RUSSIA’S SECRET SERVICE.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2481, 17 May 1909, Page 8

RUSSIA’S SECRET SERVICE.

A group of globe-trotters were indulging in. after-dinner talk about the amount of money recently expended for secret service in the United States, and speculating as to the results obtained as compared to those achieved in other countries. One ct the company volunteered to give two ncidents from his personal experience which shed' light on the thoroughness of the Bussian system and also on the petty details to which it sometimes descends. About twenty years ago Dr Linn was a famous American dentist in St. Petersburg He had succeeded to his brothers practice and ranked among his patients all the nobility of Russia and most of the Russian royalty. He was something of a connoisseur _in art matters, and used to pick up anything that struck him as particularly good or representative. One day he ran across a very fine picture of a St. Bernard dog painted by a famous Russian artist, and although the price was a little steep for such a subject he thought well enough of it to buy it, have it framed, and sent

to his house. When the picture arrived his Russian friends soon confirmed his judgment that he had found a treasure and he hung it over the mantel in the drawing room, adjusting the lights to show it oft to the best advantage. That was about 5 o clock m the afternoon. , , , x The next morning, while the doctor was in his office, a knock came to the door and upon his giving the usual Russian command tp enter 4 police officer presented himself,* brought his heels together, touched his cap and bowed. The doctor knew enough of Russia to be instantly aware that there was something wrong, but he contented himself with a smiling ‘‘Good morning, which brought forth another touch of the cap in polite acknowledgment. . “1 beg pardon, doctor, began the olfacer, “but you have in your drawing room over the mantel a picture of a dog. Rather taken aback by the question, and instantly imagining that the picture was stolen, the doctor could only say—- * Yes, I have. What of it?”

“On each side of that mantel, on the recesses in the side walls, continued urn officer, making motions with his hand as if pointing out the places referred to, “you have two small pictures, of the Emperor, one of the Empress. “Yes. What of that?” gasped the doctor, wondering what was coming. “I would respectfully suggest, doctor, that it is hardly fitting to hang a picture of a do <r between the pictures of the Emperor and Empress.” - This was eaid with another bow and touch of the cap. “Why, the picture is a work of art. it is by one of the most famous artists in Russia. It is a masterpiece. I paid JOUU roubles for it.” “It may be a work of art, doctor, as you sav. and it may be by the most famous artist in the world, but it is still a dog. I shall leave vou with that suggestion, ft is nothing more than a suggestion, boot! morning.” , , , , , Another assembling of the heels, a halt bow, a touch of the cap, and the door shut behind the retreating figure. That afternoon Prince Obehnsky, who was at that time aide-de-camp to the Czar, and also one of Dr Linn s patients, happened to drop in. The doctor told him of his experience of the morning. Ihe Prince laughed lightly and said: “You know these people, doctor, ion are not a novice in Russian etiquette. A will not cost you anything to move it. Take it down and out it somewhere else. Put it in here where all your patients can

admire it.” , The next day the doctor was out for a stroll when lie happened to notice a very fine reproduction of the latest portrait ol the Emperor. Ho selected a frame that was in perfect harmony -with the color scheme of the portrait, and had it sent to his home. The next afternoon he moved the clog into his study and hung the portrait of the Emperor in its place, over the draw-ing-room mantel. That was about two o’clock. , Two hours later a gentle tap came at the door of the doctor’s office and in response to the doctor’s command to enter the same police officer appeared, drew his heels together, bowed, touched his cap, and smiled very politely. “Thank you, doctor.’’

That was all he said. Before the doctor could recover from his astonishment the door had closed again and hie visitor was gone. The other incident shows a different side of the picture. Some persons imagine that one is under continual suspicion in Russia, and that the officials do everything in their power to make you feel that you are watched and had better behave yourself. That may be true of undesirable persons, those who indulge in unkind criticisms of the Government, but it is very far from true of those who show the same respect for their host when it is a nation that they would ehow if it were a woman. An American, who may be called Dr Cavendish, was about to visit St. Petersburg in 1890. Before starting from London he sought a little advice from a gentleman who was then acting as interpreter for Spottiswoode. This man was a Pole, and had been an officer in the Russian army. When his regiment was sent to quell the rebellion in Poland he went over to the revolutionists, and when they failed he fled. The first advice that this gentleman had to give Mr Cavendish was to the point. “Whatever you do or say in Russia when you get there, do not ever admit or mention the fact that you ever knew me. I am doubly damned. I am not only a rebel and a Pole, but a deserter from the army. Once you admit that you have known me, you are a suspect for the rest of your life." The other part of the Pole’s advice was simplicity itsei*. “When you have ben in Russia a short time,” he said, “long enough to make your statements apnear reasonable, sit down and write a number of letters to your friends in America, in England, in Timbuctoo. Anywhere will do. Write to Tom,'' Dick, and Harry.. “It does not matter whether there are any such people or not so long as you post the letters. When you write tell them that Russia is the finest country in the world, that the administration of the laws is perfect, that graft is unknown, and that Nihilism and such things are all tommyrot. Write what I tell you and leave the rest to fate." Arrived at St. Petersburg, the American found no difficulty in writing just such letters. He had never met with such hospitality and kindness and he felt sure he would shed tears when the time came for him to go home. Among his letters of introduction he had one to the manager of a big cotton print mill up the river, a Mr Jones. This gentleman wrote asking him to come up for a week’s shooting, so Mr Cavendish notified the landlord of the hotel that he should want his passport the next day at noon, as he was going up the river for a week or so. The next day at luncheon when he demanded' his papers the landlord smiled blandly andi told him to go ahead, that ho did not need any passport. “Why, I thought you could not stay more than twenty-four hours anywhere in Russia without giving up your passport?" protested Mr Cavendish, The landlord shrugged his shoulders. “I will tell you what I was told at the police station. They looked up your record, and they just smiled and told me to tell you to go ahead. You are all right, they said. Y r ou don’t need any passport for this trip. “Still I do not like the idea of going on a journey into the country without a passport. I have always understood that you

might as well be dead as be without a passport in Russia. “I think you will be quite safe if you do as you are told,” remarked the landlord with another shrug. “I shall not ask for the passport again. You can do as you please about it. ’ Accordingly up the river Mr Cavendish went without a passport. Arrived at his destination he found a warm welcome his host assuring him that he would have great sport during his stay, as the shooting was excellent. , , “We will go around to the club after dinner,” he said, “and have a rubber. You will find everything very comfortable there, and I want you to meet some of my friends. As it may be late before we get home, suppose you give me your passport now, and I will send it around to the chief of police at once.” “I did not bring any passport with

m The astonishment of the other man was evident. “Why, my dear fellow, dont vou know that you cannot stay here moic than twenty-four hours without a passport? How on earth did your landlord happen to let you come away without it I am afraid you will have to go back on to-morrow’s boat.” ' The situation was explained. “There must be some mistake, Mr Jones persisted. “They could not have understood that you were going to stay here a week. The awkward thing about it is that the chief of police is likely to drop m at the club, and! the first thing he will ask about will be your passport. It is very dangerous to have anything irregular about your papers in these small towns, the police have so little else to think “Well ” remarked Mr Cavendish philosophically. “I have had a lovely tune since I came to Russia. 1 have always done what I was told was the proper thing to do,” this with a smile to himself at the recollection of the interpreter s advice "and I have absolute confidence that such’ charming hosts as the Russians are not going to make things unpleasant foi me at this late day. “If the chief of police orders me to go back to-morrow I shall certainly go. 1 am going to do what 1 am told m this country. 1 will get my passport and come UP “But all my arrangements for the coming week will be spoiled. A.fter an excellent dinner, which was rather clouded by the host’s worrying over the matter of the passport and the propect of his shooting plans being all upset, his family joining him in the assurance that Mr Cavendish could not stay, they went around to the club and cut into a rubbei at whist. Absorbed in the game, the American had apparently forgotten all about the passport when Ins host gave a sudden start and touched him lightly on the elbow, motioning his head toward the up, Mr Cavendish saw a man whom he instinctively recognised as the chief of police, although ho was not in uniform. The officer walked over to a table and turned over the pages of a magazine from which Kennans articles had been blacked out, evidently waiting until the players had finished the hand, so as not to interrupt. The moment the last trick was turned and quitted he approached the table with a smile and bowed to those whom he knew. Mr Jones drew his chair hack, coughed, grew very red in the face and was about to introduce his guest when the officer extended his hand. -Mr Cavendish, 1 believe? Charmed to have you visit our little town. 1 ray do not let me interrupt your game. H vou have time to-morrow, I shall he gnu to have you call on me. 1 ■nderstand you intend to be for a week. 1 erhaps it may be longer.” The last sentence made Mr Jones uneasy. He knew something about Russian wavs, and he advised his guest to present himself at the police station the first thing in the morning and have it over, assuring him that the officer’s politeness was simply company manners, the velvet glo\e that concealed the iron hand. “You have been up to something, I am afraid,” he whispered as they went home from the club. “Vou have been talking politics to some Nihilist, and this letting you get up here without a passport is a dodge to catch you where they can whisk you off to Siberia.” Mr Cavendish did not think so. He

realised that his host was an alarmist. At the same time he felt uneasy about that interpreter. Had some one informed the police of their acquaintance i as ho already a suspect? . . . , He was at the police station bright ana early the next morning and found the chief more than agreeable. Not a word was said about any passport. While the officer was running over some places of interest around Lake Ladoga which his visitor should sec, he happened to mention the Fortress of Schlusselberg. Mr Cavendish had heard of it. It was there that they had the cells in which the water rose an inch a day, so that finally the prisoners had to swim for it, and eventually found there was not room for their heads between the water and the ceiling. He mentioned his recollection of the peculiarity to the chief, who laughed heartily. “The credulity of Americans is only equalled by their powers of exaggeration,” ho said at length; but at the same time his visitor had a feeling that ho might be grabbed 1 from behind at any moment and spirited off to that dreadful place in the lake. Mr Jones had told him that was the trick in Russia—a smooth spoken man in front to engage the attention, two agile gentlemen behind to gag, bind and stuff you into a carriage. Mr Cavendish did not like the prospect somehow and wished he was well out of tho police station in spite of his hosts politeness and interesting description of the country roundabout. Presently ho ventured a remark. “You will pardon me,” ho began, “but how did you know my name before they had time to introduce me last night at the club?” The chief smiled quietly. “You know there is a lot of trouble and red tape about keeping a record of every time a passport changes hands, getting receipts for it and all that sort of thing. So the headquarters in St. Petersburg just dropped me a postal card, which came on the same boat with yourself, saying that you were all right and to make you feel at homo while you were here.” “How did they know I was sufficiently all right to travel without a passoort?” “Now you are asking questions,” said the officer smiling. “But let me tell you that if every one that came to Russia had as much sense as you have they would find it one of the most charming countries in the world.” “Perhaps I was well advised.” “Then the man that advised you was a Russian.”

Dr Omori, Professor of Seismology at the Imperial University, Tokio, expresses the opinion that Messina and Reggio may reasonably be rebuilt, if only the dictates of common sense and 1 the teachings of science be followed in the course of the reconstruction, as though disturbances may occur later in adjacent districts, earthquakes seldom repeat themselves on the same spot on such a vast scale of intensity. “After our gigantice earthquake in Japan,” said Professor Omori, "our seismographs continued to register 4000 notable repercussions over a space of ten years.” Padre Afani, the celebrated Italian seismologist, who has juat returned from the devastated Reggio, says lie is woefully oppressed by the amazing folly of the system of architectural construction in vogue in the south. “Had a horde of fiends reared Reggio and Messina with a view to inviting an earthquake with appalling loss of life they could scarcely,” he declared, “have outdone the actual builders of those ill-fated cities.”