"War against England! Spe-shall!" his cry being followed by the sound
of hurrying feet as people rushed from their houses, purchased copies of
the paper at exorbitant prices, and eagerly devoured the amazing news.
"Surely it must be some absurd story that the papers have got hold of,"
Ella exclaimed a few moments later, when, after again watching the
excitement below, she returned and stood beside my chair. "The idea of
war against us is absolutely absurd. You Foreign Office people would
have known if such were actually the case. Evening papers are so often
full of exaggerated reports, contradicted next morning, that one ceases
to believe in them."
"I have every reason, unfortunately, to believe in the truth of this
sudden probability of war," I answered gloomily, scarce knowing what I
said.
"You believe it's true!" she cried. "How do you know? Will Russia
actually dare to challenge us?"
"Yes," I replied. "But how were you aware that Russia was our enemy?"
She started and held her breath. Her attitude was that of one who had
unconsciously betrayed herself.
"I--I--merely guessed it," she answered lamely, with a forced smile a
moment later. "I've been reading the papers lately."
"The papers have given no hint of any impending complication," I
answered abruptly, removing the cigarette from my lips and looking up at
her keenly.
"But I read something the other day which stated that Russia and France
had combined with the object of attacking England in the near future."
I did not answer. I could only gaze at her, amazed at the calm,
circumstantial manner in which she lied. That she had some knowledge of
the political situation--of what character or extent I knew not--was
certain, for other words she had let drop in unguarded moments had once
or twice aroused within me increasing suspicion. When I reflected upon
her alarm on hearing the strident cry of the newsman, I was compelled to
admit that her fears were not genuine. The questions she put to me
regarding the relative strengths of England and Russia, and the probable
course of events, were naive enough, but they were uttered, I knew, with
a view to disarm any suspicion I might entertain.
At last, wearied of her eternal masquerade, I roused myself, tossed away
my dead cigarette, and, declaring that in the circumstances my presence
at the Foreign Office was imperative, suddenly said,--
"You asked me to come here this evening because you had something
particular to say to me, Ella. You have not yet referred to it."
"I wanted to ask you a question," she exclaimed in a low tone, slowly
moving towards me and bending until she placed her arm tenderly around
my neck.
"Well, what is it?"
For a moment she remained silent in hesitation, but at last spoke in
that harsh, strained voice that had so frequently puzzled me of late.
"I know you have investigated Dudley's belongings," she said. "And I
wanted to know whether you discovered among them some scraps of paper
bearing imitations of your own handwriting."
I regarded her in surprise; her question amazed me. In her eyes I
noticed a look of intense earnestness and appeal for sympathy.
"Well, what if I have?" I inquired.
"If you have, they will, I know, be regarded by you as evidence that
Dudley was a forger."
"That is what I believe him to have been," I said with bitterness.
"You judge him wrongly," she replied quite calmly, her face nevertheless
as white as the simple-made dinner gown she wore. "I have already seen
those papers, and know their authorship."
"Did not Dudley trace my writing?"
"He never did," she replied. "As his death was encompassed by his
enemies, so is dishonour cast upon his memory."
"Then you allege that he was the victim of conspiracy!" I exclaimed,
surprised.
"No doubt. When I am at last free to speak I shall prove it, and by so
doing remove from myself the suspicion now resting upon me." She spoke
earnestly, with an intense ring in her voice that told me she now
uttered the truth.
"For what reason was it desired to imitate my handwriting?" I asked,
pressing her hand tenderly. "Come, tell me, Ella."
"I really don't know," she replied. "All I am aware is that your
writing was most carefully traced and imitated, and for that purpose two
of your letters to me were stolen."
"By whom?"
"I have never been able to discover."
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by a voice crying,
"Here, Deedes! Have you seen this alarming news?" and turning I saw
Beck standing beside the tall, amber-shaded lamp in the drawing-room, a
pale pink news-sheet in his hand. Rising quickly I re-entered the room,
and walking over to him, followed by Ella, took the newspaper, and
devoured the dozen lines of leaded type placed beneath the bold,
alarming head-lines.
My well-beloved was peering over my shoulder as, in breathless
eagerness, I read that, according to Reuter's correspondent at St
Petersburg, the _Novoe Vremya_ had that afternoon issued a special
edition containing the amazing statement that Russia would, in the
course of a few hours, formally declare war against England, and that
this fact was corroborated by the issue of telegraphic orders to the
commanders of military districts as a preliminary to a general
mobilisation of the forces. This announcement was similar to that of
our secret agent in St Petersburg, with the additional facts that the
greatest activity had commenced in the War Office and Admiralty, and
that the Tzar had, in consequence, abandoned his visit to Odessa, which
he was about to undertake that day.
"The outlook is certainly most alarming," I observed, handing on the
paper to Ella.
"It's extraordinary!" cried Beck, intensely excited, as became a
patriotic legislator. "We have not had the slightest inkling of any
diplomatic deadlock, or any disagreement with Russia. The whole thing
is absolutely amazing."
"But what will happen?" asked Ella, eagerly, with white, scared face.
"Will England be invaded and battles fought here in the manner prophetic
writers have foretold?"
"I fear so," I said despondently. "If war is really declared, a
conflict must very soon occur, and the struggle will then be long and
deadly."
"But surely the Government will not allow an enemy to land upon English
soil," she exclaimed, still holding the paper in her trembling hands.
"What are ambassadors for but to avert such catastrophes as this?"
"Ambassadors," exclaimed Beck, "appear to me to be useless pawns.
Surely our Embassy at St Petersburg must have been asleep not to have
given the Government warning of the plans of Russia long ago.
Preparations for war against a power like England are not made without
very careful deliberation."
"But can we be invaded?" I queried.
"No doubt," Beck replied promptly. "The opinions of our greatest
strategists are unanimous that, under certain conditions, France and
Russia combined could invade our island. It is all very well for people
to talk about England's maritime power; but is it what we believe it to
be? I think not."
Having made a deep study of this very question, I was, although a loyal
and patriotic Englishman, compelled to agree with him in a certain
measure. Once, not so very long ago, it was generally believed, even by
our greatest military and naval experts, that should England become
engaged with a first-rate foreign Power, she could, single-handed, in a
week close every one of her enemy's ports and have a fleet ready to
reduce at its leisure everything he held beyond the seas. Indeed, some
authorities went so far as to declare that with almost any two Powers
against her, she could do as much; and it was that recognition of this
power abroad that gave England, in spite of her military weakness, so
commanding a position in Europe. But since the Franco-Russian Alliance
the increase in the fleets of the Powers had been so rapid that we had
utterly failed to keep pace with them. We built huge, unwieldy
battleships, while our enemies constructed the fastest cruisers and
torpedo-boat destroyers afloat, thereby sweeping away our hitherto
undisputed mastery of the sea.
"The great danger that appears to me," Beck said presently, after we had
been discussing the serious outlook at considerable length, "is that we
may be blockaded by these two hostile powers, so as to reduce us near
starvation, and compel us to surrender."
"But not before we have engaged the enemy at sea and given them a taste
of the lion's paw," I observed.
"Of course. First, we must expect a great naval battle or battles,
followed by a dash upon our territory and the landing of the hostile
armies. If England received one serious reverse at sea, she could never
recover from it. The loss of her maritime power would paralyse her."
"I know," I said. "That argument is trite enough. But I, nevertheless,
believe that England is still, and will be for many centuries to come,
Queen of the Sea."
"Oh! yes," he said, rather contemptuously. "The cheap, clap-trap
patriotism of the pot-house and the music-hall is all very well, but we,
in the House of Commons, entertain a very different opinion. The belief
in England's greatness held by the lower classes is admirable, and, of
course, ought to be carefully fostered, because it leads men to enlist
in the Services. But you know, as well as I do, that in the Government
Departments our naval strength is regarded as over-estimated in
comparison with the power of some other European nations, and our
military strength utterly inadequate. If it is really true that Russia
is about to declare war against us, I fear the awakening of those
confident of our insular security will be a terrible one."
"Terrible no doubt it will be, on account of the fearful loss of life
and property such a war must entail, but I anticipate that when the
struggle comes every Englishman will bear arms for the defence of his
home and loved ones, and that the foreign invader will meet with a
reception the warmth of which he never expected."
"Geoffrey is a patriot," exclaimed Ella, laughing. "So am I. I don't
believe Russia and France will ever dare to land soldiers on our
coasts."
"Well spoken," I exclaimed. "I do not share the fears of these
so-called experts."
"I do," Beck went on excitedly. "If hostilities occur our defences will
soon be found weak and utterly unreliable. That's my opinion."
"Then you declare that England is great no longer," I observed, with a
smile.
"No, I don't go so far as that; but I contend, as I did in my speech in
the House a fortnight ago, that those charged with maintaining our
defences in a proper state of efficiency have for years been culpably
negligent. The power of England to-day is still the same as it has
been--on paper. But, in ascertaining it, we always close our eyes
wilfully to the true fact that other nations have awakened during the
past ten years, and have now actually overtaken us."
"I don't think that," I answered. "Until our country is actually
invested I shall still believe in its strength."
But Beck, greatly to the amusement of Ella, was firm in his opinions,
and, when I argued with him, commenced to quote statistics with a
glibness which told how carefully he had studied the speech he recently
delivered before the House, a speech which, by the way, had been
dismissed in one line by all the newspapers. Ella, standing beside me
in her pale cream dress, girdled narrow with a band of mauve silk,
looked charming, and supported me in all my views, exhibiting a
knowledge of politics and of the Continental outlook that I had not in
the least suspected. Indeed, she now and then attacked the arguments of
the member for West Rutlandshire with a vehemence that surprised me, for
more than once she completely upset his declarations by citing some fact
he had overlooked.
Even while we discussed these things we knew how wildly-excited must be
the seething world of London. The news, although, alas! not fresh to
me, had fallen that night upon the metropolis like a thunderbolt. Mrs
Laing, who presently entered the room, was shown the paper by Ella, and
was utterly unnerved by the startling intelligence. I had noticed that
she had never since been the same stately, composed woman as before the
discovery of Dudley. The tragic affair at "The Nook" seemed to have
upset her, and in her face there were now traces of extreme nervousness
and excitability.
"Surely the paper has printed an unwarrantable untruth, Mr Beck," she
exclaimed, after reading the statement by the aid of her glasses. "I
really can't believe it."
"I scarcely think we ought to credit it before we receive some
confirmation," the burly legislator replied. "It may, of course, be a
mere idle rumour set afloat for Stock Exchange purposes."
At that moment they exchanged swift, mysterious glances that somehow
appeared to me significant, yet next instant I found myself convinced
that the unusual expression in their eyes had merely been due to a
chimera of my own imagination. With a foolish disregard for
probability, I seemed somehow to scent mystery in everything, and it now
occurred to me that to successfully probe the truth of Ella's relations
with the two men, I must never allow myself to be misled by
misconstruing words or actions. I felt almost confident that I had
noticed Beck and Mrs Laing exchange looks akin to approbation;
nevertheless, on reflection, I convinced myself that I had been quite
mistaken, and half an hour later laughed at my suspicions.
Presently Beck announced his intention of going down to the House to
ascertain the latest official news, and I, bidding Ella and her mother
farewell, accompanied him. It was about eleven o'clock when we drove
up, but the cab could not get much further than Broad Sanctuary, so
dense was the crowd that had gathered at St Stephen's on the startling
news being spread. From the high summit of Big Ben the electric light
was streaming westward, showing the excited thousands assembled there
that Parliament was already deliberating upon the best course to pursue
on the outbreak of hostilities, and as we elbowed our way through the
turbulent concourse war was on everyone's tongue. Men and women of all
classes of society, wildly-excited, with pale, scared faces, discussed
the probable course of events; many sang patriotic songs, the choruses
of which were taken up and shouted lustily, while here and there, as we
proceeded, loud invectives against the Tzar and his French allies
greeted our ears.
At last we reached St Stephen's Hall, and, passing its zealously-guarded
portals, hurried forward to the Lobby. Here the scene was of a most
exciting character. Members were standing in small groups, eagerly
discussing the serious and unexpected turn affairs had taken, and, in
answer to our inquiries, we learnt that a quarter of an hour before an
official reply had been given in the House to a question addressed from
the Opposition benches, admitting that, according to the latest advices
from St Petersburg, there was, no doubt, foundation for the rumour
published by the _Novoe Vremya_, and that it was very probable that in
the course of an hour or two war would formally be declared.
A tiresome topic was being discussed in the House, but it was being
carried on without spirit or enthusiasm, all the members being on tiptoe
with expectation regarding the next telegram from the enemy's camp. The
amazing intelligence that had spread like wildfire throughout the
metropolis had brought every member in town down to the House, until the
Lobby became so thronged that locomotion was difficult. I chatted with
many legislators I knew, and found all held similar views--that an
attempted invasion of England had been planned by France and Russia.
The Cabinet had been hastily summoned, and was at that moment
deliberating with the Commander-in-Chief regarding the immediate steps
to be taken for the complete mobilisation of the forces.
One fact had impressed itself upon me as, accompanied by Beck, I had
struggled through the ever-increasing crowd outside, namely, the intense
patriotism of the Volunteers. There were dozens who, on hearing the
news, had at once put on their uniforms in readiness to bear their part
in the defence of their homes, and everywhere as they swayed to and fro
in the crowd they were lustily cheered. The sight of a uniform in those
wild moments was sufficient to send the multitude half mad with
enthusiasm, and in one or two instances volunteers had been raised
shoulder-high in order that all should unite in giving them ovations.
Within the sombre, smoke-blackened walls of Parliament it was a
breathless period of eager waiting. There was no cheering, there was no
cheap patriotism, no outburst of enthusiasm. Some of the little knots
of white-hatted politicians condemned the Government unmercifully for
failing to obtain news of a pending catastrophe which might have been
avoided by diplomacy, while others declared that the action of the
Opposition in the past was alone responsible for the present disaster.
Wherever I went I found an opinion, almost unanimous, that England could
not withstand the blow now threatened. In that time of wild theories
and wilder apprehensions Beck's arguments and prophetic utterances were
listened to eagerly, until quite a crowd stood around him. Of late he
had written one or two articles on the subject of England's
unpreparedness for war, notably one in the _Nineteenth Century_, which
had attracted considerable attention, and his opinions were now listened
to and afterwards discussed, even among men whose names were household
words.
As I stood watching and listening, I was compelled to admit that during
the short time my friend had been in Parliament he had certainly won
good opinions, and even among the most level-headed politicians his
views, notwithstanding his blustering manner, were regarded as worthy of
serious consideration. I confess to having previously looked upon him
rather as a crank upon this subject, but I did so no longer, now that I
recognised what weight his arguments carried.