THE GERMAN PLOT AGAINST ENGLAND
"When last I had the pleasure of meeting mademoiselle, both her
nationality and her name were--well--slightly different, eh?" I
remarked, bending forward with a smile.
From her pretty lips rang out a merry ripple of laughter, and over her
sweet face spread a mischievous look.
"I admit the allegation, M'sieur Jacox," was her rather saucy response
in French. "But I had no idea you would again recognise me."
"Ah, mademoiselle, beauty such as yours is not universal, and is always
to be remembered," I said, with an expression of mock reproval.
"Now, why do you flatter me--you?" she asked, "especially after what
passed at Caux."
"Surely I may be permitted to admire you, Suzette? Especially as I am
now aware of the truth."
She started, and stared at me for a moment, a neat little figure in
black. Then she gave her shoulders a slight shrug, pouting like a
spoiled child.
There were none to overhear us. It was out of the season in Paris, and
on that afternoon, the 15th of August, 1908, to be exact, we had driven
by "auto" into the Bois, and were taking our "five o'clock" under the
trees at Pre Catalan, that well-known restaurant in the centre of the
beautiful pleasure wood of the Parisians.
I had serious business with Suzette Darbour.
After our success in preventing the plans of the improved _Dreadnoughts_
falling into German hands, I had, at Ray's suggestion, left Charing
Cross in search of the dainty little divinity before me, the
neat-waisted girl with the big dark eyes, the tiny mouth, and the cheeks
that still bore the bloom of youth upon them--the girl who, at the Hotel
d'Angleterre, in Copenhagen, had been known as Vera Yermoloff, of Riga,
and who had afterwards lived in the gay little watering-place of Caux
under the same name, and had so entirely deceived me--the girl whom I
now knew to be the catspaw of others--in a word, a decoy!
Yet how sweet, how modest her manner, how demure she looked as she sat
there before me at the little table beneath the trees, sipping her tea
and lifting her smiling eyes to mine. Even though I had told her plainly
that I was aware of the truth, she remained quite unconcerned. She had
no fear of me apparently. For her, exposure and the police had no
terrors. She seemed rather amused than otherwise.
I lit a cigarette, and by so doing obtained time for reflection.
My search had led me first to the Midi, thence into Italy, across to
Sebenico in Dalmatia, to Venice, and back to Paris, where only that
morning, with the assistance of my old friend of my student days in the
French capital, Gaston Bernard, of the Prefecture of Police, I had
succeeded in running her to earth. I had only that morning found her
residing with a girl friend--a seamstress at Duclerc's--in a tiny flat
_au cinquieme_ in a frowsy old house at the top of the Rue Pigalle, and
living in her own name, that of Suzette Darbour.
And as I sat smoking I wondered if I dared request her assistance.
In the course of my efforts to combat the work of German spies in
England I had been forced to make many queer friendships, but none
perhaps so strange as the one I was now cultivating. Suzette Darbour
was, I had learned from Ray Raymond a few months ago, a decoy in
association with a very prince of swindlers, an American who made his
head-quarters in Paris, and who had in the past year or two effected
amazing _coups_, financial and otherwise, in the various capitals of
Europe.
Her age was perhaps twenty-two, though certainly she did not look more
than eighteen. She spoke both English and Russian quite well, for, as
she had told me long ago, she had spent her early days in Petersburg.
And probably in those twenty years of her life she had learnt more than
many women had learned in forty.
Hers was an angelic face, with big, wide-open, truthful eyes, but her
heart was, I knew, cold and callous.
Could I--dare I--take her into my service--to assist me in a matter of
the most vital importance to British interests? The mission upon which I
was engaged at that moment was both delicate and difficult. A single
false move would mean exposure.
I was playing a deep game, and it surely behoved me to exercise every
precaution. During the years I had been endeavouring to prove the peril
to which England was exposed from foreign invasion, I had never been
nearer failure than now. Indeed, I held my breath each time I
recollected all that depended upon my success.
Ray Raymond, Vera Vallance, and myself had constituted ourselves into a
little band with the object of combating the activity of the ingenious
spies of the Kaiser. Little does the average Englishman dream of the
work of the secret agent, or how his success or failure is reflected in
our diplomatic negotiations with the Powers. Ambassadors and ministers
may wear smart uniforms with glittering decorations, and move in their
splendid embassies surrounded by their brilliant staffs; attaches may
flirt, and first secretaries may take tea with duchesses, yet to the spy
is left the real work of diplomacy, for, after all, it is upon the
knowledge he obtains that His Excellency the Ambassador frames his
despatch to his Government, or the Minister for Foreign Affairs presents
a "Note" to the Powers.
We had for months been working on without publicity, unheeded,
unrecognised, unprotected, unknown. A thankless though dangerous task,
our only reward had been a kind word from the silent, sad-faced Prime
Minister himself. For months our whereabouts had been unknown, even to
each other. Ray generally scented the presence of spies, and it was for
me to carry through the inquiry in the manner which I considered best
and safest for myself.
"Suzette," I said at length, looking at her across the rising smoke
from my cigarette, "when we last met you had the advantage of me. To-day
we stand upon even ground."
"Pardon! I don't quite understand?" asked the little lady in the sheath
costume with just a slight tremor of the eyelids.
"Well--I have discovered that you and Henry Banfield are friends--that
to you he owes much of his success, and that to you is the credit of a
little affair in Marienbad, which ended rather unpleasantly for a
certain hosiery manufacturer from Chemnitz named Mueller."
Her faced blanched, her eyes grew terrified, and her nails clenched
themselves into her white palms.
"Ah! Then you--you have found me, m'sieur, for purposes of
revenge--you--you intend to give me over to the police because of the
fraud I practised upon you! But I ask you to have pity for me," she
begged in French. "I am a woman--and--and I swear to you that I was
forced to act towards you as I did."
"You forced open my despatch-box, believing that I carried valuables
there, and found, to your dismay, only a few papers."
"I was compelled to do so by Banfield," she said simply. "He mistook you
for another man, a diplomat, and believed that you had certain important
documents with you."
"Then he made a very great mistake," I laughed. "And after your clever
love-making with me you only got some extracts from a Government report,
together with a few old letters."
"From those letters we discovered who you really were," mademoiselle
said. "And then we were afraid."
I smiled.
"Afraid that I would pay Banfield back in his own coin, eh?"
"I was afraid. He was not, for he told me that if you attempted any
reprisal, he would at once denounce you to the Germans."
"Thanks. I'm glad you've told me that," I said, with feigned unconcern.
Truth to tell, however, I was much upset by the knowledge that the
cunning American who so cleverly evaded the police had discovered my
present vocation.
Yet, after all, had not the explanation of the pretty girl before me
rather strengthened my hand?
"Well, Suzette," I said, with a moment's reflection, "I have not sought
you in order to threaten you. On the contrary, I am extremely anxious
that we should be friends. Indeed, I want you, if you will, to do me a
service."
She looked me straight in the face, apparently much puzzled.
"I thought you were my enemy," she remarked.
"That I am not. If you will only allow me, I will be your friend."
Her fine eyes were downcast, and I fancied I detected in them the light
of unshed tears. How strange it was that upon her attitude towards me
should depend a nation's welfare!
"First, you must forgive me for my action at Caux," she said in a low,
earnest voice, scarce above a whisper. "You know my position, alas! I
dare not disobey that man who holds my future so irrevocably in his
hands."
"He threatens you, then?"
"Yes. If I disobeyed any single one of his commands, he would deliver me
over at once to the police for a serious affair--a crime, however, of
which I swear to you that I am innocent--the crime of murder!"
"He holds threats over you," I said, tossing away my cigarette.
"Describe the affair to me."
"It is the crime of the Rue de Royat, two years ago. You no doubt
recollect it," she faltered, after some hesitation. "A Russian lady,
named Levitsky, was found strangled in her flat and all her jewellery
taken."
"And Banfield charges you with the crime?"
"I admit that I was in the apartment when the crime was
committed--decoyed there for that purpose--but I am not the culprit."
"But surely you could prove the identity of the assassin?"
"I saw him for an instant. But I had no knowledge of who he was."
"Then why do you fear this American crook? Why not dissociate yourself
from him?"
"Because it would mean my betrayal and ruin. I have no means of
disproving this dastardly allegation. I am in his power."
"You love him, perhaps?" I remarked, my gaze full upon her.
"Love him!" she protested, with flashing eyes. "I hate him!" And she
went on to explain how she was held powerless in the hands of the
scoundrel.
"You have a lover, I understand, mademoiselle?" I remarked presently.
She was silent, but about the corners of her pretty mouth there played a
slight smile which told the truth.
"Why not cut yourself adrift from this life of yours?" I urged. "Let me
be your friend and assist you against this fellow Banfield."
"How could you assist me? He knows what you are, and would denounce you
instantly!"
What she said was certainly a very awkward truth. Banfield was one of
the cleverest scoundrels in Europe, an unscrupulous man who, by reason
of certain sharp deals, had become possessed of very considerable
wealth, his criminal methods being always most carefully concealed. The
police knew him to be a swindler, but there was never sufficient
evidence to convict.
To obtain Suzette's services I would, I saw, be compelled to propitiate
him.
Alone there, beneath the softly murmuring trees, I stretched forth my
hand across the table and took her neatly gloved fingers in mine,
saying:
"Suzette, what I am you already know. I am a cosmopolitan, perhaps
unscrupulous, as a man occupied as I am must needs be. I am an
Englishman and, I hope, a patriot. Yet I trust I have always been
chivalrous towards a woman. You are, I see, oppressed--held in a bondage
that is hateful----"
At my words she burst into tears, holding my hand convulsively in hers.
"No," I said in a voice of sympathy. "The professions of neither of us
are--well, exactly honourable, are they? Nevertheless, let us be
friends. I want your assistance, and in return I will assist you. Let us
be frank and open with each other. I will explain the truth and rely
upon your secrecy. Listen. In Berlin certain negotiations are at this
moment in active progress with St. Petersburg and New York, with the
object of forming an offensive alliance against England. This would mean
that in the coming war, which is inevitable, my country must meet not
only her fiercest enemy, Germany, but also the United States and Russia.
I have reason to believe that matters have secretly progressed until
they are very near a settlement. What I desire to know is the actual
inducement held out by the Kaiser's Foreign Office. Do you follow?"
"Perfectly," she said, at once attentive. "I quite recognise the danger
to your country."
"The danger is to France also," I pointed out. "For the past six months
an active exchange of despatches has been in progress, but so carefully
has the truth been concealed that only by sheer accident--a word let
drop in a drawing-room in London--I scented what was in the wind. Then I
at once saw that you, Suzette, was the only person who could assist us."
"How?"
"You are an expert in the art of prying into despatch-boxes," I laughed.
"Well?"
"In Berlin, at the Kaiserhof Hotel, there is staying a certain Charles
Pierron. If any one is aware of the truth that man is. I want you to go
to Berlin, make his acquaintance, and learn what he knows. If what I
suspect be true, he possesses copies of the despatches emanating from
the German Foreign Office. And of these I must obtain a glimpse at all
hazards."
"Who is this Pierron?"
"He was at the 'Angleterre,' in Copenhagen, when you were there, but I
do not think you saw him. The reason of my presence there was because I
chanced to be interested in his movements."
"What is he--an undesirable?"
"As undesirable as I am myself, mademoiselle," I laughed. "He is a
French secret agent--an Anglophobe to his finger-tips."
She laughed.
"I see, m'sieur," she exclaimed; "you desire me to adopt the profession
of the spy with the kid glove, eh?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
"Pierron knows me. Indeed, he already has good cause to remember me in
England, where he acted as a spy of Germany," I remarked. "He is always
impressionable where the fair sex is concerned, and you will, I feel
confident, quickly be successful if you lived for a few days at the
'Kaiserhof' as Vera Yermoloff."
She was silent, apparently reflecting deeply.
"I am prepared, of course, to offer you a monetary consideration," I
added in a low voice.
"No monetary consideration is needed, m'sieur," was her quick response.
"In return for the fraud I practised upon you, it is only just that I
should render you this service. Yet without Banfield's knowledge it
would be utterly impossible."
"Why?"
"Because I dare not leave Paris without his permission."
"Then you must go with his knowledge--make up some story--a relative ill
or something--to account for your journey to Berlin."
She seemed undecided. Therefore I repeated my suggestion, well knowing
that the sweet-faced girl could, if she wished, obtain for us the
knowledge which would place power in the hands of Great Britain--power
to upset the machinations of our enemies.
Mine was becoming a profession full of subterfuge.
Her breast heaved and fell in a long-drawn sigh. I saw that she was
wavering.
She sipped her tea in silence, her eyes fixed upon the shady trees
opposite.
"Suzette," I exclaimed at last, "your lover's name is Armand Thomas,
clerk at the head office of the Compte d'Escompte. He believes you to be
the niece of the rich American, Henry Banfield, little dreaming of your
real position."
"How do you know that?"
I smiled, telling her that I had made it my business to discover the
facts.
"You love him?" I asked, looking her straight in the face.
"Yes," was her serious response.
"And you have kept this love affair secret from Banfield?"
"Of course. If he knew the truth he would be enraged. He has always
forbidden me to fall in love."
"Because he fears that your lover may act as your protector and shield
you from his evil influence," I remarked. "Well, Suzette," I added, "you
are a very clever girl. If you are successful on this mission I will, I
promise, find a means of uniting you with your lover."
She shook her head sadly, replying:
"Remember Banfield's threat. Disobedience of any of his commands will
mean my ruin. Besides, he knows who and what you are. Therefore how can
you assist me?"
"Mademoiselle," I said, again extending my hand to my dainty little
friend, "I make you this promise not only on my own behalf--but also on
behalf of my country, England. Is it a compact?"
"Do you really believe you can help me to free myself of my hateful
bond?" she cried, bending towards me with eager anticipation.
"I tell you, Suzette, that in return for this service you shall be
free."
Tears again stood in those fine dark eyes. I knew of her secret
affection for young Thomas, the hard-working bank clerk, who dared not
aspire to the hand of the niece of the great American financier.
What a narrative of subterfuge and adventure the delightful little girl
seated there before me could write! The small amount I knew was
amazingly romantic. Some of Banfield's smartest financial _coups_ had
been accomplished owing to her clever manoeuvring and to the
information she had gained by her almost childish artlessness. Surely
the British Government could have no more ingenious seeker after
political secrets than she. Women are always more successful as spies
than men. That is why so many are employed by both Germany and France.
In all the varied adventures in my search after spies I had never met a
girl with a stranger history than Suzette Darbour. That she had actually
imposed upon me was in itself, I think, sufficient evidence of her wit,
cunning, and innate ability.
When I rose from the table and strolled back to where we had left the
"auto," it was with the knowledge that my long search had not been in
vain. She had taken my hand in promise to go to the "Kaiserhof" in
Berlin and pry into the papers of that foremost of secret agents,
Charles Pierron.
At five o'clock next morning I was back again in London, and at ten I
was seated in conference with Ray Raymond in his cosy flat in Bruton
Street.
"We must get at the terms offered by the Germans, Jacox," he declared,
snapping his fingers impatiently. "It is imperative that the Foreign
Office should know them. At present our hands are utterly tied. We are
unable to act, and our diplomacy is at a complete standstill. The
situation is dangerous--distinctly dangerous. The guv'nor was only
saying so last night. Once the agreement is signed, then good-bye for
ever to Britain's power and prestige."
I explained that so carefully was the secret preserved that I had been
unable to discover anything. Yet I had hopes.
"My dear Jack, England relies entirely upon you," he exclaimed. "We must
know the plans of our enemies if we are successfully to combat them. In
the past you've often done marvels. I can only hope that you will be
equally successful in this critical moment."
Then after a long and confidential chat we parted and a couple of hours
later I was again in the boat train, bound for the Continent. I
recognised how urgent was the matter, and how each hour's delay
increased our peril.
The public, or rather the omnivorous readers of the halfpenny press,
little dream how near we were at that moment to disaster. The completion
of the cleverly laid plans of Germany would mean a sudden blow aimed at
us, not only at our own shores, but also at our colonies at the same
moment--and such a blow, with our weakened army and neglected navy, we
could not possibly ward off.
Well I remember how that night I sat in the corner of the _wagon-lit_ of
the Simplon Express and reflected deeply. I was on my way to Milan to
join a friend. At Boulogne I had received a wire from Suzette, who had
already departed on her mission to Berlin.
My chief difficulty lay in the unfortunate fact that I was well known to
Pierron, who had now forsaken his original employers the Germans, hence
I dare not go to the German capital, lest he should recognise me. I knew
that in the pay of the French Secret Service was a clerk in the Treaty
department of the German Foreign Office, and without doubt he was
furnishing Pierron with copies of all the correspondence in progress.
Both the French and German Governments spend six times the amount
annually upon secret service that we do, hence they are always well and
accurately informed.
At Milan next day the porter at the "Metropole," the small hotel in the
Piazza del Duomo where I always stay, handed me a telegram, a cipher
message from Ray, which announced that his father had discovered that,
according to a despatch just received from His Majesty's Ambassador at
St. Petersburg, there was now no doubt whatever that the terms offered
by Germany were extremely advantageous to both Russia and the United
States, and that it was believed that the agreement was on the actual
point of being concluded.
That decided me. I felt that at all hazards, even though Pierron might
detect my presence, I must be in Berlin.
I was, however, unable to leave Milan at once, for Ford, whom I was
awaiting, was on his way from Corfu and had telegraphed saying that he
had missed the mail train at Brindisi, and would not arrive before the
morrow.
So all that day I was compelled to hang about Milan, drinking vermouth
and bitter at Biffi's cafe in the Galleria, and dining alone at
Salvini's. I always hate Milan, for it is the noisiest and most
uninteresting city in all Italy.
Next afternoon I met Ford at the station and compelled him to scramble
into the Bale express with me, directly after he had alighted.
"I go to Berlin. You come with me, and go on to St. Petersburg," I said
in reply to his questions.
He was a middle-aged man, a retired army officer and a perfect linguist,
who was a secret agent of the British Government and a great friend of
Ray's.
All the way on that long, tedious run to Berlin we discussed the
situation. I was the first to explain to him our imminent peril, and
with what craft and cunning the German Chancellor had formed his plans
for the defeat and downfall of our Empire.
As soon as he knew, all trace of fatigue vanished from him. He went
along the corridor, washed, put on a fresh collar, brushed his well-worn
suit of navy serge, and returned spruce and smart, ready for any
adventure.
I told him nothing of Suzette. Her existence I had resolved to keep to
myself. In going to Berlin I knew well that I was playing both a
dangerous and desperate game. Pierron hated me, and if he detected me,
he might very easily denounce me to the police as a spy. Such a
_contretemps_ would, I reflected, mean for me ten years' confinement in
a fortress. The German authorities would certainly not forget how for
the past two years I had hunted their agents up and down Great Britain,
and been the means of deporting several as undesirable aliens.
Nevertheless, I felt, somehow, that my place was near Suzette, so that I
could prompt her, and if she were successful I could read with my own
eyes the copies of the diplomatic correspondence from the German Foreign
Office.
On arrival at Berlin I bade Ford farewell, having given him certain
instructions how to act on arrival in Petersburg. During our journey we
had made up a special telegraph code, and when I grasped his hand he
said:
"Well, good luck, Jacox. Be careful. _Au revoir!_"
And he hurried along the platform to catch the Nord Express to bear him
to the Russian capital.
At the "Kaiserhof" I took a sitting room and bed-room adjoining. It was
then about ten o'clock at night; therefore I sat down and wrote a note
to "Mdlle. Vera Yermoloff," which I gave a waiter to deliver.
Ten minutes later I received a scribbled reply, requesting me to meet
her at half-past ten at a certain cafe near the Lehrte Station.
I was awaiting her when she arrived. After she had greeted me and
expressed surprise at my sudden appearance, she informed me she had not
yet met Pierron, for he was absent--in Hamburg it was said.
"I hear he returns to-night," she added. "Therefore, I hope to meet him
to-morrow."
I explained the extreme urgency of the matter, and then drove her back
to the hotel, alighting from the cab a few hundred yards away. To
another cafe I strolled to rest and have a smoke, and it was near
midnight when I re-entered the "Kaiserhof."
As I crossed the great hall a _contretemps_ occurred. I came face to
face with Pierron, a tall, sallow-faced, red-bearded man with eyes set
close together, elegantly dressed, and wearing a big diamond in his
cravat.
In an instant he recognised me, whereupon I bowed, saying:
"Ah, m'sieur! It is really quite a long time since we met--in Denmark
last, was it not?"
He raised his eyebrows slightly, and replied in a withering tone:
"I do not know by what right m'sieur presumes to address me!"
That moment required all my courage and self-possession. I had not
expected to meet him so suddenly. He had evidently just come from his
journey, for he wore a light travelling-coat and soft felt hat.
"Well," I said, "I have something to say to you--something to tell you
in private, if you could grant me a few minutes." I merely said this in
order to gain time.
"_Bien!_ to-morrow, then--at whatever hour m'sieur may name."
To-morrow. It would then be too late. In an hour he might inform the
police, and I would find myself under arrest. The German police would be
only too pleased to have an opportunity of retaliating.
"No," I exclaimed. "To-night. Now. Our business will only take a few
moments. Come to my sitting-room. The matter I want to explain brooks no
delay. Every moment is of consequence."
"Very well," laughed the Frenchman, with a distinct air of bravado. "You
believe yourself extremely clever, no doubt, M'sieur Jacox. Let me hear
what you have to say."
Together we ascended the broad marble steps to the first floor, and I
held open the door of my sitting-room. When he had entered, I closed it,
and offering him a chair, commenced in a resolute tone:
"Now, M'sieur Pierron, I am here to offer terms to you."
"Terms!" he laughed. "_Diable!_ What do you mean?"
"I mean that I foresee your evil intention against myself, because of my
success in the Brest affair," was my quick reply. "You will denounce me
here in Germany as a British agent, eh?"
"You are perfectly correct in your surmise, m'sieur. Here they have an
unpleasant habit in their treatment of foreign spies."
"And does it not usually take two persons to play a game?" I asked,
perfectly cool. "Are you not a spy also?"
"Go to the police, _mon cher ami_, and tell them what you will," he
laughed defiantly. "Straus, the chief of police here, is my friend. You
would not be the first person who has tried to secure my arrest and
failed."
His words confounded me. I saw that I alone was in peril, and that he,
by reason of his personal friendship with the chief of police, was
immune from arrest.
I had walked deliberately, and with eyes wide open, into the trap!
"You see," he laughed, pointing to the telephone instrument on the
little writing-table, "I have only to take that and call up the police
office, and your British Government will lose the services of one of its
shrewdest agents."
"So that is your revenge, eh?" I asked, realising how utterly helpless I
now was in the hands of my bitterest enemy--the man who had turned a
traitor. I could see no way out.
"Bah!" he laughed in my face. "The power of your wonderful old
country--so old that it has become worm-eaten--is already at an end. In
a month you will have German soldiers swarming upon your shores, while
America will seize Canada and Australia, and Russia will advance into
India. You will be crushed, beaten, humiliated--and the German eagle
will fly over your proud London. The John Bull bladder is to be
pricked!" he laughed.
"That is not exactly news to me, M'sieur Pierron," I answered quite
coolly. "The danger of my country is equally a danger to yours. With
England crushed, France, too, must fall."
"We have an army--a brave army--while you have only the skeleton that
your great Haldane has left to you," he sneered. "But enough! I have
long desired this interview, and am pleased that it has taken place here
in Berlin," and he deliberately walked across to the telephone.
I tried to snatch the transmitter from his hand, but though we
struggled, he succeeded in inquiring for a number--the number of the
police head-quarters.
I was caught like a rat in a trap, fool that I was to have come there at
risk of my liberty--I who was always so wary and so circumspect!
I sprang at his throat, to prevent him speaking further.
"You shall not do this!" I cried.
But his reply was only a hoarse laugh of triumph.
He was asking for somebody--his friend, the chief of police! Then
turning to me with a laugh, he said:
"Straus will undoubtedly be pleased to arrest such big game as
yourself."
As he uttered the words there sounded a low tap upon the door, and next
second it opened, revealing the neat figure in pale blue.
Pierron turned quickly, but in an instant his face was blanched.
"_Dieu! Suzette!_" he gasped, staring at her, while she stood upon the
threshold, a strange look overspreading her countenance as she
recognised him.
"Ah! Look, M'sieur Jacox!" she shrieked a second later. "Yes--yes, it is
that man!" she went on, pointing her finger at him. "At last! Thank God!
I have found him!"
"What do you mean?" I demanded. "This is M'sieur Pierron."
"I tell you," she cried, "that is the man whom I saw at the Rue de
Royat--the man who strangled poor Madame Levitsky!"
"You lie!" he cried, stepping towards her. "I--I've never seen you
before!"
"And yet you have just uttered mademoiselle's name, m'sieur," I remarked
quietly.
"He knows that I was present at the time of the tragedy," exclaimed
Suzette quickly, "and that he was the paid assassin of Henry Banfield.
He killed the unfortunate woman for two reasons: first, in order to
obtain her husband's papers, which had both political and financial
importance; and secondly, to obtain her jewellery, which was of very
considerable value. And upon me, because I was defenceless, the guilt
was placed. They said I was jealous of her."
"Suzette," I said slowly, "leave this man to me."
Then, glancing towards him, I saw what a terrible effect her
denunciation had had upon him. Pale to the lips, he stood cowed, even
trembling, for before him was the living witness of his crime.
I stood with my back to the door, barring his escape.
"Now," I said, "what is your defence?"
He was silent.
I repeated my question in a hard, distinct voice.
"Let's cry quits," he said in a low, hoarse tone. "I will preserve your
secret--if you will keep mine. Will you not accept terms?"
"Not those," I replied promptly. "Suzette has been accused by Banfield,
and by you, of the crime which you committed. She shall therefore name
her own terms."
Realising that, by the fortunate discovery of the assassin of Madame
Levitsky, she had at once freed herself from the trammels cast about her
by Banfield, it was not surprising that the girl should stipulate as a
condition of allowing the spy his freedom that he should hand over to me
all the copies of the secret diplomatic correspondence which he
possessed.
At first he loudly protested that he had none, but I compelled him to
hand me the key of his despatch-box, and accompanying him to his room at
the further end of the corridor, we searched and there found within the
steel box a file of papers which he held ready to hand over to the Quai
d'Orsay--the actual information of which I had been in such active
search.
The German inducements were all set out clearly and concisely, the
copies being in the neat hand of the traitorous clerk in the Treaty
Department.
Pierron, the tables thus turned upon him, begged me to allow him at
least to have copies. This I refused, triumphantly taking possession of
the whole file and bidding him good-night.
In an hour we had both left the German capital, and next day I had the
satisfaction of handing the copy of the German proposals and the whole
correspondence to the Minister for Foreign Affairs at Downing Street.
An extraordinary meeting of the Cabinet was held, and cipher
instructions at once sent to each of His Majesty's Ambassadors
abroad--instructions which had the result of successfully combating the
intrigue at Berlin, and for the time being breaking up the proposed
powerful combination against us.
The bitter chagrin of the German Chancellor is well known in diplomatic
circles, yet to Suzette Darbour our kid-gloved _coup_ meant her freedom.
In my presence she openly defied Henry Banfield and cut herself adrift
from him, while Charles Pierron, after his ignominious failure in
Berlin, and possibly on account of certain allegations made by the rich
American, who wished to get rid of him, was dismissed from the French
Secret Service and disappeared, while the pretty Suzette, three months
afterwards, married Armand Thomas.
I was present at the quiet wedding out at Melun in the first days of
1909, being the bearer of a costly present in the form of a pretty
diamond pendant, as well as a dozen pairs of sixteen-button-length kid
gloves from an anonymous donor.
She alone knew that the pendant had been sent to her as a mark of
gratitude by the grave-faced old peer, the confirmed woman-hater, who
was Minister for Foreign Affairs of His Majesty King Edward the Seventh.
More than once lately I have been a welcome visitor at the bright little
apartment within a stone's-throw of the Etoile.