"But it is absolutely impossible that the despatch has been copied!" I
cried, addressing His Excellency, when at last I found tongue. "I saw
it written myself, and it never left my belt until I took it out here in
your presence!"
"Well," interposed Kaye grimly, turning to Lord Barmouth, "that it has
really been copied is quite plain, for you have the copy in your hand.
It was telegraphed to the Quai d'Orsay from Calais at half-past one
o'clock this morning, and that copy reached my hands at four, half an
hour after I had returned from Berlin. Our secret agent in the French
Foreign Office happily lost no time in making us acquainted with our
loss."
"Fortunately for us," remarked the Ambassador, pacing the floor from end
to end. "Had we remained in ignorance that the secret of our policy was
out, we might have found ourselves in a very awkward predicament. But
how could the despatch possibly have been copied, when no other eyes
have seen it except those of the Marquess and myself? The thing is
incredible!"
"Ah! that's the question," observed Kaye. "The French system of
espionage has very nearly approached perfection. Even though it be
against our grain, as Englishmen, to employ spies ourselves, yet it is
daily becoming more necessary. Every nation in the world has its
elaborate secret service; therefore, England must not sleep and allow
other nations to undermine her prestige."
"I cannot imagine how it is possible that our enemies could have
obtained sight of the despatch, even for an instant," I said. "The only
other person in the Chief's room at Downing Street while he was writing
was Boyd, who helped him seal it. I then took it, drove in a cab to the
club, and there placed it in my belt beneath my clothes. It never left
my person until, in the smoking-room here, I took it out and handed it
to His Excellency."
"The telegram was despatched from the maritime station at Calais by some
person who signed his name as `Gaston.' He is evidently known to our
friends at the Quai d'Orsay."
There was a brief and painful pause. Such a catastrophe staggered
belief. Surely the spies of France did not use the Roentgen rays in
order to read the letters carried on one's person! It would almost
appear as though they did.
"Fate seems entirely against us, Ingram," observed Lord Barmouth,
breaking the silence at last. "In every effort we are thwarted by these
scoundrelly spies. Our most secret instructions leak out in a way that
is absolutely unaccountable. Indeed, the position has now become so
critical that I dread to contemplate the result. In the matter of Ceuta
we had an illustration of the marvellous astuteness of our enemies,
while to-day here is an example much more alarming. And further, we
must send home a despatch acknowledging ourselves checkmated. Our
position is an ignominious one--most ignominious," he added vehemently.
"If I were at fault I would willingly bear any blame attaching to my
actions," I said in a tone of protest; "but as far as I am aware I am
utterly blameless in this matter."
"I do not seek to fix any culpability upon you, Ingram," His Lordship
hastened to assure me. "While serving under me you have always done
your duty with a thoroughness and tact worthy of the British
diplomatist. All I can say is that it is excessively unfortunate for us
all, and for the nation at large. Those instructions there, as you will
see, are of the highest importance at this juncture; but we are now
quite unable to act because our secret intentions have become common
property. They will probably be in the _Figaro_ to-morrow."
"The whole affair is at present a complete enigma," observed Kaye, who,
turning to me, added: "If you cannot give us any clue whatever, I can't
see what can be done."
"I can give you absolutely no clue," I answered, utterly bewildered by
this amazing turn of events. "All I know is what I have just related."
The chief of the secret service turned his eyes full upon me, and asked
slowly:
"You have, for instance, held no further communication with Mademoiselle
de Foville?" Mention of that name caused me to start. All came back to
me--how that the Ambassador had suspected her, and Kaye himself had
declared that she was a spy.
"She left Paris before I went to London. I have no idea of her
whereabouts."
"You do not suspect that she was in London at the same time as
yourself?" he asked. "I mean, you saw nothing of her?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"And on the several occasions when you called upon her in the Rue de
Courcelles you gave her no idea of the policy which His Excellency was
pursuing? I know you visited her several times, for, suspecting her, I
had placed a watch upon her movements."
"I told her absolutely nothing," I answered, annoyed that this man
should think fit to spy upon me.
"Strange," he said thoughtfully. "Now that is really very strange,
because her subsequent actions would appear to give colour to the theory
that she learnt from you some secret which she was strenuously
endeavouring to obtain."
"I don't quite follow you."
"Well, I have ascertained that the French Ambassador in Berlin has been
receiving full reports of the progress of our actions regarding Ceuta."
"From her?" I asked quickly.
"Not exactly from her, but through her."
"Then that woman is actually a spy!" cried His Excellency.
"Without the slightest doubt," responded Kaye. "My inquiries in Berlin
and Brussels have substantiated our suspicions. She is one of the
smartest secret agents in Europe."
"I know that she is a friend of Wolf's, but what proof have you that she
has any connection with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?"
"I have obtained proof--absolute proof," he answered.
"In what manner?"
"By inquiries I made in Berlin. She is well known in the
Wilhelmstrasse. She was compelled to fly from Germany because it leaked
out that she was a French spy."
"Cannot you give me any further explanation?" I urged. "I am much
interested, as she was once my intimate friend."
"Yes," interposed the Ambassador, "unfortunately so. It was once
rumoured, Ingram, that you actually intended to marry her."
"Or rather," observed Kaye, "she intended, for her own purposes, to
marry Mr. Ingram, I think."
I pursed my lips, but made no response. My reflections at that moment
were bitter enough without these observations from my friends.
"But do you suspect that she has had a hand in our latest betrayal?" I
inquired a few minutes later. "You have just alleged that she is in the
French service. If so, it hardly seems credible that she would give her
information to the French Ambassador in Berlin."
"On that point I am not yet absolutely certain," Kaye responded. "I am,
however, quite convinced that the exposure of our plans regarding Ceuta
filtered to the French through their Embassy in Berlin."
"Then, contrary to supposition, de Hindenburg, the German Ambassador
here, may be assisting France against us?" I said in surprise.
"It seems much like it. Our inquiries all tend towards that theory.
The German Ambassador has of late had almost daily interviews with the
Minister of Foreign Affairs. These are generally believed to be in
connection with the Samoan difficulty or the Transvaal; but without
doubt the chief subject of discussion has been the formation of a plan
whereby to checkmate our policy towards Spain in the matter of Ceuta."
"Well, up to the present they have done so," the Ambassador admitted,
turning sharply upon his heel from the window, out of which he had been
gazing moodily. "We appear to be arriving at a most critical stage, for
what with the constant Anglophobe feeling here, the vile attacks of the
Paris Press, the disgusting caricatures of Her Majesty and her subjects,
and the army of spies surrounding us on every side, honest,
straightforward diplomacy--the diplomacy which should preserve the peace
of Europe--is well-nigh impossible. In all my career in the service I
never knew a blacker outlook than at this moment--never, never!"
"The complications that have arisen are due entirely to spies," I
remarked.
"They are due, it appears, mainly to your friend, Yolande de Foville,"
he said in a harsh voice. "We have to thank that interesting young lady
for rendering all our diplomacy in that direction abortive."
"You had suspicion of her the other day?" I exclaimed. "What caused
you to suspect her?"
"Drummond knew her in Brussels, and mentioned her."
"As a secret agent?"
"Yes, as a secret agent. He warned me to be wary of her."
"Well," I said, "I, who knew her most intimately years ago, never
suspected it for one single instant."
"Ah, Ingram," the Ambassador answered, a smile crossing his serious,
hard-set face, "you were in love with her. A man in love never believes
that his idol is of mere clay."
A sigh escaped me. His words were indeed true. A thought of Edith
flashed across my mind. The face of that woman who was false to me rose
before my vision, but I swept it aside. All was over between us.
Diplomacy and flirtation are sister arts, but diplomacy and love never
run hand-in-hand. I had quaffed the cup of life, with all its infinite
joys and agonies, in one intoxicating draught.
Kaye rose at last and departed, promising to leave no stone unturned in
his efforts to discover how the contents of the secret despatch had been
obtained by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and then, at the
Ambassador's dictation, I wrote a despatch to London explaining to the
Marquess the reason why his instructions could not be acted upon. Thus
were we compelled to acknowledge our defeat.
Below, in the hall, I met Sibyl dressed smartly, ready to go out.
"What!" she exclaimed, laughing, "you are back again! Why, I thought
you would be at least a week in London. Did you bring that lace for
me?"
"Yes," I answered, "I have it round at my rooms. I'll send it you this
afternoon."
"Why are you back so soon?" she inquired, holding out her hand, so that
I might button her glove. "Was London too hot?"
"The heat was insufferable. Besides, we have much to attend to just
now."
"Poor father!" she exclaimed, looking up at me. "He seems terribly
worried. Tell me, Mr. Ingram, what has happened? I feel sure that some
catastrophe has taken place."
"Oh, nothing," I reassured her. "Your father is a little anxious
regarding some negotiations, that is all."
"But you will go to the Elysee to-night, won't you?"
"To-night! What is it to-night?"
"Why, the grand ball," she answered.
"Which means a new frock for you--eh?" I laughed.
"Of course," she replied. "You will come, won't you?"
"I fear I'm ever so much too tired for dancing," I responded, feeling in
no humour for the crowded gaiety of the President's ball.
"But you must," she declared--"to please me. I want you to dance with
me."
"Well," I said with reluctance, "I suppose I dare not be so ungallant as
to refuse you."
"That's good," she laughed. "Now, as a reward, I'll drive you down to
the boulevard. The victoria is outside. Where will you go?"