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Ep. 20 - In The Shadow of the Capitol · True Tales of The Secret Service

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Chapter twenty in the Shadow of the Capital. It won't be long until they're
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all back, with their pretty clothes and their jeweled bags and their air of
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innocent sophistication. But until at least a dozen of them gather here, Washington
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won't be itself again. Bill Quinn and I had been discussing the change which
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had come over Washington since peace had disrupted the activities of the various war organizations.
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And then, after a pause, the former member of the Secret Service
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had referred to them and to their pretty clothes. What do you mean,
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I inquired, With the possible exception of some prominent politicians, I don't know
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any one whose presence is essential to make Washington itself again, And certainly nobody
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ever accused politicians, with the possible exception of j. Lewis of wearing pretty
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clothes, even he didn't carry a jeweled bag. I wasn't thinking of congressmen,
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or senators, or even members of the cabinet, replied Quinn with a
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smile. Like the poor, they are always with us. And also,
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like the poor, there are times when we would willingly dispense with them,
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But the others they make life worth living, particularly for members of the Secret
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Service, who are apt to be a bit bored with the monotony of chasing
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counterfeiters and guarding the president. The ones I refer to are the beautifully gowned
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women, whose too perfect English often betrays their foreign origin, almost as certainly
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as would a dialect. They are sent here by various governments abroad to find
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out things which we would like to keep secret, and their presence helps to
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keep Washington cosmopolitan and interesting during the war. Well, if you recall the
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case of Jimmy Callahan and the electric sign at Norfolk, the affair which I
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believe you wrote under the title of a flash in the Night, you know
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what happened to those who were caught plotting against the government. In times of
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peace, however, things are different. Why isn't a spy always a spy
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so far as their work is concerned. They are but by a sort of
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international agreement tacit but understood, those who seek to pry into the affairs of
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other governments during the years of peace are not treated with the same severity as
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when a nation is fighting for its life. But surely we have no secrets
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that a foreign government would want I protested. That's one of the earmarks of
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a republic. Everything is aired in the open, even dirty linen. Quinn
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didn't answer for a moment, and when he did reply, there was a
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reminiscent little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Do you remember the
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disappearance of the plans of the battleship Pennsylvania? He asked, yes, I
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think I do. But as I recall it, the matter was never cleared
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up officially. It wasn't unofficially it was at least there are several persons connected
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with the United States Secret Service who are positive that Sylvia Stern lifted the blueprints.
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And afterward, well, we might as well begin the story at the
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first chapter. The name she was known by on this side of the Atlantic,
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continued, the former government agent was not that of Stern, though subsequent
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investigations proved that that was what she was called in Paris, and Enna,
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and Rome and London. When she arrived in Washington, her visiting cards bore
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the name of the Countess Stefani, and as there are half a dozen counts
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of that name to be found in the peerages of as many principalities, no
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one inquired too deeply into her antecedents. Yes, she admitted that there was
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a count somewhere in the background, but she led those who were interested to
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the conclusion he had never understood her peculiar temperament, and that therefore she was
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so journeying in Washington seeking pleasure and nothing more. A slow, soulful glance
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from her violet eyes usually accompanied the statement and caused the man to whom the
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statement was made it was always a man to wonder how anyone could fail to
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appreciate so charming a creature. Charming is really a very good word to apply
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to the Countess Sylvia. Her manner was charming, and her work was likewise
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charming secrets and invitations and news out of those with whom she came in contact.
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Her first public appearance, so far as the Secret Service was concerned,
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was at one of the receptions at the British Embassy. She was there on
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invitation, of course, but it was an invitation secured in her own original
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way. Immediately upon arriving in Washington, she had secured an apartment at Brickley
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Court, an apartment which chanced to be directly across the hall from the one
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occupied by a missus Sheldon, a young widow with a rather large acquaintance in
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the diplomatic set. Some ten days after the Countess Sylvia took up her residence
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on Connecticut Avenue, she visited one of the department stores and made several purchases,
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ordering them sent C O D to her apartment. Only, instead of
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giving the number as four thirty six, her tongue apparently slipped and she said
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four thirty seven, which was Missus Sheldon's number. Of course, if the
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parcels had been paid for or charged, they would have been left at the
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desk in the lobby, But being collect the boy brought them to the door
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of four thirty seven, as was only natural. Missus Sheldon was about to
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order them returned when the door across the hall opened and the Countess, attired
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in one of her most fetching house gowns, appeared and explained the mistake.
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How stupid of me, she exclaimed, I must have given the girl the
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wrong apartment number. I'm awfully sorry for troubling you, Missus Sheldon. The
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widow, being young, could not restrain the look of surprise when her name
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was mentioned by a woman who was a stranger. But the Countess cut right
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in with you probably don't remember me, but we met two years ago on
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Derby Day in London. The count and I had the pleasure of meeting you
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through Lord Cartwright, but it was just before the big race, and when
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I looked around again, you had been swallowed up in the crowd. Missus
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Sheldon had been at the Derby two years before, as the Countess doubtless knew
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before she arrived in Washington, and also she remembered having met a number of
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persons during that eventful afternoon. So the rest was easy for Sylvia, particularly
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as the first half hour of their conversation uncovered the fact that they had many
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mutual friends, all of whom, however, were in Europe. Through Missus
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Sheldon, the Countess met a number of the younger and lesser lights of the
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diplomatic corps, and the invitation to the reception at the Bridge Embassy was hers
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for the suggestion. Before the evening was over, several men were asking themselves
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where they had met that very charming countess before. Some thought it must have
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been in Paris, others were certain that it was in Vienna, and still
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others maintained that her face brought back memories of their detail in Saint Petersburg,
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the name of the Russian capital had not then been altered. Sylvia didn't enlighten
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any of them. Neither did she volunteer details save for the vaguest nature,
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contenting herself with knowing glances which hinted much, and bits of frothy gossip which
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conveyed nothing. The beauty of her face and the delicate curves of her figure
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did the rest. Before the evening was over, she had met at least
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the younger members of all the principal embassies and legations, not to mention three
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men whose names appeared upon the roster of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations.
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To one of these, Senator Latimer, she paid particular attention, assuring him
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that she would be honored if he would drop in some afternoon for tea,
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an invitation which the gentleman from Iowa accepted with alacrity a few days later.
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As was afterward apparent, the Countess had arranged her schedule with considerable care.
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She had arrived in Washington early in the fall, and by the time the
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season was well under way, she had the entree to the majority of the
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semi private functions teas and receptions and dances to which a number of guests were
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invited. Here, of course, she had an opportunity to pick up a
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few morsels of information crumbs which fell from the tables of diplomacy. But that
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wasn't what she was after. She wanted a copy of a certain confidential report
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referring to American relations abroad. And what's more, she'd have gotten it if
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she hadn't overstepped herself through what might have been termed in vulgar circles pumping Senator
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Latimer. Though the Countess's casual inquiries from time to time evinced only a natural
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interest in the affairs of the world, Sylvia found out that the report would
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be completed early in March, and that a copy would be in the Senator's
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office for at least two days, or what interested her more, two nights.
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She didn't intimate that she would like to see it. That would have
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been too crude. In fact, she definitely turned the subject and made the
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Senator believe that she was interested only in his views with respect to the stabilization
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of currency or some such topic far removed from the point they had mentioned just
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before he left. However, Senator Latimer mentioned that there was going to be
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a big display of fireworks around the Washington Monument the following evening, and inquired
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if the Countess would be interested in witnessing the celebration. Surely said she,
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why not, Let's watch them from the roof here. We ought to be
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able to get an excellent view. I've got a better idea than that,
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was the senatorial reply. We'll go down to the State War and Navy Building.
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The windows on the south side ought to be ideal for that purpose,
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and there won't be any trouble about getting in. I'll see to that,
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he added, with just a touch of pomposity. So it happened that among
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the dozen or more persons who occupied choice seats in a room in the Navy
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Department that next night were the Honorable Arthur H. Latimer and the Countess Stefani.
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The next morning, it was discovered that plans relating to certain recent naval
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improvements radical changes, which were to be incorporated in the Battleship Pennsylvania, were
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missing. The chief learned of the loss about nine thirty, and by ten
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o'clock every available man was turned loose on the case, with instructions to pry
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into the past records and watch the future actions of the people who had been
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in the room on the previous evening, because he particularly requested it. Owen
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Williams, whose connection with the Secret Service was not a matter of general information,
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was detailed to learn what he could of the Countess Stefani. I've run
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into her a couple of times recently, he told the Chief. And there's
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something not altogether on the level about the lady. I don't suppose we have
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time to cable abroad and trace the particular branch of the family to which he
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claims to belong, But I have a hunch that she is not working altogether
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in the interest of Europe. A certain yellow skinned person whom we both know
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has been seen coming out of Brickley Court on several occasions within the past month,
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And well, the Countess is worth watching trail her, then snapped the
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Chief. The Department has asked for quick action in this case, for there
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are reasons which render it inadvisable for those plans to get out of the country,
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right, replied Williams, settling his hat at a rather jaunty angle and
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picking up his gloves and stick I'll keep in close touch with you and report
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developments. If you wunt me within the next couple of hours, I'll probably
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be somewhere around Brickley Court. The Countess never rises until around noon, but
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that morning, as william soon discovered, something appeared to have interfered with the
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routine of the Fair Sylvia. She had called the office about nine o'clock,
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made an inquiry about the New York trains, ordered a chair reserved on the
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eleven and a taxi for ten forty five, all of which gave Owen just
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enough time to phone the chief, tell him of the sudden change in his
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plans and suggest that the Countess's room be searched during her absence. Tell New
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York to have someone pick up Stefani as soon as she arrives. Williams concluded,
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I'm going to renew my acquaintance with her en route, find out where
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she's staying, and frame an excuse for being at the same hotel. But
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I may not be able to accompany her there, so have some one trail
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her from the station. I'll make any necessary reports through the New York office.
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Just after the train pulled out of Baltimore, the Countess Stefani saw a
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young and distinctly handsome man whose face was vaguely familiar, rise from his seat
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at the far end of the car and come toward her. Then, as
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he reached her chair, he halted, surprised. This is luck, he
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exclaimed, I never hope to find you on the train Countess going through to
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New York. Of course, as he spoke, the man's name came back
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to her, together with the fact that he had been pointed out as one
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of the eligible young bachelors who apparently did but little and yet had plenty of
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money to do it with. Oh, mister Wills, you gave me a
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bit of a start. At first. Your face was in the shadow and
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I didn't recognize you. Yes, I'm just running up for a little shopping.
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Won't be gone for more than a day or two, for I must
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be back in time for the De Mauri dance on Thursday evening. You are
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going, I suppose, thankful for the opening. Williams occupied the vacant chair
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next to hers, and before they reached Avre de Grass, they were deep
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in a discussion of people and affairs in Washington. It was not Williams's intention,
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however, to allow the matter to stop there. Delicately, but certainly,
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he'd led the conversation into deeper channels, exerting every ounce of his personality
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to convince the Countess that this was a moment for which he had longed an
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opportunity to chat uninterruptedly with the most charming woman in Washington. This is certainly
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the shortest five hours I've ever spent, he assured his companion, as the
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porter announced their arrival at Manhattan Transfer. Can't I see something more of you
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while we are in New York. I'm not certain when I'll get back to
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Washington, and this glimpse has been far too short. Are you going to
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stop with friends? No at the Vanderbilt. Suppose you call up tomorrow morning
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and bou see what I can do. Why not a theater party this evening?
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I'm sorry, but I have an engagement right tomorrow morning. Then,
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and the operative said goodbye with a clear conscience, having noted that one of
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the men from the New York office was already on the job. Later in
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the evening, he was informed that the Countess had gone to Dirictley to her
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hotel, had dressed for dinner, and then, after waiting in the lobby
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for nearly an hour, had eaten a solitary meal, and had gone back
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to her room, leaving word at the desk that she was to be notified
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immediately if anyone called, but no one had. The next morning, instead
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of phoning, Williams dropped around to the Vanderbilt and had a short session with
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the house detective, who had already been notified that the Countess Stefani was being
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watched by Secret Service operatives. The houseman, however, verified the report of
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the operative who had picked up the Countess at the station. She had received
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no callers and had seen no one save the maid. Any phone messages,
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not one, any mail, just a newspaper, evidently one that a friend
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had mailed from Washington. The address was in a feminine hand. And tell
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the maid that I want the wrapper of that paper if it's not in the
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Countess's room, interrupted Williams. I don't want the place searched for it,
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but if it happens to be in the wastebasket, be sure I get it.
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A moment later, he was calling the Countess Stefani, presumably from the
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office of a friend of his in Wall Street. I'm afraid I can't see
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you today, and Sylvia's voice appeared to register infinite regret. I wasn't able
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to complete a little business deal I had on last night, succumbed to temptation
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and went to the theater, so I'll have to pay for it today.
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Here, William suppressed a chuckle, both at the manner in which the lady
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handled the truth and at the fact that she was palpably ignorant that she had
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been shadowed. I'm returning to Washington on the Congressional but I'll be sure to
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see you at the Damaris, Won't I please come down for my sake?
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I'll do it, was Owen's reply. And I can assure you that my
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return to Washington will be entirely because I feel that I must see you again
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au revoir until Thursday night on the Congressional limited. Eh, he muttered as
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he stepped out of the booth. Maybe it's a stall, but I'll make
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the train just the same. Evidently one of the lady's plans has gone to
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miss. Here's the wrapper you wanted, said the house detective, producing a
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large torn envelope, slit lengthwise and still showing by its rounded contour that it
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had been used to enclose a rolled newspapers, replied Williams, as he glanced
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at the address. I thought, so thought, what come over here a
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minute, and he steered the detective to the desk, where he asked to
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be shown the register for the preceding day. Then, pointing to the name
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Countess Sylvia Stefani on the hotel sheet and to the same name on the rapper,
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he asked, note everything, the handwriting is the same. Precisely.
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The Countess mailed this paper herself at this hotel before she left Washington, and
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if I'm not very much mistaken, she'll mail another one to herself in Washington
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before she leaves New York. You want it intercepted? I do not.
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If Sylvia is willing to trust the Post Office department with her secret I certainly
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am, but I intend to be on hand when the paper arrives. Sure
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enough, Just before leaving for the station that afternoon, Williams found out from
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his ally at the Vanderbilt that the Countess had slipped a folded and addressed newspaper
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into the mailbox in the lobby. She had then paid her bill and entered
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a taxi, giving the chauffeur instructions to drive slowly through Central Park. Siebert,
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the operative who was trailing her, reported that several times she appeared to
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be in the point of stopping, but had ordered the taxi driver to go
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on, evidently being suspicious that she was followed and not wishing to take any
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chances of this. Though Williams knew nothing for a glance into one of the
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cars and the Congressional Limited had been sufficient to assure him that his prey was
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aboard the rest of the trip, and the smoker so that he might not
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run into her. In Washington, however, a surprise awaited him. Instead
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of returning at once to Brickley Court, the Countess checked her bag at the
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station and hired a car by the hour, instructing the driver to take her
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to the Chevy Chase Club. Williams, of course followed in another car,
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but had the ill fortune to lose the first taxi in the crush of machines,
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which is always to be noted on dance nights at the club, and
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it was well on toward morning before he could locate the chauffeur he wanted to
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reach. According to that individual, the lady had not gone into the club
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at all but changing her mind, had driven on out into the country,
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returning to Washington at midnight. Did she meet anyone, demanded Williams not a
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soul, Sir said she just wanted to drive through the country, and that
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she had to be at the Senate Office Building at twelve o'clock. The Senate
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Office Building, echoed the operative, at midnight, Did you drop her there?
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I did, sir. She told me to wait, and she was
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out again in five minutes, using the little door in the basement, the
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one that's seldom locked. I thought she was the wife of one of the
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senators. Then I drove her to Union Station to get her bag, and
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then to Brickley Court, where she paid me and got out. The moment
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the chauffeur had mentioned the Senate Office Building, a mental photograph of Senator Latimer
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had sprung to William's mind, for the affair between the countess and the Iowa
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Statesman was public property. Telling the chauffeur to wait in the outer room,
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the operative called the Latimer home and insisted on speaking to the Senator. Yes,
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it's a matter of vital importance, he snapped. Then a few moments
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later, when a gruff but sleepy voice inquired what he wanted. This is
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Williams of the Secret Service speaking, Senator. Have you any documents of importance
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international importance in your office at the present moment? No, nothing of particular
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value. Wait a minute. A copy of a certain report to the Committee
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on Foreign Relations arrived late yesterday, and I remember seeing it on my desk
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as I left. Why what's the matter? Nothing except that I don't think
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that report is there now, replied Williams. Can you get to your office
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in ten minutes, I'll be there. But a thorough search by the two
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of them failed to reveal any trace of the document. It had gone vanished
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in spite of the fact that the door was locked as usual, Senator announced
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the government agent, a certain woman you know, took that paper. She
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got in here with a false key, lifted the report, and was out
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again in less than five minutes. The theft occurred shortly after midnight. And
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if you know so much about it, why don't you arrest her? I
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shall before the hour is up. Only I thought you might like to know
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in advance how your friend, the Countess Steffani worked. She was also responsible
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for the theft of the plans of the Battleship Pennsylvania, you know, and
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Williams was out of the room before the look of amazement had faded from the
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senator's face. Some thirty minutes later, the Countess Sylvia was awakened by the
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sound of continued rapping on her door. In answer to her query, who's
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there, a man's voice replied, open this door, or I'll break it
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in. Williams, however, knew that his threat was an idle one,
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for the doors at Berkley Court were built of solid oak that defied anything short
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of a battering ram, which was the reason that he had to wait a
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full five minutes, during which time he distinctly heard the sound of paper rattling,
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and then the rasp of a match as it was struck. Finally,
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the Countess, attired in a bewitching negligee, threw open the door. Ah,
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she exclaimed, So what is you, mister Williams? What do you
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you know? What I want? Growled O. That paper you stole from
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Latimer's office tonight. Also the plans you lifted from the Navy Department, the
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ones you mailed in New York yesterday afternoon, and which were waiting for you.
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Here find them was the woman's mocking challenge. As Williams's eyes rolled over
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the room and finally rested on a pile of crumbled ashes beside an alcohol lamp
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on the table, A moment's examination told him that a blueprint had been burned,
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but it was impossible to tell what it had been, and there was
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no trace of any other paper in the ashes. Search her, he called
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to a woman in the corridor, I'm going to rifle the mailbox downstairs.
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She can't get away with the same trick three times, And there in an
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innocent looking envelope addressed to a certain personage whose names stood high in the diplomatical
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list, Williams discovered the report for which a woman risked her liberty and gambled
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six months of her life. But the plans, I asked, as Quinn
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finished, Evidently that was what she had burned. She'd taken care to crumple
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the ashes so that it was an impossibility to get a shred of direct evidence.
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Not that it would have made any difference if she hadn't. The government
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never prosecutes matters of this kind, except in time of war. They merely
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warned the culprit to leave the country. And never return. Which is the
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reason that while you'll find a number of very interesting foreigners in Washington at the
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present moment, the Countess Sylvia Stefani is not among them. Neither is the
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personage to whom her letter was addressed. He was recalled a few weeks later.
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End of chapter twenty