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station. But the wartime organization had outgrown its original habitat. Both Section V and Central Registry had been displaced to St. Albans, while other odds and bits had been scattered around London and the Home Counties. On arrival at St. Albans, I was billeted on some horribly rich people, whose wealth was not the only horrible thing about them. The husband was conveyed daily between his house and the station in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce, while the wife locked up the sugar and counted jam-pots lest the maids should pilfer. In a mercifully short time, I found a convenient cottage on the farthest outskirts of town, where I could be free of unwanted interruption. Within a few days, I bought a pheasant from a man at a bus stop. He told me that he “sometimes got a chicken,” so I fared well thereafter.
    Much will be heard of SIS in the following pages, and a general, though far from comprehensive, picture of its activities should emerge in due course. At this stage, it is necessary to give only a summary account of its structure and proceedings, to assist the reader in understanding my story from the outset. It should be understood that any summary account must be an over-simplification. Ifthe British genius leans towards improvisation, then SIS is a true reflection of it. The organization is like an old house, the original plan of which is still visible though dwarfed by subsequent additions.
    SIS is the only British service authorized to collect secret information from foreign countries by illegal means. Its monopoly in this respect is sometimes infringed by enthusiastic amateurs. But whenever such infringements come to light, they lead at best to acrimonious inter-departmental correspondence, at worst to serious confrontations in Whitehall. The words “by illegal means” distinguish the secret service from other newsgathering agencies, such as the Foreign Service and the press, though some nations fail to appreciate this fine, and sometimes illusory, distinction. Thus, in the Middle East, as I know from personal experience, journalists are confused with spies—often rightly so. Yet, however blurred in practice, the distinction is real. SIS alone receives secret funds, for which it is not accountable in detail, so that it may get information from foreign countries which is not obtainable by ordinary, lawful means. *
    The basis of SIS activity is the network of agents, almost always of foreign nationality. These agents work, directly or indirectly, under the control of an SIS office, known as a “station,” housed in a British Embassy and thus protected from the action of local authorities by diplomatic convention. Their motives in working as agents are various, ranging from the heroic to the squalid. The great majority are paid for their work, though not too well. On the whole, SIS prefers to have agents on its payroll, since the acceptance of pay induces pliability. The unpaid agent is apt to behave independently, and to become an infernal nuisance. He has, almost certainly, his own political axes to grind, and his sincerity is often a measure of the inconvenience he can cause. As one SIS officerremarked in disgust of the Vermehrens, the German couple who defected to the British in Istanbul during the war: “They’re so Godawful conscientious you never know what they’re going to do next.”
    Information collected by agents finds its way, directly or by devious means, to the local SIS station responsible for their recruitment in the first place. There it is given a preliminary assessment, for value and accuracy, by SIS officers disguised as diplomats. If considered of interest, the information is transmitted, with appropriate comment, to London headquarters. Transmission is normally by foreign service communications, radio or diplomatic bag, according to the degree of urgency. At the time of which I am now speaking, the pre-war disguise of Passport Control Officer * for the chief SIS representative was still