‘You will tell me just as much or as little as you think fit, my
dear Finkelstein. On my part I shall, of course, exercise a similar
discretion after his Imperial Majesty has given me my instructions.’
As I expected, the bait took. Curiosity is the besetting weakness of
a secret service officer, and the Berlin Director was no exception
to the rule. Putting on his most confidential manner, he at once
replied--
‘My dear V----, if you and I do not trust each other, whom can we
trust? Rest assured that my confidence in you has no reserves. I
have spoken the bare truth in saying that the Kaiser has given me no
indication of his object in sending for you. But the fact that he
has ordered me to take these precautions to conceal the fact of your
arrival in Berlin tells me plainly that there is a person whom he
wishes to keep in ignorance; and that person can only be----’
‘The Chancellor?’ I threw in, as my companion hesitated.
Finkelstein nodded.
‘You consider, perhaps, that it is against the Chancellor that I am
to be employed?’ I went on.
‘It looks like it,’ was the cautious answer.
‘And the reason why this task is not placed in your hands?’
‘Is because I am a native of Hanover, and the Kaiser regards me
rather as a public official than as a personal servant of his own
dynasty,’ said Finkelstein.
‘In other words, he regards you as a creature of the Chancellor’s,’ I
commented bluntly.
The Director made a pleasing and ingenious attempt to blush.
‘I can only affirm to you, on my sacred word of honour, that his
Majesty has no cause to trust me any less than if I were a Prussian,’
he declared. ‘And I shall take it as a personal kindness if you will
endeavour to convince the Kaiser of my loyalty.’
‘I will take care that he knows your sentiments,’ I answered, with an
ambiguity which Finkelstein fortunately did not remark.
By this time I had completed my transformation. A glance at the
cheval glass showed me a stiff, well-set-up Prussian official,
exhaling the very atmosphere of Junkerdom and sauerkraut. I gave the
signal to depart, and we were quickly driving up the Unter den Linden
on our way to the Imperial Palace.
‘Announce to his Majesty--the Herr Director Finkelstein and the Herr
Inspector Vehm,’ my companion said to the doorkeeper.
A servant, who had evidently received special instructions, stepped
forward.
‘The Herr Inspector is to be taken to his Majesty at once,’ he said
firmly.
Finkelstein bit his lip as he unwillingly turned to re-enter his
carriage. I followed the lackey into the private cabinet of the
monarch who had just found himself the centre of an international
cyclone.
[Illustration: “A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff, well
set-up Prussian official.”]
Wilhelm II. received me cordially. It was not the first time we had
met. About the time of his ascending the throne I had been the means
of inflicting on him a defeat which a smaller man would have found
it hard to forgive. Fortunately, the German Kaiser was of metal
sterling enough to recognise merit even in an enemy, and to realise
that my fidelity to my then employer was the best guarantee that I
should be equally faithful to himself, if it fell to my lot to serve
him.
‘What has Finkelstein told you?’ was the Emperor’s first question,
after he had graciously invited me to sit down.
‘Only that he was able to tell me nothing, sire.’
The Emperor gave me a suspicious glance.
‘He appeared to regret that your Majesty had not given him your
confidence,’ I added, choosing my words warily. ‘He assured me that
you might rely on his entire devotion, as much so as if he were a
native of your hereditary States.’
‘And what do you say as to that?’ demanded the Kaiser, with a
piercing look.
‘I think that your Majesty cannot be too careful whom you trust.’
Wilhelm II. allowed himself to smile gravely.
‘I see, Monsieur V----, that you are a prudent man. If Herr
Finkelstein wishes to convince me of his loyalty to the
Hohenzollerns, he cannot begin better than by renouncing the pension
which he continues to draw secretly from the Duke of ----.’ His
Majesty pronounced the name by which a well-known dispossessed
sovereign goes in his exile.
Familiar as I long have been with instances of perfidy in others, I
could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment at this revelation
of Finkelstein’s double dealing. The Kaiser continued--
‘After that you will not be surprised if I caution you particularly
against letting Herr Finkelstein know anything of the object of the
inquiry I wish you to undertake.’
I bowed respectfully, and waited with some impatience to learn the
true nature of my mission.
‘I could not receive you here without taking some one into the
secret of your employment,’ the Kaiser went on to explain; ‘and I
chose Finkelstein in order to give the affair as much as possible
the aspect of a private and domestic matter. In reality the task I
have to set you is one of the most grave in which you have ever been
engaged.’
The Kaiser took one of the Berlin papers of the day before, which was
lying on the desk in front of him, and pointed to a column in which
was set out in conspicuous type the telegram which had convulsed
Europe and Africa, and had already caused Lord Salisbury to issue
orders for the mobilisation of his Flying Squadron.
‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for me the authorship
of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.
[Illustration: “‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for
me the authorship of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.”]
Notwithstanding my long training in the most tortuous paths of
secret intrigue, I was fairly taken aback by this announcement.
‘That telegram!’ I could only exclaim. ‘The one which your Majesty
addressed to President Kruger!’
‘_I never sent it_,’ Wilhelm II. declared gravely. ‘It is a forgery
pure and simple.’
For a moment I sat still in my chair, almost unable to think.
‘But what----? But who----?’ I articulated, struggling with my
bewilderment.
‘That is what you have got to find out for me,’ was the answer. ‘Let
me tell you all I know. The first intimation I had of the existence
of such a thing was the sight of it in the Press. I sent instantly
for the Chancellor, who came here wearing a reproachful expression,
and evidently prepared to complain bitterly of my having taken such a
step without previously informing him. When I told him that the whole
thing was an impudent fabrication, he could scarcely believe his
ears. In fact, for some time I believe he was inclined to consider my
repudiation of it as a mere official denial.’