Mr. Coulson moved his cigar into a corner of his mouth, as though to
obtain a clear view of his questioner’s face. His expression was one of
bland interest.
“Well, I guess you’ve got me puzzled, Sir Edward,” he said. “You aren’t
thinking of doing anything in woollen machinery, are you?”
Sir Edward smiled.
“I think not, Mr. Coulson,” he answered. “At any rate, my question had
nothing to do with your other very interesting avocation. What I wanted
to ask you was whether you could tell me anything about a compatriot of
yours--a Mr. Hamilton Fynes?”
“Hamilton Fynes!” Mr. Coulson repeated thoughtfully. “Why, that’s the
man who got murdered on the cars, going from Liverpool to London.”
“That is so,” Sir Edward admitted.
Mr. Coulson shook his head.
“I told that reporter fellow all I knew about him,” he said. “He was an
unsociable sort of chap, you know, Sir Edward, and he wasn’t in any line
of business.”
“H’m! I thought he might have been,” the Minister answered, glancing
keenly for a moment at his visitor. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Coulson,
we have been a great deal bothered about that unfortunate incident,
and by the subsequent murder of the young man who was attached to your
Embassy here. Scotland Yard has strained every nerve to bring the guilty
people to justice, but so far unsuccessfully. It seems to me that
your friends on the other side scarcely seem to give us credit for our
exertions. They do not help us in the least. They assure us that they
had no knowledge of Mr. Fynes other than has appeared in the papers.
They recognize him only as an American citizen going about his
legitimate business. A little more confidence on their part would, I
think, render our task easier.”
Mr. Coulson scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said, “I can understand their feeling a bit sore about it.
I’m not exactly given to brag when I’m away from my own country--one
hears too much of that all the time--but between you and me, I shouldn’t
say that it was possible for two crimes like that to be committed in New
York City and for the murderer to get off scot free in either case.”
“The matter,” Sir Edward declared, “has given us a great deal of
anxiety, and I can assure you that the Home Secretary himself has taken
a strong personal interest in it, but at the same time, as I have just
pointed out to you, our investigations are rendered the more difficult
from the fact that we cannot learn anything definite concerning this
Mr. Hamilton Fynes or his visit to this country. Now, if we knew, for
instance,” Sir Edward continued, “that he was carrying documents, or
even a letter, similar to the one you have just handed to me, we might
at once discover a motive to the crime, and work backwards until we
reached the perpetrator.”
Mr. Coulson knocked the ash from his cigar.
“I see what you are driving at,” he said. “I am sorry I can be of no
assistance to you, Sir Edward.”
“Neither in the case of Mr. Hamilton Fynes or in the case of Mr. Richard
Vanderpole?” Sir Edward asked.
Mr. Coulson shook his head.
“Quite out of my line,” he declared.
“Notwithstanding the fact,” Sir Edward reminded him quietly, “that you
were probably the last person to see Vanderpole alive? He came to the
Savoy to call upon you before he got into the taxicab where he was
murdered. That is so, isn’t it?”
“Sure!” Mr. Coulson answered. “A nice young fellow he was, too. Well set
up, and real American manners,--Hail, fellow, well met!’ with you right
away.”
“I suppose, Mr. Coulson,” the Minister suggested smoothly, “it wouldn’t
answer your purpose to put aside that bluff about patents for the
development of the woollen trade for a few moments, and tell me exactly
what passed between you and Mr. Vanderpole at the Savoy Hotel, and the
object of his calling upon you? Whether, for instance, he took away with
him documents or papers intended for the Embassy and which you yourself
had brought from America?”
“You do think of things!” Mr. Coulson remarked admiringly. “You’re on
the wrong track this time, though, sure. Still, supposing I were able
to tell you that Mr. Vanderpole was carrying papers of importance to my
country, and that Mr. Hamilton Fynes was also in possession of the same
class of document, how would it help you? In what fresh direction should
you look then for the murderers of these two men?”
“Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward said, “we should consider the nature of those
documents, and we should see to whose advantage it was that they were
suppressed.”
Mr. Coulson’s face seemed suddenly old and lined. He spoke with a new
vigor, and his eyes were very keen and bright under his bushy eyebrows.
“And supposing it was your country’s?” he asked. “Supposing they
contained instructions to our Ambassador which you might consider
inimical to your interests? Do you mean that you would look at home for
the murderer? You mean that you have men so devoted to their native land
that they were willing to run the risk of death by the hangman to aid
her? You mean that your Secret Service is perfected to that extent, and
that the scales of justice are held blindfolded? Or do you mean that
Scotland Yard would have its orders, and that these men would go free?”
“I was not thinking of my own country,” Sir Edward admitted. “I must
confess that my thoughts had turned elsewhere.”
“Let me tell you this, sir,” Mr. Coulson continued. “I should imagine
that the trouble with Washington, if there is any, is simply that
they will not believe that your police have a free hand. They will not
believe that you are honestly and genuinely anxious for the discovery
of the perpetrator of these crimes. I speak without authority, you
understand? I am no more in a position to discuss this affair than any
other tourist from my country who might happen to come along.”
Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders.
“Can you suggest any method,” he asked a little dryly, “by means of
which we might remove this unfortunate impression?”
Mr. Coulson flicked the ash once more from the end of his cigar and
looked at it thoughtfully.
“This isn’t my show,” he said, “and, you understand, I am giving the
views of Mr. James B. Coulson, and nobody but Mr. James B. Coulson, but
if I were in your position, and knew that a friendly country was
feeling a little bit sore at having two of her citizens disposed of so
unceremoniously, I’d do my best to prove, by the only possible means,
that I was taking the matter seriously.”
“The only possible means being?” Sir Edward asked.
“I guess I’d offer a reward,” Mr. Coulson admitted.
Sir Edward did not hesitate for a moment.
“Your idea is an excellent one, Mr. Coulson,” he said. “It has already
been mooted, but we will give it a little emphasis. Tomorrow we will
offer a reward of one thousand pounds for any information leading to the
apprehension of either murderer.”
“That sounds bully,” Mr. Coulson declared.
“You think that it will have a good effect upon your friends in
Washington?”
“Me?” Mr. Coulson asked. “I know nothing about it. I’ve given you my
personal opinion only. Seems to me, though, it’s the best way of showing
that you’re in earnest.”
“Before we quit this subject finally, Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward said, “I
am going to ask you a question which you have been asked before.”
“Referring to Hamilton Fynes?” Mr. Coulson asked.
“Yes!”
“Get your young man to lay his hand on that copy of the Comet,” Mr.
Coulson begged earnestly. “I told that pushing young journalist all I
knew and a bit more. I assure you, my information isn’t worth anything.”
“Was it meant to be worth anything?” Sir Edward asked.
Mr. Coulson remained imperturbable.
“If you don’t mind, Sir Edward,” he said, “I guess we’ll drop the
subject of Mr. Hamilton Fynes. We can’t get any forwarder. Let it go at
that.”
There was a knock at the door. Sir Edward’s secretary ushered in a tall,
plainly dressed gentleman, who had the slightly aggrieved air of a man
who has been kept out of his bed beyond the usual time.
“My dear Bransome,” he said, shaking hands, “isn’t this a little
unreasonable of you? Business at this hour of the night! I was in the
midst of a most amusing conversation with a delightful acquaintance
of your wife’s, a young lady who turned up her nose at Hegel and had
developed a philosophy of her own. I was just beginning to grasp its
first principles. Nothing else, I am quite sure, would have kept me
awake.”
Sir Edward leaned across the table towards Mr. Coulson. Mr. Coulson had
risen to his feet.
“This gentleman,” he said, “is Mr. Smith.”
The newcomer opened his lips to protest, but Sir Edward held out his
hand.
“One moment,” he begged. “Our friend here--Mr. J. B. Coulson from
New York--has brought a letter from America. He is sailing
tomorrow,--leaving London somewhere about eight o’clock in the morning,
I imagine. He wishes to take back a verbal reply. The letter, you will
understand, comes from a Mr. Jones, and the reply is delivered in the
presence of--Mr. Smith. Our friend here is not personally concerned
in these affairs. As a matter of fact, I believe he has been on the
Continent exploiting some patents of his own invention.”
The newcomer accepted the burden of his altered nomenclature and took up
the letter. He glanced at the signature, and his manner became at once
more interested. He accepted the chair which Sir Edward had placed by
his side, and, drawing the electric light a little nearer, read the
document through, word by word. Then he folded it up, and glanced first
at his colleague and afterwards at Mr. Coulson.
“I understand,” he said, “that this is a private inquiry from a private
gentleman, who is entitled, however, to as much courtesy as it is
possible for us to show him.”
“That is exactly the position, sir,” Mr. Coulson replied. “Negotiations
of a more formal character are naturally conducted between your Foreign
Office and the Foreign Office of my country. These few lines come from
man to man. I think that it occurred to my friend that it might save a
great deal of trouble, a great deal of specious diplomacy, and a great
many hundred pages of labored despatches, if, at the bottom of it all,
he knew your true feelings concerning this question. It is, after all,
a simple matter,” Mr. Coulson continued, “and yet it is a matter with
so many ramifications that after much discussion it might become a
veritable chaos.”
Mr. Smith inclined his head gently.
“I appreciate the situation,” he said. “My friend here--Sir Edward
Bransome--and I have already discussed the matter at great length. We
have also had the benefit of the advice and help of a greater Foreign
Minister than either of us could ever hope to become. I see no objection
to giving you the verbal reply you ask for. Do you, Bransome?”
“None whatever, sir.”
“I leave it to you to put it in your own words,” Mr. Smith continued.
“The affair is within your province, and the policy of His Majesty’s
Ministers is absolutely fixed.”
Sir Edward turned toward their visitor.
“Mr. Coulson,” he said, “we are asked by your friend, in a few plain
words, what the attitude of Great Britain would be in the event of a war
between Japan and America. My answer--our answer--to you is this,--no
war between Japan and America is likely to take place unless your
Cabinet should go to unreasonable and uncalled-for extremes. We have
ascertained, beyond any measure of doubt, the sincere feeling of our
ally in this matter. Japan does not desire war, is not preparing for it,
is unwilling even to entertain the possibility of it. At the same time
she feels that her sons should receive the same consideration from every
nation in the world as the sons of other people. Personally it is our
profound conviction that the good sense, the fairness, and the generous
instincts of your great country will recognize this and act accordingly.
War between your country and Japan is an impossible thing. The thought
of it exists only in the frothy vaporings of cheap newspapers, and the
sensational utterances of the catch politician who must find an audience
and a hearing by any methods. The sober possibility of such a conflict
does not exist.”
Mr. Coulson listened attentively to every word. When Sir Edward had
finished, he withdrew his cigar from his mouth and knocked the ash on to
a corner of the writing table.
“That’s all very interesting indeed, Sir Edward,” he declared. “I am
very pleased to have heard what you have said, and I shall repeat it to
my friend on the other side, who, I am sure, will be exceedingly
obliged to you for such a frank exposition of your views. And now,” he
continued, “I don’t want to keep you gentlemen up too late, so perhaps
you will be coming to the answer of my question.”
“The answer!” Sir Edward exclaimed. “Surely I made myself clear?”
“All that you have said,” Mr. Coulson admitted, “has been remarkably
clear, but the question I asked you was this,--what is to be the
position of your country in the event of war between Japan and America?”
“And I have told you,” Sir Edward declared, “that war between Japan and
America is not a subject within the scope of practical politics.”
“We may consider ourselves--my friend Mr. Jones would certainly consider
himself,” Mr. Coulson affirmed,--“as good a judge as you, Sir Edward, so
far as regards that matter. I am not asking you whether it is probable
or improbable. You may know the feelings of your ally. You do not know
ours. We may look into the future, and we may see that, sooner or later,
war between our country and Japan is a necessity. We may decide that
it is better for us to fight now than later. These things are in the
clouds. They only enter into the present discussion to this extent, but
it is not for you to sit here and say whether war between the United
States and Japan is possible or impossible. What Mr. Jones asks you
is--what would be your position if it should take place? The little
diatribe with which you have just favored me is exactly the reply we
should have expected to receive formally from Downing Street. It isn’t
that sort of reply I want to take back to Mr. Jones.”
Mr. Smith and his colleague exchanged glances, and the latter drew his
chief on one side.
“You will excuse me for a moment, I know, Mr. Coulson,” he said.
“Why, by all means,” Mr. Coulson declared. “My time is my own, and it
is entirely at your service. If you say the word, I’ll go outside and
wait.”
“It is not necessary,” Sir Edward answered.
The room was a large one, and the two men walked slowly up and down, Mr.
Smith leaning all the time upon his colleague’s shoulder. They spoke in
an undertone, and what they said was inaudible to Mr. Coulson. During
his period of waiting he drew another cigar from his pocket, and lit
it from the stump of the old one. Then he made himself a little
more comfortable in his chair, and looked around at the walls of the
handsomely furnished but rather sombre apartment with an air of pleased
curiosity. It was scarcely, perhaps, what he should have expected from
a man in a similar position in his own country, but it was, at any rate,
impressive. Presently they came back to him. This time it was Mr. Smith
who spoke.
“Mr. Coulson,” he said, “we need not beat about the bush. You ask us a
plain question and you want a plain answer. Then I must tell you this.
The matter is not one concerning which I can give you any definite
information. I appreciate the position of your friend Mr. Jones, and I
should like to have met him in the same spirit as he has shown in his
inquiry, but I may tell you that, being utterly convinced that Japan
does not seek war with you, and that therefore no war is likely, my
Government is not prepared to answer a question which they consider
based upon an impossibility. If this war should come, the position of
our country would depend entirely upon the rights of the dispute. As a
corollary to that, I would mention two things. You read your newspapers,
Mr. Coulson?”
“Sure!” that gentleman answered.
“You are aware, then,” Mr. Smith continued, “of the present position
of your fleet. You know how many months must pass before it can reach
Eastern waters. It is not within the traditions of this country to evade
fulfillment of its obligations, however severe and unnatural they may
seem, but in three months’ time, Mr. Coulson, our treaty with Japan will
have expired.”
“You are seeking to renew it!” Mr. Coulson declared quickly.
Mr. Smith raised his eyebrows.
“The renewal of that treaty,” he said, “is on the knees of the gods. One
cannot tell. I go so far only as to tell you that in three months the
present treaty will have expired.”
Mr. Coulson rose slowly to his feet and took up his hat.
“Gentlemen both,” he said, “that’s what I call plain speaking. I suppose
it’s up to us to read between the lines. I can assure you that my friend
Mr. Jones will appreciate it. It isn’t my place to say a word outside
the letter which I have handed to you. I am a plain business man,
and these things don’t come in my way. That is why I feel I can
criticize,--I am unprejudiced. You are Britishers, and you’ve got one
eternal fault. You seem to think the whole world must see a matter as
you see it. If Japan has convinced you that she doesn’t seek a war with
us, it doesn’t follow that she’s convinced us. As to the rights of
our dispute, don’t rely so much upon hearing one side only. Don’t be
dogmatic about it, and say this thing is and that thing isn’t. You may
bet your last dollar that America isn’t going to war about trifles. We
are the same flesh and blood, you know. We have the same traditions to
uphold. What we do is what we should expect you to do if you were in our
place. That’s all, gentlemen. Now I wish you both good night! Mr. Smith,
I am proud to shake hands with you. Sir Edward, I say the same to you.”
Bransome touched the bell and summoned his secretary.
“Sidney, will you see this gentleman out?” he said. “You are quite sure
there is nothing further we can do for you, Mr. Coulson?”
“Nothing at all, I thank you, sir,” that gentleman answered. “I
have only got to thank you once more for the pleasure of this brief
interview. Good night!”
“Good night, and bon voyage!” Sir Edward answered.
The door was closed. The two men looked at one another for a moment. Mr.
Smith shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to a cigarette.
“I wonder,” he remarked thoughtfully, “how our friends in Japan
convinced themselves so thoroughly that Mr. Jones was only playing
ships!”
Sir Edward shook his head.
“It makes one wonder,” he said.