It was Kaiser weather in Germany. Back from a five months' trip to
the Far East, Berlin seemed to me like Heaven. I had finished a
secret diplomatic mission for the Kaiser and as a result my pocketbook
was full. Days and days in the Orient make a man try to crowd into
the first twenty-four hours home, all the enjoyments that his city
offers. Accordingly, with money running through my fingers like sand,
I planned a long ride in the Grunewald; I saw myself ordering the few
special dishes one gets at Kempinsky's; I would buy a good seat at the
Metropole and to wind up I would look in at the Admiral's Palace when
the performers were mingling in the audience. It being my first day
back in Berlin, that programme appealed to me a lot more than did the
European diplomatic tangle. I had been idling the early afternoon
hours at the Café Bauer, Unter den Linden, but my programme for the
rest of the day finally chosen, I got up, paid my bill and strolled
home.
My boy Kim must have been on the lookout for me; before I could use my
key the door flew open.
"Master!" he exclaimed in his heavy, jerky voice. "You are wanted on
the telephone."
I had an uneasy suspicion of what that meant, which was confirmed when
my boy added, "Number A 11 wants you."
Bismillah! That settled it! That ended my Grunewald, Kempinsky's,
the Metropole, the Admiral's Palace. It meant the highway away. It
always means that when a man of my position is in Berlin and somebody
says to call up that number, A 11. Whenever A 11 summons it is wise
to be prompt. It is the number of the Wilhelmstrasse, the foreign
office of Germany.
I lost no time in getting a connection and I was told to report at the
Wilhelmstrasse at 10.30 that night. I was to hold myself ready for
instant service. I must come prepared possibly for a long journey.
I gave orders for my boy to have me dressed by ten o'clock. I decided
to take a nap, for I knew that midnight interviews with the gentleman
at the Wilhelmstrasse often led to some mighty unexpected and
protracted traveling. Before going to sleep, however, I went over the
European situation. What had loomed big? I hoped it was something
big, for while a Secret Service agent doesn't get blasé, he likes to
work when thrones or the boundaries of empires are involved.
I reflected that June--it was in 1911--had been a decidedly strenuous
month for more than one cabinet in Europe. Germany and France were
snapping and snarling. France was going around with its chest stuck
out; its attitude decidedly belligerent. Of course, this cockiness
was due to the fat fingers of honest John Bull; indeed, England had
more than ten fingers in this pie that was baking. I knew that the
air was full of Morocco and war talk. I knew that there was a certain
faction in Germany that was trying to push the Kaiser into a war.
This clique, composed of army and navy men and the junker, the "Jingo"
party, the big gun interests, backed by public opinion, were trying
their utmost to urge war with France. What was the latest at the
Wilhelmstrasse?
On the stroke of 10.30 I was there. I handed my number to the
commissaire. This number is important. All German secret agents are
known by number, all carry little cards and a photograph of mine is
published between these covers.
Presently the commissaire returned and showed me into the chambers of
Graf von Wedel, Privy Councilor to the German Emperor. With another
man in evening dress, I was told to wait in an antechamber. We bowed,
and although we took pretty good stock of each other, neither spoke.
It is an unwritten law not to hold unnecessary conversation in the
Imperial Secret Service. After about half an hour's wait, we were
shown into the Count's private room. This rather astonished me, for
the usual rule at the Wilhelmstrasse is to interview only one man at a
time. Clearly something out of the ordinary was in the air. After
the Count greeted us, he inquired if we were known to each other.
Receiving a negative, he introduced us. My companion was a Herr von
Senden, ex-officer of the Zweite Gaarde Dragona.
"You will both be taken at half-past eleven to a certain room," said
the Count. "You will advance to the middle, wheel to your right, face
the portière and stand at attention. You will answer all questions,
but make no comments or queries yourself. I need not enjoin you to
total silence. You understand?"
We bowed. Just then a gong boomed somewhere below us. A last word
from the Count, "Be ready!" He left us. Reappearing almost
immediately, he beckoned us to follow him. We noticed that he seemed
even more grave than usual. Down a flight of stairs along a great
corridor we made our way, no one speaking a word. At the end of the
corridor we saw two sentries; then, a big solid oak door, guarded by
an attendant in the livery of the Royal Household. At a sign from the
Count we halted; he knocked. The door was opened by an officer of the
Erste Gaarde du Corps and, remembering our instructions, we entered
and came to attention in the middle of a large room, facing an
adjoining chamber, the portières to which were divided. The room in
which we stood was brilliantly lighted, but the other was dark, save
for a green glow that came from a shaded reading lamp on a big writing
desk. Senden looked at the desk and gave a sort of gasp.
Then I quite understood his emotion. For seated behind that heavy,
old-fashioned desk, was Wilhelm II, Emperor of Germany.
We stood at a rigid attention, absolutely silent, for full five
minutes. The dimly lit, solitary figure at the desk made no sign but
went on writing. I am not a timid or a nervous man, the sort of work
I was doing seasons one pretty thoroughly. But this began to get on
my nerves. Drawn up in front of the Emperor and waiting, waiting.
Contact with the great ones of the earth, especially through Secret
Service, can take some almighty queer turns and a short circuit is
confoundedly unhealthy for the negative wire. The more I looked at
that silent, lonely figure, War Lord of Europe, the more I began to
feel a great big longing for the African Veldt, a thousand miles north
of Port Natal, preferably.
Suddenly the Emperor made a move, and there came a sharp, rather high
pitched voice, saying, "Wedel, I will see the doctor."
At once Herr Senden was shown from the room; obviously the mission,
whatever it was, was not for him. I never saw him again.
I was bidden to step to within three paces of the Emperor; the officer
who escorted Herr von Senden from the room attempted to return, but
was waved out. There were just the three of us: Count Wedel, standing
at the corner of the desk on the right, the Kaiser and myself. I had
seen the Emperor on many occasions, but never so close before. He
appeared to be lost in some document. He looked well but older than
any of his portraits. Tanned, almost dark, his rather lean face bore
a striking likeness to Frederick the Great; more so than ever, for he
is getting gray. I realized that none of his portraits do his eyes
justice. Of a bluish-steel gray, they have an icy, impersonal,
weighing look in them. It is hard to define. It struck me in that
moment that Lord Kitchener, Teufick Pasha, Cecil Rhodes, and Li Hung
Chang had exactly those same eyes--the eyes of men who feel it in them
to master the world.
Presently His Majesty looked up, and in that same, rather shrill
voice, asked:
"How long are you in the Service?"
"Three years, sir."
"You know Morocco?"
Morocco! So that was it. France and Germany quarreling over the
bone, at the point of war! I replied:
"Yes, sir!"
"How long were you in Morocco?" continued the Emperor.
"About twelve months, sir."
On this he seemed to hesitate. Frankly, I was nervous, so instead of
thinking about Morocco, I noticed that the Kaiser wore the undress
uniform of a Colonel of the Grenadier Guard with the star of the Order
Pour le Merite, dangling from his coat button. As if making up his
mind, he turned again on me those gray eyes.
"You know Kaid MacLean?"
"Yes, sir."
"How did you get to know him?"
"I happened to be of assistance to Sir Harry Kaid MacLean who was at
that time Commander-in-Chief and Man-of-Affairs to the Sultan of
Morocco."
My answer seemed to please the Emperor, for his eyes gleamed.
"Any likelihood of his remembering your services?"
I hesitated, then said:
"I cannot vouch for another man's memory, sire. Besides, I do not
care to put the Kaid to the test."
The Emperor looked at me queerly, but, evidently satisfied with my
answer, he turned to Count Wedel, saying:
"He will do. Have the dispatches ready."
At once the Count hurried noiselessly into an adjoining room. The
Kaiser, making one of his characteristic sudden movements, flung
himself back into the chair, looked steadily at me, and added:
"Besides the official dispatches you will memorize these commands, for
the Captain of the warship _Panther_." He handed me a note, which I
did not immediately look at, for he continued: "Outside of Count
Wedel, no one is to know anything of your mission. No one is to know
that you are carrying a verbal message from me to the Captain of the
warship _Panther_. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
The Emperor as abruptly drew himself forward, and propping his head
with his hands, fell into a deep study, gazing fixedly at nothing. He
seemed in that moment to be considerably older. His face, even for
the tan, had that grayish look of a man who is carrying some
tremendous responsibility. It came to me swiftly, the popular clamor
for war, _Panther_!--the _Panther_ was lying off Spain ready to steam
across the Mediterranean to Morocco. And I was to bear secret orders
from the Emperor to the _Panther's_ captain.
Then I opened the note that the Emperor had given me, and began to
memorize its contents. Amazement must have shown on my face. A blow
with a feather would have knocked me down. So wonder Wilhelm II was
staring blankly, no wonder this message had to be delivered verbally.
Hurriedly I began to memorize it. Presently, I saw Count Wedel come
in and he and the Kaiser began to talk in whispers. Then Wilhelm
looked up and said:
"Have you memorized it?"
"Yes, sir!" Taking the note from me, he at once struck a match and
held it under the paper until it was reduced to ashes. Then making a
curt gesture of dismissal, Wedel gave me a signal to retire and we
backed toward the door. I was in possession of a secret known only to
the Emperor himself and which at that moment the cabinets of France
and England and the financiers of the world would have given hundreds
of thousands of dollars to possess. Out into the hall we backed,
always being careful never to commit the discourtesy of turning our
faces away from the Emperor, and the last I saw of him, was that
lonely figure seated at his desk, the greenish light playing over him,
around and beyond him darkness and his face illuminated against that
background, grayish, old. There he was, at his desk at midnight, in
an underground chamber of the Foreign Office, the Emperor of Germany,
working in solitude, while most of his subjects slept, tirelessly
mapping out a policy the trend of which he dared discuss with no man
save Wedel and possibly his oldest son.
Bowing, we were out in the hall; the big oaken door closed. Wedel led
the way to his private chamber. He produced a package of sealed
papers and handing it to me, said:
"Doctor, this is a most important affair. There is a most serious
trouble brewing somewhere--trouble about war. We have our suspicions
as to what power is behind all this and we are going to find out. You
are well enough acquainted with the situation to require no further
illustration. You know how here at home they are also trying to force
the Emperor into a war-- You will leave this package at the Embassy in
Paris. It must be there at the Rue de Lille to-morrow noon. To do so
you will have to catch the Orient Express at half-past three this
morning. At the Paris legation you will receive another package which
you will take on to Madrid. After delivering this, you have _carte
blanche_ to make your way to the _Panther_, which you will find off
Barcelona. Also, you will visit Gibraltar and inform yourself of the
strength and state of preparation of the British Naval Squadron
there." He paused. "This time you will not apply at the cashier's
desk. Your expenses are borne this time out of the Emperor's private
chatulle. In a few hours time I will have French and Spanish money
ready for you and send it to your lodgings. You thoroughly understand
your instructions? Of course, you have not forgotten the message that
you memorized before the Emperor?"
I assured him I had not and after a cordial handshake I bowed myself
out and hurried back to my quarters. Here I found that my boy had my
traveling bag ready with his usual completeness. One does not take
much baggage on these trips. Pajamas, slippers, smoking cap, tooth
brush, have seen me three-quarters around the globe, and I never
carried a six-shooter in my life. In all my experience I have seen
few secret agents who do carry it. The only protective article I ever
carried was a little silk bag containing a mixture of cayenne pepper,
snuff and certain chemicals. It is very effective to throw into the
faces of those who attack you.
Soon there came a messenger from Wedel with the promised funds, a
thousand francs and two thousand pesos. It lacked a half hour to
three-thirty, so I made my way to the Friedrichstrasse depot on foot.
Experience has taught me that the Orient Express is generally
overcrowded and that unless one reaches the depot early and uses a
good deal of palm oil, it is impossible to secure a decent seat. A
judicious oiling of palms enabled me to get a very pleasant window
seat in the middle compartment. After making myself at home I took a
tour through the train. It is my invariable custom to take stock of
my fellow travelers and in this case it was most imperative.
Nothing happened until we pulled in at Frankfort-on-the-Main, the
second last stop for the express in Germany. Glancing out of the
window I saw a party of three entering the carriage. They selected
the compartment next to mine. Obviously they were traveling together,
equally obvious was it that there was plenty of room in their own
compartment. The train was hardly in motion, however, when the woman
of the party entered my compartment. She started to complain about
being annoyed by the man next door and to ask my protection. As a
matter of course, I got up and offered my assistance to remove her
belongings into my compartment. I had, up to now, not the slightest
doubt as to there being anything fishy in her request. I had, in
fact, no reason to be apprehensive of any interference, because only
two people besides myself--Wedel and the Emperor--knew my mission. Of
course, there were others who would have given anything to know of it,
who would have done anything to prevent my reaching my destination.
I had hardly entered the compartment and tried to remove the traveling
bag indicated by the lady as hers, when one of the men exclaimed:
"How dare you remove my wife's property?"
The lady in question stood in the corridor of the carriage. I had my
back to her but I could see her by means of the looking-glass with
which the sides of the compartment were framed. I noticed her make a
sign to the man. Of course, this put a different light on the affair.
It was preconceived. For the life of me, though, I could not see how
they could use the situation to advantage.
Presently I was enlightened. When the conductor came along, the
"husband" coolly requested my detention on grounds of interference
with his wife's luggage. He was stanchly supported by the other man
and by the lady who had come to me for assistance. I attempted to
explain, but it didn't go down with the conductor. Pending our
arrival at Cologne, he locked me up in my compartment and leaving me,
said that he intended to hand me over to the station master here.
I had time to ponder over my situation. I was thoroughly angry,
chiefly with myself. Here I was, an old, and presumably experienced,
secret agent and I was caught by a simple device. But the simplicity
got me! When one is prepared for elaborate schemes, the simplest
trick lands one high and dry. Still I could see no daylight. They
could not hope to keep me on this preposterous charge. A single wire
to Berlin would settle the matter, but then there would be a delay. I
would not reach Paris until six o'clock at night. Wedel had insisted
that I be there at noon. Hum!
Delays at this time were of tremendous importance. A difference of
six hours might mean war. Powerful influences in Germany were all for
war. It filled the air. It needed only a false or overstep on the
part of any government official to bring about an explosion. France
seemed fairly itching for a fight. My verbal message to the captain
of the Panther must be delivered on schedule or the explosion might
occur. I began to see what they hoped to gain by the trick of
detaining me, but how they got word of my mission I have never been
able to learn. I must have been shadowed from my lodging to the
Wilhelmstrasse and subsequently lain in wait for on general
principles.
According to the time-table, the Orient Express stops at Cologne nine
minutes. This time it stopped eleven. The station master held it up.
After the party in the next compartment made their charge, we all
hurried to his office. I called the station master aside and showed
him my Secret Service card.
I showed him a package addressed and sealed to the German Embassy at
Paris. It was an official linen envelope tied with a black and white
silk cord and with the Foreign Office seal on the back. He was
impressed.
"This is a ridiculous charge," I declared. "Telephone the
Wilhelmstrasse at my expense. Detain me and you do so at your own
peril. That is all. I have given you the facts. I put no obstacle
in the path of your duty. I judge, though, that you are a man of
discretion."
The station master _was_ a man of discretion. I could imagine what
was going through his mind:
"This fellow who says he is the Emperor's messenger," he doubtless
thought, "has three more hours on that train before he crosses the
German border. If he isn't what he claims to be, we can catch him at
the Frontier. If he is what he claims to be and I hold him here, I
will get in trouble."
Finally, he told the others that their charge was too thin and they
hurriedly left his office. I never saw them again. The station
master escorted me to my compartment and I noticed that from Cologne
to the French Frontier I had no other traveling companions. My
arrival and what I accomplished in Paris is commonplace. Arriving in
the Gare du Norde, I took a taxi to the German Embassy on the Rue de
Lille, where an under-secretary signed for my dispatches and handed me
two letters addressed to the Embassy in Madrid. I immediately posted
his receipt to the Wilhelmstrasse, something German secret agents
always must do--mail the Foreign Office signatures for documents as
soon as they are delivered. Without further adventure I reached
Madrid. As the train was four hours late I did not present myself at
the Embassy. I was met by a commissaire at the station, delivered him
the paper, received his signature, posted it to the Wilhelmstrasse,
and made connections for Barcelona. Somewhere off the city, on the
open sea, the _Panther_ was waiting.
With the utmost difficulty I chartered a tug and in the twilight set
off to find the _Panther_. It was coming night when we finally saw
her dark trim hull lying against the horizon. Well named the
_Panther_, for in this case a false spring by her meant war. As we
steamed up alongside a sentry hailed us from the deck. I shouted that
I had come to see the Captain, but he told us to stand off. Finally,
after persistently hailing the warship, the officer of the watch came
to the rail and held parley with me.
"I have Imperial orders to see the Captain," I shouted.
Apparently this satisfied him, for he let me come on board. Without
further delay I was shown into the Captain's room. Very important,
the Captain. Picture him, a man in the forties, straight-backed,
rather jolly, and with one of those German naval beards. The
slightest mistake by the Captain of the _Panther_ and England and
France would have flung themselves into war with Germany. He stood
for a moment regarding me, then he said,
"Well, what is this? What is your Wilhelmstrasse number?"
"Seventeen," I told him.
That appeared to satisfy the Captain. I knew that the Wilhelmstrasse
had wired him that "Number Seventeen" was coming. Still he was
careful.
"Where were your first instructions received?"
"From Wedel."
"Subsequently?"
I felt him looking at me sharply.
"Confirmed by the Emperor," I replied, "and I deliver you herewith the
following message. You are requested to use the private service code
as soon as I have delivered this message to you and repeat it at once
direct to Count Wedel."
The Captain got up and, moving noiselessly to the door, opened it
swiftly. There was no one about.
"All right," he said, "let me have it."
I repeated what I had memorized, what the Emperor had given me in the
secret chamber and immediately afterward destroyed all visible trace
of. I said: "On no account, it does not matter what official commands
you have received or may receive, are you to use open force when the
_Panther_ goes to Agidir. No matter what stress is brought to bear
upon you by arising conditions, no matter what affront may be done
your code of naval honor, you are under no circumstances to use any
force against France or England."
Like myself, when the Emperor gave me that message, the Captain of the
_Panther_ was dumbfounded. It was a direct contradiction of the
official orders he had received from the Foreign Office to go to
Morocco and make a demonstration against the French and the English
interests. Those previous orders had been to create war, this verbal
message was to stop war. Could the German "jingos," the big gun
manufacturers, the shell people, the army and navy men, the powerful
feudal faction have heard me deliver that message to the Captain of
the _Panther_, they would have bellowed in rage. The whole empire
wanted war, but the tired, swarthy faced man in the little underground
chamber at the Wilhelmstrasse, not "absolutely absolute" as he is
popularly supposed to be, deemed it wise not to fly in the face of
public opinion at the time and countermand the official orders to the
_Panther_. So he had done so in the dark, verbally, by me, knowing
that so he served the best interests of his empire.
The rest is contemporary history. You remember how, on Sunday
morning, July 7, the _Panther_ steamed to Morocco, how it forced its
way into the harbor of Agadir and created an international sensation
by remaining there more than two weeks. You remember how a French and
an English warship came simultaneously, how they formed in what was
equivalent to common line and how, with officers and everybody itching
to open fire, war just missed being precipitated. You may not know
that the British and French officers sent an ultimatum to the Captain
of the _Panther_. Unless he left Agadir he would be forced to leave.
That meant war.
Now, had the Captain of the _Panther_ not received the private message
from the Emperor, he would have been forced by his naval code to
resist this ultimatum by force. Had he gone there acting under the
original official orders, red war would have blazed across in Agadir
Harbor. The slightest slip would have caused it--the report of a
rifle. But the _Panther_ steamed away.
And this is the cleverest part of the Emperor's scheme; he knew that
France and England were allies, he didn't know, though, just how
sincere this alliance was. By sending the _Panther_ into Agadir he
learned that the _entente cordiale_ really meant something, that
England and France were allies, that they were prepared to resist
Germany shoulder to shoulder in war. It took a master stroke to bring
the situation up to the point of war--for it was a dangerous business,
with all Germany roaring for war--and then avert war when England and
France were on the verge of it. But with his verbal message the
Emperor shrewdly accomplished it. The results were before him. By
creating the situation he knew that he had two powerful nations
opposed to him. Good!
What he would do now would be to try to take one nation and secretly
ally himself with it, leaving the other out in the cold. Then began
the intrigues which planned the isolation of France, an amazing
situation, a bombshell in present day international diplomacy, that I
shall discuss fully in the next chapter.