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"Have you any last requests?" The Major asked the young man in the shabby black suit. "I have, good sir. I would like to play my violin one last time. Before you shoot me."
The Major nodded and opened a hatch in the steel door and called to the guard outside, "Bring Herr Buschmann's violin from the office." He turned back to the prisoner. "You are honored, young Fernando. You will be the first to be executed in the Tower of London for hundreds or years." The young man gave a faint smile. "It is a greater honor to die for Germany," he said. "It would be better to live," the Major pointed out and pulled a wooden chair to the side of the bed and sat facing the German spy. "My wife and children will suffer back in Germany. I regret being caught, but I do not regret spying for my country." he said calmly. The Major shook his head sadly. "It was Germany that sent you here to die."
"No, they sent me here to spy."
"But they prepared you so badly we were bound to catch you!" The Major groaned. "Don't you see that?"
"No," the prisoner frowned.
The officer leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You will die at dawn, so there is nothing to lose by telling you this, Fernando. But they trained you at the spy school at Rotterdam. The head of the spy school is Herr Flores."
"Perhaps."
"We know it is!" the Major sighed. "And he sent you here with a passport written in his own handwriting. We recognized it at once."
For the first time a small frown of uncertainty crossed the young German's face. The Major went on. "He sent you to a hotel in the Strand where he sends all of his secret agents. He gave you a cover story- you were to say you were a salesman of cheese, bananas, safety-razors and potatoes...but you know hardly anything about any of those things!"
The spy lowered his head in admission of defeat. "I sent in the reports as best I could," he muttered.
"You sent in reports that said we switch on London searchlights at 8:00 PM and turn them back off at 10:00 PM if no Zeppelins appear," the officer said. "That is no great secret to die for."
"You know what messages I sent?"
"Of course! You sent the messages to a school-master in Holland. That school-master is a British spy. You were an amateur, Fernando. We will shoot you, but it is Germany that sent you to your death."
There was a rap on the door and a guard handed a violin to the Major who passed it to Fernando. For the next three hours the sweet, mournful tones echoed round the ancient walls (TO BE CONTINUED)

and stirred the ghosts of long-dead prisoners. Slowly the sky lightened through the barred window and the hobnailed footsteps clattered in the corridor outside. The prisoner played one last melody, but now the notes were wavering and disconnected. "Nice tune," the Major said.
"By Pagliacci," the German said. "The music tells the story of a broken-hearted clown. Maybe that's all I was, Major." He raised the violin to his lips and kissed it. "Goodbye, I shall not want you any more." He laid his precious instrument on the hard bed, straightened his back and faced the men that waited at the door. "I am ready," he said.

Fernando Buschmann faced an eight-man firing squad on the morning of 19 October 1915. He refused a blindfold, saying he wanted to die like a gentleman. He was one of 11 bungling, amateur German spies to die in the Tower of London during the First World War. A 12th was hanged at Wandsworth Prison.

On 13 November 1997 the papers connected with the case were sold at an auction in London. The saddest was the letter from his wife to his lawyer Henry Garrett that read...

"Dear Mr. Garrett
I would be grateful if you could send me details of my husband's last moments. Was he at least allowed to keep his violin till his last hours? Had he much to suffer? Will I find his tomb in London to weep at it? My only wish is to visit and sleep there where my beloved husband is sleeping..."

There were many ways to die, and many wasted lives, in WW1. Fernando Buschmann's was just another one.