The Right Honourable John William Hebblethwaite strolled along by the
rails of the polo ground, exchanging greetings with friends, feeling very
well content with himself and the world generally. A difficult session
was drawing towards an end. The problem which had defeated so many
governments seemed at last, under his skilful treatment, capable of
solution. Furthermore, the session had been one which had added to his
reputation both as an orator and a statesman. There had been an
astonishingly flattering picture of him in an illustrated paper that
week, and he was exceedingly pleased with the effect of the white hat
which he was wearing at almost a jaunty angle. He was a great man and he
knew it. Nevertheless, he greeted Norgate with ample condescension and
engaged him at once in conversation.
"Delighted to see you in such company, my young friend," he declared.
"I think that half an hour's conversation with Prince Herschfeld would
put some of those fire-eating ideas out of your head. That's the man
whom we have to thank for the everyday improvement of our relations
with Germany."
"The Prince has the reputation of being a great diplomatist,"
Norgate remarked.
"Added to which," Hebblethwaite continued, "he came over here charged,
as you might say, almost with a special mission. He came over here to
make friends with England. He has done it. So long as we have him in
London, there will never be any serious fear of misunderstanding between
the two countries."
"What a howling optimist you are!" Norgate observed.
"My young friend," Hebblethwaite protested, "I am nothing of the sort. I
am simply a man of much common sense, enjoying, I may add, a few hours'
holiday. By-the-by, Norgate, if one might venture to enquire without
indiscretion, who was the remarkably charming foreign lady whom you were
escorting?"
"The Baroness von Haase," Norgate replied. "She is an Austrian."
Mr. Hebblethwaite sighed. He rather posed as an admirer of the other sex.
"You young fellows," he declared, "who travel about the world, are much
to be envied. There is an elegance about the way these foreign women
dress, a care for detail in their clothes and jewellery, and a carriage
which one seldom finds here."
They had reached the far end of the field, having turned their backs, in
fact, upon the polo altogether. Norgate suddenly abandoned their
conversation.
"Look here," he said, in an altered tone, "do you feel inclined to answer
a few questions?"
"For publication?" Hebblethwaite asked drily. "You haven't turned
journalist, by any chance, have you?"
Norgate shook his head. "Nevertheless," he admitted, "I have changed my
profession. The fact is that I have accepted a stipend of a thousand a
year and have become a German spy."
"Good luck to you!" exclaimed Hebblethwaite, laughing softly. "Well, fire
away, then. You shall pick the brains of a Cabinet Minister at your
leisure, so long as you'll give me a cigarette--and present me, when we
have finished, to the Baroness. The country has no secrets from you,
Norgate. Where will you begin?"
"Well, you've been warned, any way," Norgate reminded him, as he offered
his cigarette case. "Now tell me. It is part of my job to obtain from you
a statement of your opinion as to exactly how far our _entente_ with
France is binding upon us."
Hebblethwaite cleared his throat.
"If this is for publication," he remarked, "could you manage a photograph
of myself at the head of the interview, in these clothes and with this
hat? I rather fancy myself to-day. A pocket kodak is, of course, part of
the equipment of a German spy."
"Sorry," Norgate regretted, "but that's a bit out of my line. I am the
disappointed diplomatist, doing the dirty work among my late friends.
What we should like to know from Mr. Hebblethwaite, confidentially
narrated to a personal friend, is whether, in the event of a war between
Germany and Russia and France, England would feel it her duty to
intervene?"
Hebblethwaite glanced around. The throng of people had cleared off to
watch the concluding stages of the match.
"I have a sovereign on this," he remarked, glancing at his card.
"Which have you backed?" Norgate enquired.
"The Lancers."
"Well, it's any odds on the Hussars, so you've lost your money,"
Norgate told him.
Hebblethwaite sighed resignedly. "Well," he said, "the question you
submit is a problem which has presented itself to us once or twice,
although I may tell you that there isn't a soul in the Cabinet except one
who believes in the chance of war. We are not a fire-eating lot, you
know. We are all for peace, and we believe we are going to have it.
However, to answer your questions more closely, our obligations depend
entirely upon the provocation giving cause for the war. If France and
Russia provoked it in any way, we should remain neutral. If it were a war
of sheer aggression from Germany against France, we might to a certain
extent intervene. There is not one of us, however, who believes for a
single moment that Germany would enter upon such a war."
"When you admit that we might to a certain extent intervene," Norgate
said, "exactly how should we do it, I wonder? We are not in a
particular state of readiness to declare war upon anybody or anything,
are we?" he added, as they turned around and strolled once more towards
the polo ground.
"We have had no money to waste upon senseless armaments," Mr.
Hebblethwaite declared severely, "and if you watch the social measures
which we have passed during the last two years, you will see that every
penny we could spare has been necessary in order to get them into working
order. It is our contention that an army is absolutely unnecessary and
would simply have the effect of provoking military reprisals. If we, by
any chance in the future, were drawn into war, our navy would be at the
service of our allies. What more could any country ask than to have
assured for them the absolute control of the sea?"
"That's all very well," Norgate assented. "It might be our fair share on
paper, and yet it might not be enough. What about our navy if Antwerp,
Ostend, Dunkirk, Calais, Boulogne, and Havre were all German ports, as
they certainly would be in an unassisted conflict between the French and
the Germans?"
They were within hearing now of the music of the band. Hebblethwaite
quickened his pace a little impatiently.
"Look here," he protested, "I came down here for a holiday, I tell you
frankly that I believe in the possibility of war just as much as I
believe in the possibility of an earthquake. My own personal feeling is
that it is just as necessary to make preparations against one as the
other. There you are, my German spy, that's all I have to say to you.
Here are your friends. I must pay my respects to the Prince, and I should
like to meet your charming companion."
Anna detached herself from a little group of men at their approach, and
Norgate at once introduced his friend.
"I have only been able to induce Mr. Hebblethwaite to talk to me for the
last ten minutes," he declared, "by promising to present him to you."
"A ceremony which we will take for granted," she suggested, holding out
her fingers. "Each time I have come to London, Mr. Hebblethwaite, I have
hoped that I might have this good fortune. You interest us so much on the
Continent."
Mr. Hebblethwaite bowed and looked as though he would have liked the
interest to have been a little more personal.
"You see," Anna explained, as she stood between the two men, "both
Austria and Germany, the two countries where I spend most of my time, are
almost military ridden. Our great statesmen, or the men who stand behind
them, are all soldiers. You represent something wholly different. Your
nation is as great and as prosperous as ours, and yet you are a pacifist,
are you not, Mr. Hebblethwaite? You scorn any preparations for war. You
do not believe in it. You give back the money that we should spend in
military or naval preparations to the people, for their betterment. It is
very wonderful."
"We act according to our convictions," Mr. Hebblethwaite pronounced. "It
is our earnest hope that we have risen sufficiently in the scale of
civilisation to be able to devote our millions to more moral objects than
the massing of armaments."
"And you have no fears?" she persisted earnestly. "You honestly believe
that you are justified in letting the fighting spirit of your people
lie dormant?"
"I honestly believe it, Baroness," Mr. Hebblethwaite replied. "Life is a
battle for all of them, but the fighting which we recognise is the fight
for moral and commercial supremacy, the lifting of the people by
education and strenuous effort to a higher plane of prosperity."
"Of course," Anna murmured, "what you say sounds frightfully convincing.
History only will tell us whether you are in the right."
"My thirst," Mr. Hebblethwaite observed, glancing towards the little
tables set out under the trees, "suggests tea and strawberries."
"If some one hadn't offered me tea in a moment or two," Anna declared, "I
should have gone back to the Prince, with whom I must confess I was very
bored. Shall we discuss politics or talk nonsense?"
"Talk nonsense," Mr. Hebblethwaite decided. "This is my holiday. My brain
has stopped working. I can think of nothing beyond tea and strawberries.
We will take that table under the elm trees, and you shall tell us all
about Vienna."