Having seen Edith as far as the Grand Hotel, I re-entered the fiacre and
at once drove back to my own rooms, where I found the chief of the
secret service awaiting me.
"What do you mean by saying that you know that lady?" I inquired
breathlessly.
"Simply that we know her, that's all," he replied, with an air of
mystery.
"Look here, Kaye," I said, "just tell me plainly and straightforwardly
what you know regarding her?"
"She's a person to be avoided, that's all."
"To be avoided!" I echoed. "Why, surely she has no connection with the
persons you are watching? She lives in Norfolk, in a little country
village, and scarcely ever comes abroad."
"I know it," he answered with his sphinx-like smile. "She lives at
Great Ryburgh, near Fakenham, is in possession of a fair income, and has
a maiden aunt as companion."
"How did you know that?" I demanded in surprise.
"It is our duty to know all who are the enemies of England."
"And is she an enemy?"
"Most certainly," he replied.
"I can't believe it, Kaye!" I cried, aghast. "I won't believe it!
First you tell me that Yolande de Foville is a spy, and now you denounce
Edith Austin."
"I only tell you the truth," he answered, leaning against the table and
folding his arms.
"Then as you know so much about her, you probably know our
relationship," I said, rather annoyed that this ubiquitous man, whose
proclivities for fathoming a secret were prodigious, should have watched
her.
"I am quite well aware of it, Mr. Ingram," he responded; "and if I might
be allowed to advise you, I should end it at once. It is dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because she is playing you false."
"How do you know that?"
"By the same means that I know she is working against us--and against
you. If you knew the facts they would astound you. Even I, with all my
experience of the ways of felons and spies, was dumbfounded when I
learnt the truth."
"But can't you see that it's ridiculous to ask me to cast her aside
without giving me any plain and ample reason?"
"The reason is certainly sufficient," he replied.
"What is it?"
"You visited her at Ryburgh some months ago, and suspected her of having
a secret lover. Is not that so?"
"Extraordinary!" I gasped. "How did you know that? You set your spies
upon me!" I added angrily.
"No, not upon you," he said. "She was already under observation."
"Why?"
"Because of some suspicion that had been aroused regarding the Ceuta
incident."
"Nonsense!" I cried, unable to believe his allegation. "What possible
connection could she have with that?"
"A rather intimate one, judging from the result of our inquiries."
"In what manner?"
"Well, as a secret agent."
"In the employ of whom?"
"Of France."
"Of France?" I echoed. "Impossible!"
"My dear Mr. Ingram," he protested, "I'm not in the habit of misleading
you or of making statements which I can't substantiate. I repeat that
Miss Edith Austin, the lady who has been here with you this afternoon,
is a French agent."
"I can't believe it!" I gasped, utterly staggered. "Why, she's a
simple, charming English girl, leading a quiet life in that sleepy
little village, and scarcely seeing anybody for weeks together."
"Exactly. I don't deny that. But as her affection for you is prompted
by ulterior motives--pray pardon me for saying so--you should be
forewarned; and this is the more desirable in view of the fact which you
yourself discovered."
"What fact?"
"That she has a secret lover."
"Ah!" I cried eagerly. "Tell me, who is he?"
"An Italian named Bertini--Paolo Bertini."
"Bertini," I repeated, the name sounding somewhat familiar. "Surely
I've heard that name before!"
"Of course. You remember, when you were in Brussels, the bold attempt
he made one afternoon in your room at the Embassy?"
"Ah! I remember. Why, of course! And is he actually the same man?"
In an instant I recalled the face of Edith's midnight visitor, and
recollected where I had seen it on a previous occasion.
Kaye's words brought back to me in that moment an incident which showed
plainly the dastardly tricks of the foreign spies who constantly hover
about every legation or embassy on the Continent. One afternoon, years
ago, in Brussels, a well-dressed, gentlemanly man called to see His
Excellency, and was shown into my room. Half an hour before, a Foreign
Office messenger had arrived from London with despatches, and I was
busily engaged in deciphering them when the servant showed in the
stranger. The latter, who introduced himself as a shipowner of Antwerp,
was seated near my table, and was talking to me about a complaint he had
recently lodged against one of our consuls, when suddenly he stopped,
turned pale, and fell back in a faint. I sprang up, and, rushing out of
the room, went to get a glass of water. Fortunately I had on thin
shoes, and the carpet in the corridor was so thick that my feet fell
noiselessly. Judge of my surprise when, on my return, I saw my visitor
standing in a perfect state of health with one of the deciphered
despatches pinned against the wall and a camera in his hand! He had
actually photographed it during my absence.
Without an instant's hesitation I sprang upon him from behind, wrenched
the camera from his hand, shouted for help, and held him until some of
the servants came, when he was taken in charge by the police. After a
short trial, during which it was proved that he was one of the cleverest
spies employed by France, he was sentenced to six months' imprisonment
for attempted theft, while the camera, together with the photographic
films, was returned to us. The latter, on being developed, proved
extremely interesting and very valuable, for not only did we find the
photograph of our own despatch, but those of three other secret
documents taken in the Italian Embassy in Brussels.
And it was this artful adventurer who had become Edith's lover. She,
young and inexperienced, had no doubt fallen his victim. She had become
enmeshed in the net he had spread for her, and was the subordinate by
means of whom he intended to operate further against us.
"What you tell me, Kaye, really staggers belief," I said after a pause.
"That man is absolutely unscrupulous."
"He's one of the most ingenious of all the army of secret agents.
Indeed, I have a suspicion that he is the chief of the French spies
operating in England. His intimate acquaintance with your friend Miss
Austin shows conclusively that he is contemplating a big coup."
Had this matter, I wondered, any connection with the gigantic conspiracy
of which the Princess had told me? My promise of secrecy given to her
prevented me from mentioning it to Kaye. Only a few weeks ago the
_Figaro_ had announced that Her Highness the Princess Leonie von
Leutenberg had left the Chateau de Chantoiseau, and had returned to her
mansion in the Frieung, in Vienna. She had left France without sending
me a word.
"What connection had this man Bertini with the exposure of the Ceuta
negotiations?" I inquired.
"He got to know of them by some means--how, I can't tell. It is an
absolute enigma."
"And that despatch I brought from London, the exact contents of which
were known a few hours after my return here, what of that?"
"Through him, I feel assured," answered the clever man before me. "I
only returned from London three days ago. I went myself to make
inquiries."
"And what did you find?"
"He carries on the business of a jeweller, and has a small shop half-way
up the Edgware Road, one of those cheap Brummagem places that sell
earrings and brooches for servant-girls. He poses as quite a
respectable shopkeeper, and employs an Englishman as manager. The
signor, it appears, has many friends in London, and when they call to
see him they are always shown to his private room over the shop. I also
learnt that your visitor of to-day has called upon him there."
"Are you sure?" I cried quickly. "Are you absolutely certain of that?"
"I gave her description and name to the manager, who said he recollected
her calling there twice about three weeks ago. Once his master was not
in, but on the second occasion she had an interview with him. It has
more than once struck me as curious that this fellow Bertini should have
been near you on the day of the mysterious theft of the contents of that
despatch. You don't think that he followed you from Ryburgh to London?"
"I can't tell. If he did, I had no suspicion of it. And besides, not a
soul except the Chief could have possibly obtained sight of that
despatch. I saw it written, saw it sealed, and it never left my
possession for a single instant."
"She did not accompany you to London?" he asked half-suspiciously.
"Certainly not," I said.
Then I told him all that occurred on that well-remembered night, and how
I had wandered in the early morning over the country-side to the village
inn where for a moment I saw the Italian.
"Then he evidently saw and recognised you there!" Kaye exclaimed
quickly. "In all probability he followed you to London. That the copy
of the despatch was transmitted to Paris by him is certain."
"And with regard to the Ceuta incident?"
"In that, I believe, he made Yolande de Foville his agent. Undoubtedly
it was through her ingenuity that Lord Barmouth's instructions leaked
out."
"But how could she possibly have known them?" I demanded. "Remember,
you have denounced her as a spy, but as yet have given me no proof
whatever."
"You have sufficient proof in the fact that she fled in alarm from
Paris, I should think."
"But I understood from you that she was in the German service. If so,
she would certainly never ally herself with Bertini!"
"He might, on the other hand, ally himself with her," remarked the
secret agent shrewdly. "It would be distinctly to his advantage if he
could obtain her aid, for by means of her he could ascertain various
facts which might be considered extremely valuable at the Quai d'Orsay."
"It is all astounding!" I declared, puzzled. "Half the women one knows
here seem to be secret agents. Paris is just now a veritable hotbed of
diplomatic intrigue."
"I quite agree; and it all tends to show that never, in the history of
Europe, has there been a blacker outlook than to-day."
I was silent. What he said was only too true; and, further, the
mysterious exposure of the secret instructions contained in the despatch
I had brought from London had thwarted English diplomacy throughout
Europe, and tied the hands of all our ambassadors at the various Courts.
Signs everywhere convinced me that the statement of the Princess was
actually true, and that we were on the brink of a war in which the whole
of Europe would be involved.
Russia alone remained inactive. It is the fashion of journalists who
know nothing of the inner life of the diplomatic circle, and of alarmist
writers who build up political theories for themselves, to abuse Russia
and Russian methods. We have been told for the past half-century that
Russia means to seize India, merely because she has taken steps to
colonise her enormous Asiatic possessions. Why, a Russian ambassador in
any one of the capitals may hardly pare his nails without a sensational
article in the Press appearing next day. All this is very amusing; for
the truth is, Russia does not intend to be aggressive, nor does she want
war. Peaceful expansion of her commerce and the development of Siberia
are her aims; and if certain journalists insist on exhibiting to us the
war bogey, it is because they have never been in Russia, and know
absolutely nothing of the conduct of Muscovite diplomacy. This, it must
be confessed, is, next to that of the Vatican, the second best in the
world; but it is never aggressive; as every genuine diplomatist will
hasten to admit. Indeed, if the truth were told, there have been times
in recent years when only the firmness of Russia and the peaceful policy
of the Czar have averted war!
It is the journalist, nearly always the journalist, who creates the
European scares! Because of this state of affairs, we at the embassies
are compelled to be always on our guard against those ubiquitous writers
who vie with one another in obtaining interviews.
The present situation was, however, no journalistic canard, but a stern
and perilous reality. The tension of the acute crisis, which had been
increasing ever since the Ceuta incident, was terrible. Everywhere in
diplomacy there was a spirit of reserve, which showed that the amity of
nations was strained to its utmost limit. War might be declared upon
England at any moment.