"Of course the transaction is a purely private one. There is, I
suppose, no chance of the truth leaking out? If so, it might be very
awkward, you know."
"None whatever. Your Excellency may rely upon me to deal with these
people cautiously. Besides, they have their own reputation to
consider--as well as ours."
"And how much do you say they offer?" asked His Excellency in Italian,
so that the English servants, if they were listening, should not
understand.
"If you accept their conditions as they stand, they pay one hundred
thousand francs--four thousand pounds sterling--into your account at the
Pall Mall branch of the Credit Lyonnais on Monday next," replied the
other in the same language.
"And your share, my dear Angelo?"
"That is apart. I have arranged it."
"And they'll profit a million, and dress our unfortunate infantry in
shoddy?"
"Possibly, but what does it really matter? A soldier's clothes are of
little concern, as long as he is well armed."
"But the boots?--the contract is for boots as well."
"Your Excellency forgets that the English soldiers have more than once
been sent into the field in boots made of brown paper. And they were of
English make! Ours are German--and we must expect the foreigner to take
advantage of us."
"Yes, but we know well the reputation of these people."
"Of course. But from the English firm we get nothing--the English are
too honest;" and the thin, sallow-faced Sicilian laughed scornfully
towards his superior, Signor Camillo Morini, senator of the kingdom of
Italy and Minister of War.
His Excellency, a tall, well-built, well-dressed man of sixty or so, in
a suit of light grey tweed, whose hair was only just turning white,
whose carefully trained moustache showed but few silver threads, and
whose dark, deep-set eyes were sharp and observant, stood at the window
gazing thoughtfully out upon the green level English lawn where his
daughter Mary and some visitors were playing tennis.
He remained silent, his back to Angelo Borselli, the man in black who
had travelled from Rome to Leicestershire to urge him to accept the
bribe of four thousand pounds from the German firm of army contractors.
Camillo Morini was a man with a strange, adventurous history--a man who,
had he not lived entirely in the political world, would have been termed
a knight of industry, a self-made man who, by his own ingenious craft
and cunning, had risen to become one of Italy's chief Ministers, and a
senator of the kingdom. He entertained some scruples as regards
honesty, both political and financial, yet General Angelo Borselli, the
bureaucrat, who was Under-Secretary, for the past ten years had been
busily engaged in squeezing all the profit possible out of the office he
held.
Morini and Borselli had for years assisted each other, or, to be more
truthful, Morini, who seemed to exercise a kind of animal magnetism over
men, had used Borselli for his own ends, and the Under-Secretary had
been the Minister's cat's-paw ever since the days of Victor Emmanuel
when they were deputies together at Montecitorio. Upon the stormy sea
of Italian politics they had sailed together, and although many times
they had run before the wind towards the shoals of exposure, they had
somehow always managed to escape disaster.
Borselli had, by His Excellency's clever manoeuvring, been given the
rank of general although a comparatively young man, and had been
appointed Under-Secretary of War, while the pair had, in secret, reaped
a golden harvest, even against Morini's will. When deputy, and little
better than a political adventurer, he had been compelled to make his
politics pay; but as Minister, with the responsibility of office upon
him, he had at first worked for the benefit of Italy. Yet, alas! so
contaminating had been the corruption about him that he found it
well-nigh impossible to act disinterestedly, and very soon all his
highest resolves had been cast aside, and with Borselli ever scheming
and ever prompting at his elbow, he was constrained, like his
fellow-members of the Cabinet, to seek profit where he could.
In Italy, under the regime of the late King Humbert, Ministers soon
became millionaires--in francs--and Camillo Morini was no exception.
A born leader of men, gifted with a marvellous tact, a keen, clear
foresight, a wide knowledge of men, and a deep, wily cunning, he held
the confidence of his sovereign, the late lamented king, and took care
that nothing occurred to shake or to imperil it. He was a _poseur_, and
owed his position to his ingenious methods and his plausible tongue.
His highly respectable exterior was inspiring, and the veneer of elegant
refinement of manner had opened to him the best social circles in Rome
and Paris. He was a good linguist, and had been an advocate in Florence
in the days when he made the law a stepping-stone into politics and fat
emoluments.
General Angelo Borselli, the soldierly, middle-aged man of the sallow
face in funereal black, always acted the part of the cringing underling,
yet at heart he really hated and despised the man whom he was bound to
call "His Excellency." It was, however, Borselli's active brain which
evolved those neat schemes by which a portion of the public funds of
poor strangled Italy went into their joint pockets, he who inspired the
Press and kept at bay the horde of political opponents. It was General
Borselli who made suggestions, who juggled so cleverly with figures, and
who ruled the Ministry of War with a rod of iron.
The two men detested each other, yet, held together by the bond of
mutual peculation, they played constantly into each other's hands, and
both had become wealthy in consequence.
Noticing that the Minister remained silent, still looking forth upon the
lawn, the other, with a strange glance of evil envy, remarked--
"You are surely not becoming scrupulous! The commission is only a fair
one. If those pigs of Germans want the contract they must pay for it."
Camillo Morini snapped his bony fingers, but still remained silent. At
heart he longed to free himself of all this dishonesty at the expense of
the comfort and safety of the army. Indeed he knew that by such
transactions his country was being imperilled. Recent disasters in
Abyssinia had been due directly to the defective arms and ammunition
supplied to the troops. The contractors had all paid him heavy bribes,
and the brave sons of Italy had gone forth armed with rubbish, and were
defeated in consequence.
Yes. He longed to become honest, and yet with all his heavy expenses,
his splendid palace in Rome, his magnificent old villa on the hillside
outside Florence, his great tracts of wine-lands and olive-gardens in
the Apennines, and that house he rented as a summer residence in
England, how could he refuse these alluring presents? They were
necessary for his position--for his existence. His eyes were fixed upon
his daughter Mary, a neat, trim figure in a cream flannel dress; his
daughter who believed so implicitly in him, and who regarded him as her
ideal of probity and uprightness. He sighed.
"Perhaps you consider a hundred thousand francs not quite enough?"
remarked the man behind him. "I told the agent in London yesterday,
when he came to Claridge's, that I expected you would want another
twenty thousand, but he said his firm could not possibly afford it. He
is remaining in London until to-morrow for your decision. He intended
to come down here and see you, but I forbade it."
"Quite right! Quite right! Keep all such persons as far from me as
possible, Angelo," was the Minister's quick reply. "I've had more than
enough of them."
The other smiled, still standing erect on the hearthrug, his back to the
fireplace, his hands in his trousers pockets, smoking a cigarette.
"Of course," he said, "I tried to get all I could out of him, but a
hundred thousand was his absolute limit. Indeed I wanted to make it
German marks, not francs, but it was useless. I have brought with me
the acceptance of the contract," he added. "The decree only requires
your endorsement," and he drew from his pocket a paper which he opened
and spread upon the big old-fashioned writing-table of the library.
The Minister, however, still hesitated, while his companion smiled
within himself at what he regarded as a sudden and utterly unnecessary
pang of conscience.
"This cheap contracting is simply sacrificing the lives of our poor
men," declared Morini suddenly, turning at last from the window and
facing the man who was so constantly his tempter.
"Bah! There are cheap contracts and secret commissions in all the
departments--marine, public-works--even at the Ministry of Justice."
"I know, I know," groaned the Minister. "The whole system is rotten at
the core. I've tried to be honest, and have failed."
"Your Excellency must admit that our department does not stand alone.
It is to be regretted that our poor conscripts are half starved, and our
soldiers armed with faulty ammunition, but surely we must live as well
as those in the other ministries!"
"At the sacrifice of Italy?" remarked the Minister in a hard tone. "I
really do not believe, Angelo, that you possess any conscience," he
added bitterly.
"I possess, I think, about the same quantity as your Excellency," was
the other's satirical reply, as he twisted his dark moustache.
"Conscience and memory are the two most dangerous operations of the
politician's intellect. Happy the man who indulges in neither."
"Then you must be very happy indeed," remarked His Excellency, with a
dry laugh. "But," he added, sighing, "I suppose I must fall in with
your suggestion for this, the very last time. You say that the money
will be placed to my account at the Credit Lyonnais next Monday--eh?"
The Under-Secretary nodded in the affirmative, and then the Minister
took up a pen and with a quick flourish scribbled his signature at the
head of the document which gave slop-made uniforms and brown-paper boots
to fifteen regiments of Italian infantry.