Winter came, grey, cold, and cheerless, in Paris. The war that had
broken out in the Transvaal dragged on, and the European outlook grew
daily darker and more lowering.
Occasionally I had received letters from Edith in Bordighera, telling me
how pleasant life was there amid the sunshine and the palms after the
leafless dreariness of an English winter. She, however, never once
mentioned the man Bertini. Her letters were still affectionate, despite
the fact that my replies were very cold and distant.
I entertained a distinct suspicion that she it was who had stolen the
compromising letter of the Princess. In addition to this, her midnight
visit to that pair of adventurers in the cafe had incensed me. For this
reason her letters to me were unwelcome, and I answered them in quite an
indifferent spirit. There was a wound in my heart that never could be
healed. Edith Austin, it was proved, was the associate of two of the
most unscrupulous adventurers in Europe.
In Paris matters were extremely critical. Lord Barmouth had been to
Downing Street to have an interview with the Marquess, the latter
refusing further to trust his secret instructions to any messenger; yet
though not a word had been written and though the interview had taken
place in the Foreign Secretary's private room, where the doors are
double, thus preventing any sound from reaching the corridor, the exact
nature of His Excellency's instructions was actually known at the Quai
d'Orsay. The thing was incomprehensible; it rendered our diplomacy
utterly powerless, forewarning the French of our policy and giving them
a weapon to use against us. The mystery was impenetrable. Yet the
truth was only too evident. Within four days of the interview taking
place in London, Kaye brought to the Embassy a copy of a cipher telegram
handed in at the Waterloo Station Telegraph-office, and received by the
French Foreign Office, giving practically every detail of the verbal
instructions received by the Ambassador. The way in which the truth had
leaked out staggered belief.
The Marquess, on receiving the despatch from our Embassy, was at first
disinclined to believe that such a thing could be possible, but I myself
next day carried the copy of the spy's telegram to London and placed it
in his hands. It was in mid-February, and the Channel passage had been
about as bad as it possibly could be. He read the telegram with its
decipher, and stood utterly bewildered.
"Absolutely nothing seems safe from the scoundrels!" he cried angrily.
"How they have obtained this is a complete mystery. No one was present,
for I myself took every precaution. While this goes on we are
powerless--utterly powerless. In order to render our diplomacy abortive
the French are spreading the secret of our policy broadcast in every
capital. The thing is monstrous, and can only be done with the object
of creating war."
"Every negotiation which England has had with the Transvaal since the
commencement of the war is known at the Quai d'Orsay, as you will have
noticed from the reports we have sent from the Embassy," I said.
"Indeed, the news of the declaration of war by President Kruger was
known to the French Government within half an hour of its receipt by our
Colonial Office."
"It may have been sent to Paris direct from Pretoria," answered the
great statesman, frowning in his perplexity.
"But our reply was known in Paris hours before it was officially issued.
The decision of our Cabinet was known at the Quai d'Orsay before the
meeting actually broke up," I remarked.
"I know, Ingram--I know," answered the Marquess. "Unfortunately for us,
this was indeed the case. The mystery of how they obtain their
intelligence is absolutely inscrutable."
We sat together for a long time in deep discussion. From his agitated
manner and the unusual greyness of his fine, intelligent face, I knew
that this man, upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility for
England's security at the most critical moment when the greater part of
her Army was in South Africa, was in fear of some terrible disaster.
That England, with her land forces in the Transvaal, was vulnerable was
known not only to every diplomatist, but also to the man in the street
in every foreign capital. Now that Lord Barmouth had discovered the
existence of the great plot against us, of which the defiant attitude of
the Transvaal was part, active inquiries had been made all over the
Continent to discover its character, and it had been ascertained that it
was the intention of certain Powers to intervene in favour of the Boers,
and thus cause a general rupture with Great Britain.
The plans had been carefully laid. The Boers, backed by France,
Austria, and Germany, had fought well, but British pertinacity and
pluck, under Lord Roberts, had won their way to the relief of Ladysmith
and the occupation of Bloemfontein. With Joubert dead, with Cronje
captured at Paardeberg, the Majuba stigma had been wiped out. Besides,
Pretoria had been occupied. Now the Continental Powers, having planned
to league themselves against us, were awaiting their opportunity to
intervene, cause a rupture, and declare war against us on the slightest
pretext.
It was this matter that we were discussing.
"The plan has been fostered for two years past," the Marquess declared.
"The hostility of the French Press was part of the programme; the
disgusting caricatures in the _Rire_ inflamed the Anglophobes against
us, and this--" and he took up a copy of the _Monde Illustre_,
consisting wholly of a lurid forecast of the "Downfall of England"
profusely illustrated,--"this, coming at such a moment, is more than
mischievous. It will fan the too vigorous flames of French detestation
of England, and increase the craving in France for war. I have read it,
and it is apparently written to show how vulnerable our country is at
this moment. I am not one who fears the downfall of our country; but
should a war unhappily result, it would be a great calamity for Europe,
and for France and the Republic most of all."
"It is an odd thing," I remarked, "that just as this pleasing brochure
appears France should decide to mobilise four army corps in the coming
autumn. All these corps are to be assembled in the north-west, close to
the sea, and ready for a move if an opportunity comes. This is, I
grant, not the first time that such a step has been taken, but it
certainly requires to be met by ample precaution."
"Yes," he answered gravely, beating a tattoo upon his writing-pad with
his quill. "It is not pleasant to reflect that, owing to the savings on
the shipbuilding vote during the past three years, our Navy is not in a
condition to warrant a feeling of security. Battleships and destroyers
are hopelessly in arrears. An addition to our destroyer fleet--the best
preventive of invasion--should be made without delay, as a simple
precaution; for the risks are great with our Army absent, as it will
still be in August, in South Africa."
"In Paris," I said, "we have been asked by the representatives of the
Powers to believe that we have nothing to fear from a deliberate war
policy on the part of the Governments of Germany, France, and Austria.
They are all engaged in enterprises of far-reaching importance, which
would be injured almost beyond recovery by war. Germany, de Hindenburg
has pointed out, has entered with an unparalleled degree of enthusiasm
into the struggle for industrial supremacy, with America and Great
Britain as her only dangerous rivals."
"To blind us to the truth," observed the great Minister, smiling. "The
_Libre Parole_ inadvertently exposed the French secret when two months
ago it declared that the bogey of British power had been flaunted in the
face of the civilised world once too often, and a small but resolute
nation had accepted the challenge. England, that outspoken sheet
declared, has claimed to be predominant everywhere. The nations are
tired of her pretensions, it insisted, and as soon as diplomacy has been
forced to act in accordance with public opinion, there will be an end to
this tyranny of the seas. The French forget," he added, "that it is not
always safe to try to take advantage of a nation hardened by recent
warfare. A country is sometimes more remarkable for military power at
the end than at the beginning of a campaign."
"It appears to me," I remarked, "that Kruger demands peace upon
impossible conditions, in order to be able to say that England has
refused to discuss peace, that she is quite intractable, and that she
is, therefore, responsible for the bloodshed which will continue."
"Most certainly Kruger's peace proposals are part of the Continental
plot. He knows well enough how to play upon human simplicity and at the
same time to assist his friends," observed the great statesman who
controlled England's destinies. "But," he urged, "we must do one thing,
Ingram. We must stop our policy leaking out as it does. This has
already nearly landed us into war over the Ceuta incident, and must be a
constant menace to us. Kaye, who was over a few days ago, told me that
you had discovered certain persons who were evidently spies. What do
you know of them?"
I told him all that I had discovered, omitting of course all reference
to Edith and my love for her, as well as the fact that the Princess had
offered me details of the plot upon terms which I had been unable to
accept.
"Strive to keep them well under observation and discover the source of
their information," he said. "By doing this you will in a great measure
frustrate the plans of our enemies, and afterwards our diplomacy can
checkmate them. But while all our intentions are known our diplomacy
must of necessity be rendered futile. You know these people, Ingram,
and with you rests a very great responsibility."
"I have all along striven to do my duty," I answered. "I have made
effort after effort in order to obtain the truth, but up to the present
all has been in vain."
"Continue," he urged, looking at me with those grave, serious eyes,
beneath the calm gaze of which many a foreign diplomatist at the Court
of St. James had trembled. "By perseverance and with the help of the
secret service you may one day be successful. Then we will unite all
the peaceful forces of England in order to break up this dastardly
conspiracy. It shall be done!" he cried angrily, striking the table
with his clenched fist. "My country shall never fall a victim to this
cunningly devised plot of Messieurs les Anglophobes--never!"
The very thought had set fire to his indignation, he rose, and paced the
room with a flush upon his ashen checks.
"I trust you, Ingram, just as I have always trusted you in the past," he
said, turning suddenly on his heel towards me. "You have a clever and
trustworthy chief in Lord Barmouth, a man fully fitted to occupy the
place I hold in the British Government; therefore, strain every nerve to
thwart the machinations of our enemies. Otherwise there must be war
before the year is out--_there must be_!"
"I shall do my utmost, rely upon me," I answered. "It shall not be
because of my want of enterprise that this base system of espionage is
allowed to continue."
"Good," he said, offering me his hand. "Return to Paris to-night,
resume your inquiries, and remember that in this affair you may be the
means of saving your country from a war long and disastrous. There is a
conspiracy against our beloved lady the Queen. That in itself is
sufficient incentive to arouse to action any man in the Foreign Office.
Remember it always while working at this inscrutable mystery."
I took his thin, bony hand, and he gripped mine warmly. The secret of
the great statesman's popularity with all his staff, from ambassador
down to fourth-grade clerk, was his personal contact with them, his
readiness to consult and advise, and his unfailing friendship and
courtesy.
I promised him that I would continue to do my utmost to discover the
truth. Then, taking my leave, I went out and down the great staircase
into Downing Street, where the dark afternoon was rendered the more
cheerless by the rain falling heavily; and the solitary policeman in his
dripping cape touched his hat respectfully as I passed. The outlook in
every way was certainly a most dismal and oppressive one.
In obedience to the Marquess' command, I returned to Paris by the night
mail from Charing Cross. During that journey I reflected deeply upon
the best course to pursue in solving the problem. But the enigma was
difficult, and its solution beyond the efforts even of the ubiquitous
Kaye and his associates. If I obtained leave of absence, and went down
to the Riviera, was it at all probable that I could learn some clue from
Edith? I was doubtful.
Ever since that night, three months ago, when I had followed the spies
to that obscure hotel in the Rue des Petits Champs, they had been
shadowed, and their doings reported. Wolf had been to Brussels and to
Berlin, while Bertini had returned to London; but their actions,
although sometimes suspicious, had never supplied us with the clue we
wanted.
Bertini was at that moment, according to the reports of the special
section at Scotland Yard, whose speciality it is to watch suspected
secret agents in England, living in comfort at the Midland Hotel at St.
Pancras Station. He usually passed his evenings with a few of his
compatriots, playing dominoes at the Cafe Royal or the Cafe Monaco.
Wolf, on the other hand, was travelling hither and thither visiting
various people, all of whom were noted in the elaborate system of
espionage which was now being exercised upon them.
After a week in Paris I consulted Lord Barmouth, and he agreed that it
would be wise for me to travel to Bordighera and make a final attempt to
obtain some fact from the woman whom I had once hoped to make my wife.
Truth to tell, I made up my mind to travel South with great reluctance,
for so false and untrue had she been that I had long ago resolved within
myself never again to see her. But it was a matter of necessity that we
should no longer remain in ignorance of the source of the information
which constantly leaked out to our enemies; hence, one evening I busied
myself in assisting Mackenzie to pack my bag. While doing so the
electric bell rang suddenly, and when my servant returned from answering
the summons, he announced a visitor, saying:
"A lady has called to see you, sir--the Princess von Leutenberg."
"The Princess!" I gasped in surprise.
Then, wondering what could be the nature of her business with me at that
hour, I smoothed down my hair before the glass, drew a long breath (for
I expected a scene), and entered the room into which she had been shown.
"Leonie--you!" I cried in surprise.
Her rich sables were unclasped at the throat, and when she rose quickly
they fell from her, displaying her finely moulded white neck and arms,
shining like alabaster in contrast to her low-cut corsage of black
chiffon.
Her face was blanched to the lips, the slim, gloved hand she gave me
trembled, and her beautiful eyes, usually so brilliant and sparkling,
had a look of haunting fear in them.
"Gerald!" she whispered hoarsely, as if fearful lest she might be
overheard, "my secret is out! I am ruined--_ruined_! And through you!
You have betrayed me to my enemies--you, the man I love!"