him, too.’
Cumming nodded. ‘You’re right, I was, though he proved his worth to me several times over. Anyway, this should have been a simple enough job, but because of what happened I think the Germans were already watching Trommler. Either that or they’d been following Curtis. The mechanics don’t matter. All that concerns
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