The Secret of Spandau Read Free

trip, and the RAF had taken it to be a Dornier 215. Shortly after 2300 hours, the report of the crash had come in, followed by positive identification of a Messerschmitt 110: satisfaction for the ROC.
    â€˜He asked for me personally?’
    â€˜It seems he was trying to reach you, sir. He had a map strapped to his leg marked with a flight path terminating at Dungavel.’
    â€˜Do we know his name?’
    â€˜Horn, sir. Hauptmann Alfred Horn.’
    â€˜It means nothing to me. I suppose I’d better see the chap. Where is he being held?’
    â€˜They’re taking him to Maryhill Barracks, sir. The Home Guard picked him up first and took him to a scout hut.’
    â€˜Maryhill. He’ll have to wait until morning. See if you can raise the Interrogation Officer. I’d better arrange for us to see the man together.’
    Before he returned to bed, the Duke did some checking. In 1936, as Marquis of Clydesdale and a Member of Parliament, he had visited Germany with a party of fellow MPs. The visit was officially to see the Berlin Olympic Games, but he was actually more interested, if possible, in getting a close look at the Luftwaffe. And it had been arranged. On 13 August, he had been introduced to Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, who had obligingly laid on a tour of three German airfields. At Staaken, Döberitz and Lechfeld, the Duke had met a number of Luftwaffe officers, whose names he had kept for reference. This was the list he had now taken out to check. There was no Hauptmann Horn among the names.
    Next morning at 10.00 a.m., the Duke, accompanied by Flight Lieutenant Benson, the RAF Interrogation Officer for South Scotland, arrived at Maryhill Barracks in Glasgow. First they were shown the personal effects taken from the prisoner: flying-suit, helmet and boots; Lufwaffe officer’s tunic, trousers and forage cap; gold wristwatch; Leica camera; various medicines, vitamin preparations, glucose and sedatives; map-case and map; photographs of himself with a small boy and a woman; and two visiting cards, in the names of Professor Dr Karl Haushofer and Dr Albrecht Haushofer.
    The Haushofers. So
they
were the connection.
    The Duke’s youngest brother, David, had introduced him to Albrecht Haushofer, the son, in 1936, during that visit to the Olympics. Albrecht, a bulky Bavarian, had impressed him as sapient, shrewd and possessed of independent views. Over dinner, he had shown a refreshing disrespect for certain of the Nazi leaders, mimicking von Ribbentrop and describing Goebbels as ‘a poisonous little man who will give you dinner one night and sign your death warrant the next morning’. Surprisingly after that, Albrecht had confided that, in addition to his duties as lecturer at the University of Berlin, he worked for the German Foreign Office. He favoured a policy of co-operation between Germany and Britain and he was a staunch worker for the preservation of peace. Moreover, he was a confidant of the Deputy Führer, Rudolph Hess.
    In January 1937, the Duke, as Clydesdale, had taken the opportunity of a skiing trip to further the contact with Albrecht. This time he had travelled to Munich to meet Karl Haushofer, Albrecht’s father, the professor of geopolitics whose theory of
lebensraum
– room to live – had been seized upon by Hitler as the moral and academic justification of his territorial invasions.
    During 1937, Albrecht Haushofer had made two visits to Britain. In March, he had delivered a lecture to the Royal Institute of International Affairs, and afterwards had stayed in Clydesdale’s London home. They had met again in June, when Albrecht was en route for America. In April 1938, Albrecht had visited Scotland and stayed at Dungavel. He was still talking of the need for an Anglo-German settlement, though with diminishing confidence. In July 1939, he had sent a long letter warning of the imminence of a war against Poland and in consequence a European War,