Читать книгу Secrets of German Espionage - Bernard Newman - Страница 13

The twenty years which followed the World War produced an enormous crop of spy literature. I say without hesitation that ninety per cent of it is fiction. My remark applies not merely to those books published as fiction—as a matter of fact, some of these have at least a firm foundation of fact. Many of the books of spy memoirs are liberally romanticized: some of them have no basis in fact at all. It would be possible to count on the fingers of both hands the number of spy stories which could claim absolute accuracy. Maybe my estimate is a trifle harsh, so I will throw in the toes of both feet as well.

It is not difficult for the experienced reader to pick out the false from the true. In England there is one acid test—the Official Secrets Act. Many spy stories could never have been published had they been true—but the Official Secrets Act does not concern itself with fiction, even if published in the guise of fact. In most cases the very form of the stories give them away: they have adopted a fixed pattern and run in a groove, just as do the conventional detective stories. Further, there is always a tendency to romance—and it is not often that romance is to be found in the life and work of a spy!

I recall a book written by a German gentleman named Gustav Steinhauer, who modestly described himself as “the Kaiser’s Master Spy.” I cannot dispute his claim, so can only pity the Kaiser—and remark that I once mentioned his name to two German officers who were directors of Intelligence during the World War. One had never heard of Steinhauer: the other had some vague recollection of him as a minor operative.

Among other things, Steinhauer relates that in July, 1914, he made an exciting journey to Scapa Flow, destined to be the base of the British Grand Fleet. There he took soundings by an ingenious device of his own invention—he fished from a little boat, and had previously tied knots in his line every two or three yards, with a sinker at its end, so that the depth of water could easily be calculated. The Romans used this method two thousand years ago, and did not think it very original then.

However, we will allow that Steinhauer took his soundings with the knotted fishing-line—rather late in the day, one would have thought, since the Germans had known for two years that Scapa Flow was the likely British base. But why should Steinhauer have risked taking soundings when for two shillings he could have bought an official map which would have given him all the information he wanted—and slightly more accurately?

Steinhauer provided an excellent example of how a reputation can be built up. His story was one of the first espionage “records” to appear after the war, and he was frequently quoted by subsequent writers who wanted to prove their authenticity. Later, more critical faculties were developed as expert commentators in Britain and the U.S.A. entered the field of espionage literature. To them Steinhauer is just a joke, but thousands of people still believe that he was the Kaiser’s master spy. Later we shall comment on another spy with a manufactured reputation—Mata Hari.