‘It appears to me, your Excellency, that the counsellors of the Tsar
have just taken a leaf out of Bismarck’s book.’
Baffled in this direction, I was casting about me for another client,
when my secretary came in to me one morning with a despatch marked
urgent, calling me to proceed immediately to Constantinople, where my
services were required by Muzaffir Effendi, the eunuch highest in the
confidence of Abdul Hamid.
I snatched at the opening with the assurance of triumph. Of all
states Turkey was the one most deeply concerned in the foreign policy
of Russia. Of all possible clients the most desirable was the ruler
whose secret hoards had dazzled the imagination of every secret
service agent in the world for a quarter of a century.
What the business might be on which Muzaffir wanted me I neither
knew nor greatly cared. I took my seat in the train that was to bear
me towards the Balkan Peninsula, firmly resolved that his business
should give way to mine.
On my way across Central Europe I found the papers already full of
the touching story of the benevolent young despot and his triumph
over the worldly wisdom of his counsellors. I could not blame the
journalists for being taken in by a story which had imposed on one
of the most hard-headed diplomatists in Paris; I could only marvel
at the astuteness and daring of the Muscovite statesmen who had
contrived to turn the personal idiosyncrasies of their sovereign to
use in their Machiavellian politics.
On reaching the shores of the Bosphorus I found, as I had
anticipated, that I was wanted to disentangle a miserable intrigue
of the harem, the kind of work more suited to a private detective
than to a man in my unique position. Under any other circumstances I
should have declined the task without more ado; as it was, I turned
Muzaffir’s difficulty into my opportunity.
‘Listen to me,’ I said to the trembling eunuch, as soon as he had
finished confiding his tale to me, ‘I can save you, and I will save
you, but only on one condition. And that is, that you procure me a
private and confidential audience of the Sultan, and that you use
your influence with him to make him grant the request I have to
make.’
Muzaffir, who, like all his tribe, was a miser, seemed overjoyed at
this cheap method of rewarding me. Of course, he wished to know the
object I had in view.
‘I am going to ask the Sultan to employ me on a secret political
mission outside the Turkish Empire, a mission from which you have
nothing to fear. Your business is to persuade the Sultan to trust
me--let that be enough.’
Twist and wriggle as he would, the eunuch found he could get nothing
more out of me. He gave in, and his influence over the mind of Abdul
Hamid being unbounded, I quickly found myself face to face with the
lean, dark, gaunt-eyed Asiatic who styles himself Commander of the
Faithful and Shadow of God on earth.
Abdul Hamid proved to be in a more suspicious mood than my friend in
Paris. As soon as I mentioned the Peace Rescript he interrupted me.
‘I am not going to disarm. I know what the Christian Powers are
by this time. They always begin to talk about peace when they are
secretly preparing to attack somebody.’
‘I am afraid your Majesty is right. The question is, what is the real
design underlying this particular piece of hypocrisy?’
‘I know that, too,’ was the unexpected reply. ‘The Russians have
decided to turn their attention to China. There they can do all that
they want with a hundred thousand men. So it is to their interest to
get rid of the burden of a great army which will not be wanted for a
generation.’
This was an ingenious idea, but it did not satisfy me, any more than
the semi-official one had done. I ventured to object--
‘If that were all, sire, there would be no occasion for this
melodramatic appeal to the other Powers. There is nothing to hinder
Russia from reducing her armaments by one-half to-morrow. No one
dreams of attacking her. Her army is kept up for offence, not for
defence. She is the one Power that could afford to set the example
of disbanding, and such an example would carry more weight than any
number of professions on paper, however well meant.’
The Sultan appeared struck by this reasoning.
‘Then what do you say is the object behind this rescript?’ he
demanded.
‘I do not know. But I undertake to find out if your Majesty will
furnish me with the necessary means.’
Abdul Hamid gave me a distrustful glance.
‘It is an expensive thing to buy information from the Council of
State,’ he grumbled.
‘You are right, sire. And the higher one goes, the more expensive it
becomes. It is clear that this move has been engineered by persons
who are able to manage the Tsar himself, and such persons are not
likely to sell their own game for much less than a million roubles.’
Abdul Hamid quivered at the mention of this sum as though I had
demanded one of the eyes out of his head.
‘Why should I go to this expense?’ he objected. ‘I have already told
you that I am not going to disarm.’
‘The question is whether you are willing to see Germany and Austria
disarm, leaving you to face Russia single-handed. Surely it is worth
a hundred thousand pounds to Turkey to prevent her allies from
falling into such a trap.’
The Sultan still hesitated.
‘How do I know that I shall get anything in return, if I trust you
with this money?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have done already. Two
days ago you had never heard my name. Now I am here alone with
you, with a loaded revolver in my pocket’--the Sultan started
violently--‘discussing the secrets of your foreign policy. Does that
look as though I were a fool?’
The Commander of the Faithful sat silent, attentively regarding me
for some minutes. Finally he dismissed me, promising to consider my
proposal.
[Illustration: “‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have done
already. Two days you had never heard my name. Now I am here, alone
with you, with a loaded revolver in my pocket.’ The Sultan started
violently.”]
I withdrew, confident that Abdul would consult his all-powerful
favourite, and that Muzaffir would see that I got my way.
A week later I was back in Paris, with an autograph letter from the
Sultan to his Ambassador in Russia, and a draft on the Ottoman Bank
which I took the precaution to exchange for a letter of credit from a
private Parisian banking firm to the Ephrussis of Petersburg.
My intention was to go to Russia in the character of a French
financial agent, the representative of a syndicate of Paris bankers,
on the look-out for profitable concessions from the Government of the
Tsar. In this way I hoped to be able to approach influential persons
without exciting suspicion, and to ascertain their corruptibility
before exposing my secret object.
In order to play this part it was not necessary for me to indulge
in any actual deceit. As a matter of fact the demand for foreign
capital to develop Russian properties is a steadily increasing
one, and I had no difficulty in meeting with financiers willing to
constitute me their agent, to inquire into the character of some of
the undertakings submitted to them.
The only person I proposed to take into my confidence was the Turkish
Ambassador in Petersburg, on whom I relied for information as to the
personal influences at work in the Russian Court.
It was to the Ambassador, therefore, that I paid my first visit on
arriving in the northern capital. His Excellency received me at
first with some reserve, which was quickly dissipated by a perusal of
the Sultan’s missive.
‘You have come to learn the truth about this rescript,’ he remarked.
‘It is certainly a new departure. You disbelieve in the sincerity of
the Tsar, I suppose?’
‘Not in the sincerity of the Tsar, but in the sincerity of those who
make his benevolent sentiments the cloak of their own secret policy,’
I corrected.
The Ambassador nodded approvingly.
‘You have put your finger on the weak spot,’ he responded. ‘The
danger in dealing with this rescript is that the other Powers may
take it seriously owing to their trust in the personal character of
Nicholas. In reality Nicholas is merely an instrument in the hands of
three persons, without whose advice he does nothing, and two of those
three are themselves creatures of the Council of State.’
‘And the three persons are?’
‘They are his mother, the Dowager Empress Dagmar; Pobiedonostzeff,
the Procurator of the Holy Synod; and the Grand Duke ----, the Tsar’s
constant companion and bosom friend.’
At the sound of such names as these I was almost appalled at the
outset. The character of the Dowager Empress, as much as her rank,
rendered her unapproachable. M. Pobiedonostzeff, although a bigot,
was not likely to be a traitor. The Grand Duke was an unknown
quantity, as far as I was concerned, but it did not seem very
probable that a personage in his position would prove accessible to a
bribe.
It never does to despair too soon. I put the question which long
experience of the dark side of human nature has rendered habitual
with me--
‘Has the Grand Duke any vices?’
‘He gambles a good deal in the Yacht Club.’
I drew a breath of satisfaction. Of all men the gambler is the
easiest to corrupt, because to him alone money is everything, and
because there comes a time to every gambler when money is not to be
had.
‘Who are his gambling companions?’ was my next question.
The Ambassador named several Russian nobles of high rank, among whom
the leading spirit seemed to be a Prince Boris Mendelieff. I was
going on with my inquiries when his Excellency checked me.
‘I have told you enough, it seems to me, to enable you to go on by
yourself. In the meantime I am the Ambassador of the Sultan, not
his secret service agent, and I wish to know nothing that might
compromise me.’
I respected his scruples, though they were such as some Russian
diplomatists would scarcely have understood, and proceeded to form
my own plans for making the acquaintance of Prince Mendelieff.
Fortunately the Russians are as unsuspicious in private life as they
are suspicious in politics. My skill as a bridge-player, a game in
which I have no living superior, proved a ready passport into the
gaming circles of Petersburg, and it was not long before I found
myself sitting at the same card-table with the intimate of the Grand
Duke.
I was lucky enough to lose a considerable sum to him, which I paid
with a good grace, and he could not do less than invite me to his
house. I accepted the invitation with an eagerness which must have
struck him as rather ill-bred, and we drove there together. Over a
bottle of champagne I became confidential. I avowed myself to be
a money-lender, as well as a concession-hunter, and hinted that I
should be prepared to pay handsomely for introductions to clients of
high station.
Mendelieff took the bait like a hungry pike. He was the first
to mention the name of the Grand Duke, doubtless knowing that
his Imperial Highness would be only too pleased to meet such an
accommodating person as I appeared to be. A bargain was struck, and
Mendelieff promised to let me know as soon as he had arranged for my
reception by his august patron.
The meeting took place in the Prince’s own house. Cards were
produced, the stakes were exceedingly high, and rather against my
wish I won steadily, while the losses of the Grand Duke were severe
enough to disturb his good humour. Mendelieff artfully seized the
right moment to present me as a friend in need, and to take off the
rest of the party, leaving us together.
The Grand Duke lost no time in putting me to the proof.
‘You are a banker, are you not, M. de Sarthe?’--De Sarthe was the
name under which I had crossed the frontier.
‘At least, I represent some important financial houses,’ I replied.
‘Oh, spare me that kind of thing,’ his Imperial Highness returned
impatiently, ‘let us take the usual comedy for granted, and tell me
frankly how much you are prepared to lend me.’
‘I do not know how much you want, sir, but I have any sum up to a
million roubles at your service.’
The Grand Duke’s eyes sparkled.
‘M. de Sarthe, you are a friend indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘But what are
your terms for this advance?’
‘As far as your pocket is concerned, nothing. I do not even ask that
this loan shall ever be repaid.’
He stared at me for a moment in astonishment. Then all at once his
expression changed, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
‘Ah! I understand. This is some affair of the secret service. You are
offering me a bribe, I suppose.’
‘I do not come from the Third Section, if that is what your Highness
means. I am, as I have said, a financier, and my only object is to
make money.’
‘I see. You wish me to influence the Government on your behalf?’
‘Not exactly that, sir. I am in search of information--information
which will enable me to operate successfully on the Paris Bourse.’
The Grand Duke looked rather relieved. It was evident that he did not
consider this very serious.
‘And what is the information you want?’ he asked.
‘It is very simple. I want to know the real bearing of the recent
Peace Rescript of the Tsar. Let me explain,’ I went on quickly,
raising my hand as I saw he was about to speak. ‘I know the surface
explanation of the matter, but I do not believe it. I do not believe
that this rescript would ever have seen the light unless the Council
of State had some purpose of their own to serve by it, and I want to
know what that purpose is. It is not to lessen the burden of their
own armaments; they could do that, if they chose, to-morrow. This is
an appeal to the other Powers to disarm, and I want to know why it
has been made.’
The Grand Duke listened to this speech in silence, biting his lips
with an air of indecision from which I augured a good result.
‘You seem to know a good deal, M. de Sarthe,’ he said sullenly.
‘Surely you must know that I am not in the secrets of our Foreign
Office.’
‘I believe that, of course, if you say so, sir. But I believe as
well that the Tsar did not draw up this document without your
encouragement, and that in encouraging the Tsar, you acted as the
instrument of the Council of State. I am entitled to suppose that you
were not a blind instrument, but that you knew pretty well why the
Council were so ready to fall in with the enthusiastic impulses of
Nicholas II.’
It was a bold thrust, but it went home. The Grand Duke gave me a
startled look, and relapsed into a long spell of silent pondering.
Finally he said--
‘And supposing I were to tell you something that you considered it
worth a million roubles to hear, what guarantee have I that you would
not betray my secret? What proof have I even now that you are not a
spy set on by my enemies in the Council of State?’
‘I will give your Highness that proof on condition that, if it is
satisfactory, you will accept my proposal.’
‘I consent.’
‘Then all I need do is to invite you to make your communication,
not to me but to the Ambassador of the Sublime Porte, whom you will
hardly suspect of being in the confidence of M. Pobiedonostzeff.’
With these words I rose to my feet. Stupefied for a moment, the Grand
Duke recovered himself in time to make a detaining gesture.
‘Do not go, monsieur. What you have said completely satisfies me. It
appears that I am required to betray my country.’
‘That depends,’ I returned smoothly. ‘If the Council of State is
plotting to betray the Tsar, as I understand it is, I should have
thought it consistent with the honour of a Russian prince of the
blood to take part in defeating their unworthy schemes.’
This was evidently a new view to his Imperial Highness, and I could
see by the expression of his face that it was telling powerfully.
‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘it seems to me that you have my word.
When do you propose to pay me this money?’
‘Now, this moment, if your Highness pleases.’
‘Count it out, then,’ was the brief injunction.
[Illustration: “It was a singular scene, as I stood there laying
down pile after pile of greasy ten-thousand-rouble notes on a richly
inlaid table.”]
I obeyed. It was a singular scene as I stood there laying down pile
after pile of greasy ten thousand rouble notes on a richly inlaid
table, while one of the highest personages in the proudest Court of
Europe or Asia stood beside me, his tall figure glistening with gold
ornaments and jewelled decorations, and his dark Slavonian features
flushed with excitement and greed. As the last note left my fingers,
he bent down and breathed in my ear--
‘_Take the Siberian railway, and use your eyes._’
I am ready to admit that my first feeling, after hearing those few
words which had cost me a hundred thousand roubles each, was one of
sickening disappointment. But a very little consideration served
to show me that the Grand Duke had told me enough to place success
within my reach, and that the information which he thus put it in
my power to acquire by my own observation was calculated to be of
greater value than any mere statement made at second-hand.
Somewhere along the vast, just completed track which connects the
Baltic with the Pacific lay the key to the true purpose of that
famous rescript which had imposed on all the statesmen of the world,
and only vigilance and circumspection were required to find it.
Never was there a journey more fraught with peril than that which I
now undertook. I had to disappear from civilisation for an unknown
length of time, and plunge into a region shrouded in mysterious
dread, the land of prison and exile; the gloomy realm which forms the
background to the showy life of the capital beside the Neva, like a
dark subterranean dungeon hidden beneath a glittering palace.
From Siberia few enemies of the Russian Government ever return. My
safety depended on my keeping up the character of a financial agent,
on the look-out for sources of wealth requiring French capital
for their development. In that character I was sure of a cordial
reception, and it served as a convenient cloak for some curiosity
about the country I was passing through.
Not daring to intrust my secret to a companion, I was obliged to go
without sleep from the moment of leaving the Ural mountains behind.
The utmost indulgence I could allow myself was such a light doze
as left the attention ready to leap into activity at the least
provocation. At every stopping place I got out and made a careful
examination of the neighbourhood. The one thing I had to fear was the
night. In the Cimmerian darkness of a northern winter I might have
been carried past an army without perceiving it.
The train by which I travelled was a long one, and it was increased
before we entered Asia by the addition of an open car like a
cattle-truck, containing peasants whom I took to be prisoners. I had
to be careful not to show myself too inquisitive, but I noticed at
the various stations along the track that they were all young men
of about the same age, and that they got in and out in obedience to
orders given by officials who were armed, and whom I imagined to be
warders or police.
I did not consider it safe to hold much conversation with my fellow
passengers. It was probable that more than one spy was among them.
I had an uneasy sensation of being watched by invisible eyes, and I
knew that if I once aroused real suspicion by my behaviour, my doom
was sealed.
So the days and nights passed, and the train crept on its way across
the silence of the frozen continent. I strained my eyes in vain
across the blinding waste, and strained my ears through the night. No
sight or sound rewarded me, save the solitary huts of the railway-men
and the monotonous tinkle of sleigh-bells.
According to my reckoning we had got nearly half way from the Ural to
the Amur when the longest stage of all was reached. We ran from the
sunset of one day to nearly noon of the next, only halting to take in
water and fuel. Then at last the train entered a town of considerable
importance, apparently a sort of depôt of the line, there being many
side-rails on which trucks were standing as though waiting till they
should be required.
As soon as the train stopped, I got out as usual with the other
passengers, to stretch my legs and look about me. The long journey
and the lack of proper rest had so exhausted me that it was some time
before I realised that there was an unusual lack of bustle about this
particular halt.
When at last the fact of this strange stillness was borne in upon my
consciousness, I roused myself to observation. At once I perceived
that the alighting passengers were fewer in number than before. It
was the troop I had mistaken for prisoners who were missing. I looked
at the end of the train for their car. It was no longer there.
We had silently slipped the wagon in the course of the night!
This discovery acted on my tired brain like magic. In an instant I
was again the alert, cautious investigator whose decisions were as
swift as his intuitions were unerring. Without hesitating I returned
to my carriage, removed my luggage with the aid of a porter, and
ordered a sleigh to drive me to the hotel.
The guard of the train came up to me, as I was making these
preparations, and asked me if I were not going on.
‘Not by your train,’ I replied blandly. ‘I shall break my journey
here, and look about me. By what I can see this place seems likely to
be an important commercial centre, such as I have come in search of.’
‘Your Excellency is mistaken,’ the man answered roughly. ‘This place
is nothing at all--only a dumping place for spare wagons. To-morrow
we shall come to a really important town, where much business is
done.’
I gave the fellow my most supercilious stare. Then, pulling out a
note for fifty roubles, I handed it to him, saying haughtily--
‘I am obliged to you for your trouble. Good day.’
He drew back astonished and abashed, and I made my way out of the
station, without once turning to see if I were followed.
Directly I reached the hotel I threw myself on a bed, and slept
soundly for twenty-four hours.
I awoke refreshed and vigorous, and ready to carry out my task with
coolness and resolution. Knowing myself to be in a land where every
second man was a spy, I thought it idle to attempt any concealment of
my actions. I was there as an explorer, and I determined to explore
boldly. If the agents of the Government took it on themselves to stop
me, I knew well enough how to deal with them.
My first step was to ask the landlord of the hotel to recommend me a
guide. The man whom he presented to me was a typical _mouchard_, with
‘spy’ written on every line of his countenance. This was just what I
expected. I engaged him at a liberal salary, and ordered him to fit
out an expedition for a journey of some days into the interior.
‘Where do you want to go?’ the man asked.
‘Where I please,’ I replied sharply. ‘Keep your curiosity to
yourself, or take another master. I want a guide, not a partner.’
This rebuke had the desired effect. The police agent, for such of
course he was, was obliged to come with me on my own terms. Doubtless
he reported me to his bureau as a headstrong man who could not be
controlled by any means save open force.
At the same time I lost no opportunity of impressing the authorities
with my assumed character. The Prefect of the town called on me,
and I explained to him that Siberia was regarded in Paris as one of
the richest mineral regions of the earth, and that I was merely the
pioneer of a swarm of prospectors who would be invading it before
long. I made his mouth water as I talked of shares and syndicates,
and conveyed to him that by a judicious use of his opportunities he
might become one of the millionaires of the future.
To the westward of the town, in the direction from which the train
had brought me, there was visible a range of low hills, a conspicuous
landmark in the desolate plain. It was towards these hills that I
ordered my guide to conduct me, as soon as the preparations for the
march were completed.
The rascal was cunning enough to hide his reluctance, and we set
out. But after we had gone a day’s journey I noticed that our march
was steadily veering away from the line of the railway, and taking a
northerly direction. I said nothing, determined to counteract these
tactics at the right moment. At the end of the third day, after a
slow progress compared with the speed of the train, we pitched our
camp at the foot of the range, about forty miles, as near as I could
judge, from the point where it was pierced by the railway.
The next morning the caravan wound its way to the summit of the
ridge, and I looked down on a broad valley, watered by a river, and
broken up by small spurs jutting out from the main watershed. As the
guide was about to plunge down, so as to cross the stream, I checked
him abruptly.
‘We are not going that way. I shall turn southward now, and keep
along the summit of the ridge till we come to the railway.’
The man’s face turned as black as a thunder-cloud.
‘You cannot go that way,’ he snorted.
‘Why?’
He hesitated.
‘Because it is impassable. The horses will break down.’
‘We will go on till they do,’ I answered sternly. ‘And let this be
your last attempt to disobey me. At the next I send you back, and go
on without you.’
The man slunk forward, muttering curses, which I affected not to
hear. But I had not yet frightened him sufficiently. At the next halt
one of the drivers came to me and reported that a horse had gone lame.
‘Bring it here,’ I commanded.
He went away, and returned leading the animal.
‘Go,’ I said sternly. ‘Take the horse back with you, and take rations
for three days. Do not let me see you again.’
The driver looked thoroughly crestfallen. He slouched back to his
comrades without another word.
I waited till half an hour had passed, then I rose and walked over to
the camp-fire, round which my followers were seated, the driver among
them.
‘How is it that you are still here?’ I demanded.
‘The horse is all right again,’ was the surly answer.
‘So much the worse for you.’ I took out my revolver in one hand, and
my watch in the other. ‘In ten minutes from now I aim this revolver
at you, and fire,’ I remarked. ‘It kills at two hundred metres. I
should advise you to get out of range.’
I do not think I have ever seen a man get through his preparations
in less time than then. Long before the allotted time was up, he was
well out of reach, galloping down the slope of the hill.
In every expedition through a wild country there comes a moment which
decides who is to be master. That moment past, I had no fear of
further trouble. I was now able to unbend with the guide; I informed
him that I expected to find gold, and promised him a rich reward if I
succeeded with his aid.
But a disappointment was in store for me. Although we marched
carefully along the summit of the hills, and I scrutinised every yard
of the valley below with a powerful field-glass, I detected no trace
of anything calling for investigation; in fact, I discerned no signs
of human life. By the time I had worked down to the railway I began
to fear that I was on a false scent.
It was in the night, after we had pitched our camp close beside the
line, that the true solution occurred to me. I rose and secretly
crept out of my tent, eluding the solitary watchman, and made my
way along the track of the rails. After groping and stumbling over
the roughly laid road for three or four miles, I suddenly made a
discovery. The line divided, sending off a branch rail, which curved
away to the south.
I knew now what had become of the missing gang of prisoners, or
rather--for by this time I saw more clearly--of military recruits.
I also knew why I had missed my way. The guide had led me to the
north of the line, and what I had come so far to find lay to the
south.
The next day I issued orders to continue the march to the southward,
crossing the railway. The face of the guide, when he received
this direction, sufficiently showed that I was getting warm, as
the children say, at last. He made no open remonstrance, but in
the course of the day I noticed that another man and horse had
disappeared.
I paid no attention to this proof of treachery. It came too late to
affect me. By noon of the first day after quitting the main line
for the south, I was already in possession of the carefully guarded
secret of the Council of State.
There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay a double line of
rails, gleaming blue in the sunlight, and all across the level space
at regular intervals stretched low banks and ditches--the lines of a
vast encampment, capable of accommodating half a million men. Still
further on I had a glimpse of the white sparkle of tents and piles of
fresh-hewn timber, and I even fancied I could catch the faint hum of
voices and the thud of hammers as the hidden army toiled away at its
barracks and entrenchments.
[Illustration: “There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay
a double line of rails, and all across the level space stretched
low banks and ditches--the lines of a vast encampment, capable of
accommodating half a million men.”]
The meaning of the Peace Rescript was manifest at last, and the
meaning was formidable indeed. While appearing to disarm in concert
with the rest of Europe, Russia’s intention was secretly to withdraw
her enormous forces to this unsuspected retreat, from whence, at
the decisive moment, they would issue like a creation of magic, to
overwhelm the defenceless continent.
I had made my discovery; it was still a question whether I was to
return with it in safety.
Before I had made up my mind whether to push my observations further,
I was alarmed to see a sotnia of Cossacks approaching, led by a
Russian officer. My little camp was quickly surrounded, and the
officer presented himself before me.
It required all my nerve to deal with the emergency. The first
words of the officer showed me that he considered me a spy, and was
prepared to hang me out of hand. I affected the utmost astonishment
and indignation, and produced the papers which showed me to be a
Frenchman travelling on behalf of various financial syndicates in
Paris. The officer thrust them aside contemptuously.
‘All this is nothing to me,’ he declared. ‘You should not have come
within reach of our camp. Even if I do not hang you, you will never
be allowed to return to Europe, of that you may be assured.’
‘I will take my chance of that, captain,’ I answered coolly. ‘Living
in this out-of-the-way region, you perhaps have not heard that France
and Russia are in military alliance, and, besides, that the Tsar has
declared his intention to disarm, so that your preparations here have
ceased to be of the slightest consequence to anybody.’
The officer was fairly staggered. He had heard, of course, of the
French alliance, and no doubt some rumour as to the recent rescript
had penetrated to the secret camp, but without its scope being very
well understood.
‘I know that it is my duty to arrest you, at the very least,’ he
persisted.
‘As to that, you will do as you please. It will sound well in
Paris that every prospector who ventures into Siberia with a view
of developing the resources of the country exposes himself to the
treatment of a spy. M. Witte will find it takes some persuasion to
secure another French loan.’
It is needless to give further details of a conversation in which the
ignorance of the Russian gave me a very great advantage over him. I
am vain enough to plume myself on having made use of the treacherous
rescript to out-manœuvre its authors. In saying that, of course, I
do not refer to Nicholas II., who perhaps did not even know of the
existence of the hidden camp.
In the end the Cossack officer decided to escort me back to the
town where I had left the train, and hand me over to the civil
authorities, a decision which was assisted by the usual methods of
persuasion in the East. My friend the Prefect, already predisposed
in my favour, required a somewhat heavier bribe, and finally I made
assurance doubly sure by resuming my journey eastward, and leaving
Russian territory by way of the Chinese frontier.
It was from the first telegraph station in the Celestial Empire that
I sent the cipher despatch to Constantinople which was destined to
render abortive the much-talked-of Conference at the Hague:
‘_Russia preparing enormous concealed camp in Siberia, beside
railway, to hide forces when nominally disbanded. I have seen it._’
Abdul Hamid was too shrewd to take any open part in opposing the
Russian proposals, but when I saw the firm stand made against them by
the German representatives, I knew that he had not thrown my telegram
into the waste-paper basket.
It only remains to add that the Russian Government, realising that
its secret had been betrayed, stealthily set to work to efface every
sign of the concealed camp; and that, if my latest information be
correct, the mysterious valley is again given over to silence and to
solitude.
V