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The Secrets of the German War Office

by Armgaard Karl Graves · English · Gutenberg #6948 · 378,392 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Secrets of the German War Office

Author: Armgaard Karl Graves

Collaborator: Edward Lyell Fox


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6948]
                Most recently updated: December 30, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6948

Credits: This eBook was produced by Gordon Keener


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRETS OF THE GERMAN WAR OFFICE ***




This eBook was produced by Gordon Keener.



The Secrets of the German War Office
Dr. Armgaard Karl Graves
with the collabaration of
Edward Lyell Fox


FOREWORD

In view of the general war into which Europe has been precipitated
just at the moment of going to press, it is of particular interest to
note that the completed manuscript of this book has been in the hands
of the publishers since June 1st.  Further comment on Dr. Graves'
qualifications to speak authoritatively is unnecessary; the chapters
that follow are a striking commentary on his sources of information.

The Publishers
August 7, 1914.


Chapter I. How I Became a Secret Agent

_"O Jerum, jerum, jerum, quâ motatio rerum."_

Half past three was heard booming from some clock tower on the twelfth
day of June, 1913, when Mr. King, the Liberal representative from
Somerset, was given the floor in the House of Commons.  Mr. King
proceeded to make a sensation.

He demanded that McKinnon Wood, the House Secretary for Scotland,
reveal to the House the secrets of the strange case of Armgaard Karl
Graves, German spy.

A brief word of explanation may be necessary.  Supposed to be serving
a political sentence in a Scotch prison, I had amazed the English
press and people by publicly announcing my presence in New York City.

Mr. King asked if I was still undergoing imprisonment for espionage;
if not, when and why I was released and whether I had been or would be
deported at the end of my term of imprisonment as an undesirable
alien.

Permit me to quote verbatim from the Edinburgh _Scotsman_ of June 12,
1913:

The Secretary for Scotland replied--Graves was released in December
last.  It would not be in accordance with precedent to state reasons
for the exercise of the prerogative.  I have no official knowledge of
his nationality.  The sentence did not include any recommendation in
favor of deportation.

Mr. King--Was he released because of the state of his health?

The Secretary for Scotland--I believe he was in bad health, but I
cannot give any other answer.

Mr. King--Were any conditions imposed at the time of his release?

The Secretary for Scotland--I think I have dealt with that in my
answer.  (Cries of "No.")

Mr. King--Can the right hon. gentleman be a little more explicit?
(Laughter.) We are anxious to have the truth.  Unless the right
hon. gentleman can give me an explicit answer as to whether any
conditions were imposed I will put down the question again.
(Laughter.)

The Speaker intervened at this stage, and the subject dropped.

Heckling began at this point; word was quickly sent to the Speaker,
and he intervened, ruling the subject closed.

Now consider the Secretary for Scotland's statement.  "It would not be
in accordance with precedent to state reasons for the exercise of
prerogative."  In other words, high officials in Enghand had found it
advisable secretly to release me from Barlinney Prison by using the
royal prerogative.  Why?  Later you will know.

Also, consider the Secretary for Scotland's statement that he had no
official knowledge as to my _nationality_--significant that, as you
will realize.

There are three things which do not concern the reader: My origin,
nationality and morals.  There are three persons alive who know who I
am.  One of the three is the greatest ruler in the world.  None of the
three, for reasons of his own, is likely to reveal my identity.

I detest sensationalism and wish it clearly understood that this is no
studied attempt to create mystery.  There is a certain dead line which
no one can cross with impunity and none but a fool would attempt to.
Powerful governments have found it advisable to keep silence regarding
my antecedents.  A case in point occurred when McKinnon Wood,
Secretary for Scotland, refused in the House of Commons to give any
information whatsoever about me, this after pressure had been brought
to bear on him by three mernbers of Parliament.  Either the Home
Secretary knew nothing about my antecedents, or his trained discretion
counseled silence.

I was brought up in the traditions of a house actively engaged in the
affairs of its country, for hundreds of years.  As an only son, I was
promptly and efficiently spoiled for anything else but the station in
life which should have been mine--but never has been and, now, never
can be.  I used to have high aspirations, but promises never kept
shattered most of my ideals.  The hard knocks of life have made me a
fatalist, so now I shrug my shoulders.  _"Che sara sara."_ I have had
to lead my own life and, all considered, I have enjoyed it.  I have
crowded into thirty-nine years more sensations than fall to the lot of
the average half a dozen men.

Following the custom of our house, I was trained as a military cadet.
This military apprenticeship was followed by three years at a famous
_gymnasium_, which fitted me for one of the old classic universities
of Europe.  And after spending six semesters there, I took my degrees
in philosophy and medicine.  Not a bad achievement, I take it, for a
young chap before reaching his twenty-second birthday.  I have always
been fond of study and had a special aptitude for sciences and the
languages.  On one occasion I acquired a fair knowledge of Singalese
and Tamul in three months.

From the university I returned home.  I had always been obstinate and
willful, not to say pigheaded, and being steeped in tales of wrongs
done to my house and country, and with the crass assurance of a young
sprig fresh from untrammeled university life, I began to give vent to
utterances that were not at all to the liking of the powers that were.
Soon making myself objectionable, paying no heed to their protests,
and one thing leading to another, my family found it advisable to send
me into utter and complete oblivion.  To them I am dead, and all said
and done, I would rather have it so.

After the complete rupture of my home ties, I began some desultory
globe trotting.  I knocked about in out-of-the-way corners, where I
observed and absorbed all sorts of things which became very useful in
my subsequent career.  A native, and by that I mean an inhabitant, of
non-European countries always fascinated me, and I soon learned the
way of disarming their suspicion and winning their confidence--a
proceeding very difficult to a European.  After a time I found myself
in Australia and New Zealand, where I traveled extensively, and came
to like both countries thoroughly.  I have never been in the western
part of the United States, but from what I have heard and read I
imagine that the life there more closely resembles the clean, healthy,
outdoor life of the Australians than any other locality.

I was just on the point of beginning extensive travels in the South
Sea Islands, when the situation in South Africa became ominous.  War
seemed imminent, and following my usual bent of sticking my nose in
where I was not wanted I made tracks for this potential seat of
trouble.  I caught the first steamer for Cape Town landing there a
month before the outbreak of war.  On horseback I made my way in easy
stages up to the Rand.  Here happened one of those incidents, which,
although small in itself, alters the course of one's life.  What took
place when I rode into a small town on the Rand known as Doorn Kloof
one chilly misty morning, was written in the bowl of fate.

Doorn Kloof is well named; it means "the hoof of the Devil."  A
straggling collection of corrugated iron shanties set in the middle of
a grayish sandy plain as barren of vegetation as the shores of the
Dead Sea, sweltering hot an hour after sunrise, chilly cold an hour
after sunset, populated by about four hundred Boers of the old
narrow-minded ultra Dutch type with as much imagination as a
grasshopper--that is Doorn Kloof.

When I rode into the village I was in a decidedly bad temper.  Hungry,
wet to the skin, the dismal aspect of the place, the absence of
anything resembling a hotel, the incivility of the inhabitants, all
contributed to shorten my, by no means long, temper.  I was ripe for a
row.  As I rode down the solitary street I found a big burly _Dopper_
flogging brutally a half-grown native boy.  This humanitarian had the
usual Boer view that the sambrock is more effective than the Bible as
a civilizing medium.  After convincing him of the technical error of
his method, I attended to the black boy, whose back was as raw as a
beefsteak.  Kim completely adopted me and he is with me still.  I
christened him Kim, after Kipling's hero, for his Basuto name is
unpronounceable.  He has repaid me often for what he considers the
saving or his life.  Not many months later Kim was the unconscious
cause of a radical change in my destiny.  I have ceased to wonder at
such things.

By the time Kim had learned sorne of the duties of a body servant we
had reached Port Natal.  War had broken out and I volunteered with a
Natal field force in a medical capacity.  Field hospital work took me
where the fighting was thickest.  During the battle of the Modder
River among the first of the wounded brought in was one of the many
foreign officers fighting on the Boer side.  It was Kim who found him.
This officer's wound was fairly serious and necessitated close
attention.  Through chance remarks dropped here and there, the officer
placed my identity correctly.  It developed that he was Major Freiherr
von Reitzenstein, one of the few who knew the real reasons of my
exile.

In one of our innumerable chats that grew out of our growing intimacy,
he suggested my entering the service of Germany in a political
capacity.  He urged that with my training and social connections I had
exceptional equipment for such work.  Moreover, he suggested that my
service on political missions would give me the knowledge and
influence necessary to checkmate the intriguers who were keeping me
from my own.  This was the compelling reason that made me ultimately
accept his proposal to become a Secret Agent of Germany.  No doubt, if
the Count had lived, I would have gained my ends through his guidance
and influence, but he was killed in a riding race, three years after
our meeting in the Veldt, and I lost my best friend.  By that time I
was too deep in the Secret Service to pull out, although it was my
intention more than once to do so.  And certain promises regarding my
restoration in our house were never kept.

Coming to a partial understanding with Count Reitzenstein, I began to
work in his interests.  The Boer War taught Germany many things about
the English army and a few of these I contributed.  As a physician I
was allowed to go most anywhere and no questions asked.  I began to
collect little inside scraps of information regarding the discipline,
spirit and equipment of the British troops.  I observed that many
Colonial officers were outspoken in their criticisms.  All these
points I reported in full to Count Reitzenstein when I dressed his
wound.  One day he said:

"Don't forget now.  After the war, I want to see you in Berlin."

In my subsequent eagerness to pump more details from the Colonial
officers, I too criticised, and one day I was told Lord Kitchener
wanted to see me.

"Doctor," he said curtly, when I was ushered into his tent, "you have
twenty-four hours in which to leave camp--"

Whether that mandate was a result of my joining in with the Colonial
officers' criticism, or because my secret activity for Count
Reitzenstein had been suspected, I cannot say.  But knowing the ways
of the "man of Khartoum," I made haste to be out of camp within the
time prescribed.

Later I learned that the Count, being convalescent and paroled, was
sent down to Cape Town.  After the occupation of Pretoria, I got tired
of roughing it and made my way back to Europe, finally locating in
Berlin for a prolonged stay.  I knew Berlin, and had a fondness for
it, having spent part of my youth there in the course of my education.
It has always been a habit of mine not to seem anxious about anything,
so I spent several weeks idling around Berlin before looking up Count
Reitzenstein.  One day I called at his residence, Thiergartenstrasse
23.  I found the Count on the point of leaving for the races at
Hoppegarten.  He was one of the crack sportsmen of Prussia and never
missed a meeting.  He suggested that I go to the track with him, and
while we waited for the servant to bring around his turn-out, he
renewed his proposals about my entering Prussian service.

"I expected you long ago," he said.  "I have smoothed your way to a
great extent.  We are likely to meet one or two of the Service Chiefs
out at the track, this afternoon.  If you like, I'll introduce you to
them."

"Is there any likelihood of my being recognized?" I asked.  "You know,
Count, it will be impossible for me to go under my true flag."

He assured me there was not the slightest chance.

"Your identity," he explained, "need be known to but one person."

Later I w as to know who this important personage was.

" Very well," I agreed; "we'll try it."

The Count always drove his own turn-out, and invited me to climb up on
the box.  When his attention was not occupied with his reins and
returning the salutes of passers-by, for he was one of the most
popular men in Berlin, we discussed my private affairs.  The Count
showed a keen interest and sympathy in them and his proposal began to
take favorable shape in my mind.  As he predicted, we met some of the
Service Chiefs at the track.  Indeed, almost the first persons who
saluted him in the saddle paddock were Captain Zur See von Tappken and
a gentleman who was introduced to me as Herr von Riechter.  The Count
introduced me as Dr. von Graver, which I subsequently altered whenever
the occasion arose to the English Graves.  After chatting a bit,
Captain von Tappken made an appointment with me at his bureau in the
Koenigergratzerstrasse 70, the headquarters of the Intelligence
Department of the Imperial Navy in Berlin, but macle no further
reference to the subject that afternoon.  I noticed though that Herr
von Riechter put some pointed and leading questions to me, regarding
my travels, linguistic attainments, and general knowledge.  He must
have been satisfied, for I saw some significant glances pass between
him and the Captain.  The repeated exclamations of "Grossartig!" and
"Colossal!" seemed to express his entire satisfaction.

Following my usual bent, I did not call at Koenigergratzerstrasse 70
as the Captain suggested.  About three days passed and then I received
a very courteously worded letter requesting me to call at my earliest
convenience at his quarters as he had something of importance to tell
me.  I called.

Koenigergratzerstrasse 70 is a typical Prussian building of
administration.  Solid but unpretentious, it is the very embodiment of
Prussian efficiency, and like all official buildings in Germany is
well guarded.  The doorkeeper and commissaire, a taciturn
non-commissioned officer, takes your name and whom you wish to see.
He enters these later in a book, then telephones to the person
required and you are either ushered up or denied admittance.  When
sent up, you are invariably accompanied by an orderly--it does not
matter how well you are known--who does not leave you until the door
has closed behind you.  When you leave, there is the same procedure
and the very duration of your visit is entered and checked in the
doorkeeper's book.

I was admitted immediately.  After passing through three anterooms
containing private secretaries not in uniform, I was shown into
Captain von Tappken's private office.  He wore the undress ranking
uniform of the Imperial Navy.  This is significant, for it is
characteristic of all the branches of the Prussian Service to find
officers in charge.  The secretaries and men of all work, however, are
civilians; this for a reason.  The heads of all departments are German
officers, recruited from the old feudal aristocracy, loyal to a degree
to the throne.  They find it incompatible, notwithstanding their
loyalty, to soil their hands with some of the work connected with all
government duties, especially those of the Secret Service.  Though
planning the work, they never execute it.  To be sure, there are
ex-officers connected with the Secret Service, men like von Zenden,
formerly an officer of the Zweiter Garde Dragoner, but with some few
exceptions they are usually men who have gone to smash.  No active or
commissioned officer does Secret Service work.

Von Tappken greeted me very tactfully.  This is another typical asset
of a Prussian Service officer, especially a naval man, and is quite
contrary to the usual characteristics of English officials, whose
brusqueness is too well and unpleasantly known.

After offering me a chair and cigars, Captain von Tappken began
chatting.

"Well, Doctor," he said, "have you made up your mind to enter our
Service?  For a man fond of traveling and adventure, I promise you
will find it tremendously interesting.  I have carefully considered
your equipment and experience and find that they will be of mutual
benefit."

I asked him to explain what would be required of me, but he replied:

"Before my entering upon that, are you adverse to telling me if you
have made up your mind to enter the Service?"

It was a fair question, and I replied:

"Yes, provided nothing will be directly required of me that is against
all ethics."

I noticed a peculiar smile crossing his features.  Then, looking me
straight between the eyes and using the sharp, incisive language of a
German official, he declared:

"We make use of the same weapons that are used against us.  We cannot
afford to be squeamish.  The interests at stake are too vast to let
personal ethical questions stand in the way.  What would be required
of you in the first instance, is to gain for us information such as we
seek.  The means by which you gain this information will be left
entirely to your own discretion.  We expect results.  We place our
previous knowledge on the subject required, at your disposal.  You
will have our organization to assist you, but you must understand that
we cannot and will not be able to extricate you from any trouble in
which you may become involved.  Be pleased to understand this clearly.
This service is dangerous, and no official assistance or help could be
given under any circumstances."

To my cost, I later found this to be the truth.  So far, so good.
Captain von Tappken had neglected to mention financial inducements and
I put the question to him.

He replied promptly:

"That depends entirely on the service performed.  In the first
instance you will receive a retaining fee of 4000 marks ($1000) a
year.  You will be allowed 10 marks ($2.50) a day for living expenses,
whether in active service or not.  For each individual piece of work
undertaken you will receive a bonus, the amount of which will vary
with the importance of the mission.  Living expenses accruing while
out on work must not exceed 40 marks ($10) a day.  The amount of the
bonus you are to receive for a mission will in each case be determined
in advance.  There is one other thing.  One-third of all moneys
accruing to you w ill be kept in trust for you at the rate of 5 per
cent interest."

I laughed and said:

"Well, Captain, I can take care of my own money."

He permitted the shadow of a smile to play around his mouth.

"You may be able to," he said, "but most of our agents cannot.  We
have this policy for two reasons: In the first place, it gives us a
definite hold upon our men.  Secondly, we have found that unless we
save some money for our agents, they never save any for themselves.
In the event of anything happening to an agent who leaves a family or
other relatives, the money is handed over to them."

I later cursed that rule, for when I was captured in England there
were 30,000 marks ($7,500) due me at the Wilhelmstrasse and I can
whistle for it now.

Captain von Tappken looked at me inquiringly, but I hesitated.  It was
not on account of monetary causes, but for peculiarly private
reasons--the dilemma of one of our house becoming a spy.  The Captain,
unaware of the personal equation that was obsessing me before giving
my word, evidently thought that his financial inducements were not
alluring enough.

"Of course," he continued, "this scale of pay is only the beginning.
As your use to us and the importance of your missions increases, so
will your remuneration.  That depends entirely on you."

He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Very well," I said.  "I accept."

He held out his hand.  "You made up your mind quickly."

"It is my way, Captain.  I take a thing or leave it."

"That's what I like, Doctor; a quick, decisive mind."

That seemed to please him.

"Very well.  To be of use to us, you w ill need a lot of technical
coaching.  Are you ready to start tomorrow?"

"Now, Captain."

"Very good," he said, "but to-morrow will do.  Be here at ten A. M.
Then give us daily as much of your time as we require."

He called in one of his secretaries, gave him command briefly and in a
few minutes the man was back with an order for three hundred marks.

"This, Doctor, is your first month's living expenses.  Retaining fees
are paid quarterly."

As I pocketed the check I remarked:

"Captain, personally we are total strangers.  How is it that you seem
so satisfied with me?"

Again his peculiar smile was noticeable.

"That is outside our usual business procedure," he said.  "I have my
instructions from above and I simply act on them."

I was young then, and curious so I asked:

"Who are those above and what are their instructions?"

No sooner had I put that question than I learned my first lesson in
the Secret Service.  All traces of genial friendliness vanished from
von Tappken's face.  It was stern and serious.

"My boy," he said slowly, "learn this from the start and learn it
well.  Do not ask questions.  Do not talk.  Think!  You will soon
learn that there are many unwritten laws attached to this Service."

I never forgot that.  It was my first lesson in Secret Service.


Chapter II. The Making of a Secret Agent

The average man or woman has only a hazy idea what European Secret
Service and Espionage really means and accomplishes.  Short stories
and novels, written in a background of diplomacy and secret agents,
have given the public vague impressions about the world of spies.  But
this is the first real unvarnished account of the system; the class of
men and women employed; the means used to obtain the desired results
and the risks run by those connected with this service.  Since the
days of Moses who employed spies in Canaan, to Napoleon Bonaparte, who
inaugurated the first thorough system of political espionage,
potentates, powerful ministers and heads of departments have found it
necessary to obtain early and correct information other than through
the usual official channels.  To gain this knowledge they have to
employ persons unknown and unrecognized in official circles.  A
recognized official such as an ambassador or a secretary of legation,
envoys plenipotentiary and consuls, would not be able to gain the
information sought, as naturally everybody is on their guard against
them.  Moreover, official etiquette prevents an ambassador or consul
from acting in such a capacity.

In this age of rapid developments the need of quick and accurate
information is even more pressing.  Europe to-day is a sort of armed
camp, composed of a number of nations of fairly equal strength, in
which the units are more or less afraid of each other.  Mutual
distrust and conflicting interests compel Germany, England, France and
Russia to spend billions of money each year on armaments.  Germany
builds one battleship; England lays down two; France adds ten
battalions to her army; Germany adds twenty.  So the relative strength
keeps on a fair level.  But with rapid constructions, new inventions
of weapons, armor, aerial craft, this apparent equality is constantly
disturbed.  Here also enters the personal policy and ambitions and pet
schemes of the individual heads of nations and their cabinets.
Because there is a constant fear of being outdistanced, every
government in Europe is trying its utmost to get ahead of the other.
They, hence, keep a stringent watch on each other's movements.  This
is possible only by an efficient system of espionage, by trained men
and women, willing to run the risks attached to this sort of work.

For risks there are.  I have been imprisoned twice, once in the
Balkans at Belgrade, once in England.  I have been attacked five times
and bear the marks of the wounds to this day.  Escapes I have had by
the dozen.  All my missions were not successes, more often, failures,
and the failures are often fatal.  For instance:

Early in the morning of June 11, 1903, the plot which had been brewing
in Servia ended with the assassination of the king, queen, ministers
and members of the royal household of Servia.  I shall not go into the
undercurrent political significance of these atrocities as I had no
active part in them, but I was sent down by my government later to
ascertain as far as possible the prime movers in the intrigue which
pointed to Colonel Mashin and a gang of officers of the Sixth
Regiment.  All these regicides received Russian pay, for King
Alexander had become dangerous to Russia, because of his flirting with
Austria.  Besides, his own idiotic behavior and the flagrant
indiscretions of Queen Draga had by no means endeared him to his
people.

I stuck my nose into a regular hornets' nest and soon found myself in
a most dangerous position.  I was arrested by the provisional
government on the order of Lieutenant Colonel Niglitsch on a most
flimsy charge of traveling with false passports.  In those times
arrests and executions were the order of the day.  The old Servian
proverb of "Od Roba Ikad Iz Groba Nikad" (Out of prison, yes; out of
the grave, never) was fully acted upon.  There were really no
incriminating papers of any description upon me, but my being seen and
associating with persons opposed to the provisional government was
quite enough to place me before a drumhead court-martial.

I was sitting in the Café Petit Parisien with Lieutenant Nikolevitch
and Mons Krastov, a merchant of Belgrade, when a file of soldiers in
charge of an officer pulled us out of our chairs and without any
further ado marched us to the Citadel.  The next morning we were taken
separately into a small room where three men in the uniform of
colonels were seated at a small iron table.  No questions were asked.

"You are found guilty of associating with revolutionary persons.  You
were found possessing a passport not your own.  You are sentenced to
be shot at sundown."

The whole thing appeared to me first as a joke, then as a bluff, but
looking closely into those high-cheekboned, narrow-eyed faces with the
characteristically close-cropped brutal heads, the humorous aspect
dwindled rapidly and I thought it about time to make a counter move.
Without betraying any of my inward qualms--and believe me, I began to
have some--I said quietly:

"I think you will find it advisable to inform M. Zolarevitch" (then
minister of War) "that Count Weringrode sends his regards."

I saw them looking rather curiously at each other and then the center
inquisitor fired a lot of questions at me, in answer to which I only
shrugged my shoulders.

"That's all I have to say, monsieur."

I was shoved back in my cell.  About four that afternoon one of the
officers came to see me.

"Your message has not been sent.  My comrades were against sending it,
but I am related to Zolarevitch.  So if you can show me some reason, I
shall take your message."

I gave him some reason.  So much so that he did not lose any time
getting under way.  In fact, it was a very pale, perturbed officer who
rushed out of my cell.  I didn't worry much, but when at about 7.30
the cell door opened and two sentries with fixed bayonets and
cartridge pouches entered, placed me in the center and marched me into
the courtyard, where ten more likewise equipped soldiers in charge of
an officer awaited me, I felt somewhat green.  I know a firing squad
when I see one.  I knew if my message ever reached responsible
quarters, nothing could happen to me; but these were motley times and
all sorts of delays may have happened to the officer.

"Right about wheel" and myself in the center, we marched out of the
courtyard to a little hill to the west of the Citadel.

An old stone building--probably a decayed monastery, for I noticed
several crumbled tombstones--was evidently selected for the place of
execution.  On a little rough, four-foot, stone wall we halted, and
the officer, pulling out a document, began reading to me a rather
lengthy preamble in Servian.

Up to then not a word had been spoken.  I let him finish and then
politely requested him, as I was not a Serb and consequently did not
understand his lingo, to translate it into a civilized language,
preferably German or French.  He seemed somewhat startled and gave me
to understand that he was led to believe I was a Serb.  I used some
very forcible German and French, both of which he was able to
understand, pointing out to him that someone, somewhere, made a
thundering big blunder which somehow would have to be paid for.  He
was clearly ill at ease, but said, "I have to obey my instructions."
I had told him of my message to the minister, and although it was
quite obvious I was sparring for time he seemed in no way inclined to
rush the execution.  Five minutes went; ten minutes went and looking
at his watch, which showed five minutes to eight (although it was fast
getting dusk, I could see that watch-dial distinctly), shrugging his
shoulders and saying, "I can delay no longer," he called a sergeant,
who placed me with my shoulders to the wall and offered me a
handkerchief.  I didn't want a handkerchief.  A few sharp orders and
twelve Mauser tubes pointed their ugly black snouts directly at me.

I hate to tell my sensation just then.  Frankly, I felt nothing
clearly.  The only thing I remember distinctly was the third man in
the second file held his gun in rather a slipshod manner, aiming it
first at my midriff, next pointing it at my nose--which strangely
enough caused me intense annoyance.  How long we stood thus I don't
know.  The next thing I remember was a rattle of grounding arms and
the sight of two other officers, excitedly gesticulating with the one
in charge of the firing squad.  All three presently came towards me
and one pulling out a flask of cognac with a polite bow offered me a
drink.  I needed it; but didn't take it.  All this time I had been
standing motionless with my arms folded across my breast.  I heard one
say to the other, "Nitchka Curacha" (no coward).  If he had only
known.

Indeed, had I anticipated such an experience, had I known the things I
know now I doubt if I would have been so pleased with the results of
my first visit to Koenigergratzerstrasse 70, where the Intelligence
Department of the German Admiralty is quartered.  Will the reader step
back with me in the narrative to the day of my officially joining the
Service?  Returning to my hotel after my interview with Captain von
Tappken in his office, I began to reflect.

I had not entered the Service out of pure adventure or for monetary
reasons alone.  Money has never appealed to me as the all-powerful
thing in life.  I have always had enough for creature comforts and as
for adventure I had had my fill during the Boer War and my world
wanderings.  No, I had joined the German Secret Service for quite a
different reason.  I was thinking of the influences that had pressed
me out of my destined groove, by every human right my own.  I remember
how sanguine Count Reitzenstein was that through the Service I ought
to gain the power I had lost.  But as I sat in the hotel room had
occult powers been given me, I never would have taken up Secret
Service work.  But one is not quite as wise at twenty-four as at
thirty-nine.

Well satisfied with my prospects, I arose early the next morning and
walked briskly to Captain Tappken's office.  Punctually at ten o'clock
I announced myself at the Admiralty and after the usual procedure with
the door man, I was received by Herr von Stammer, private secretary of
Captain Tappken.  A very astute and calculating gentleman is Herr von
Stammer.  Suave, genial, talkative, he has the plausible and unstudied
art of extracting information without committing himself in turn.  A
marvelous encyclopædia of devious Secret Service facts, an ideal
tutor.

When we were alone in his office, von Stammer began by saying
abruptly:

"From now on, you must be entirely and absolutely at our Service.  You
will report daily at twelve noon by telephoning a certain number.  At
all times you must be accessible.  You will pay close attention to the
following rules:

"Absolute silence in regard to your missions.  No conversation with
minor officials but only with the respective heads of departments or
to whomever you are sent.  You will make no memoranda nor carry
written documents.  You will never discuss your affairs with any
employee in the Service whom you may meet.  You are not likely to meet
many.  It is strictly against the rules to become friendly or intimate
with any agent.  You must abstain from intoxicating liquors.  You are
not permitted to have any women associates.  You will be known to us
by a number.  You will sign all your reports by that number.  Always
avoid telephoning, telegraphing and cabling as much as possible.  In
urgent cases do so, but use the cipher that will be supplied to you."

He went on to give numerous other minor details and instructions,
elaborating the system, but which might prove wearisome here.  I was
in his office all the forenoon, and when he ushered me out I half
expected to be called into von Tappken's presence to be sent on my
first mission.  Instead of that, I had to wait five months before I
was given my first work and an exceedingly unimportant thing it was.
During those five months I was kept at a steady grind of schooling in
certain things.  Day after day, week after week, I was grounded in
subjects that were essential to efficient Secret Service work.

Broadly, they could be divided into four classes--topography,
trigonometry, naval construction and drawing.  The reasons for these
you will see from my missions.  My tutors were all experts in the
Imperial Service.  A Secret Service agent sent out to investigate and
report on the condition, situation, and armament of a fort like Verdun
in France must be able to make correct estimates of distances, height,
angles, conditions of the ground, etc.  This can only be done by a man
of the correct scientific training.  He must have the science of
topography at his finger tips; he must be able to make quick and
accurate calculations using trigonometry, as well as possessing skill
as a draftsman.  In my mission to Port Arthur, where I had to report
on the defenses, I found this training invaluable.

The same applies to the subject of naval construction.  Before
entering the German Secret Service, I certainly knew the difference
between a torpedo and a torpedo boat destroyer, but naturally could
not give an accurate description of the various types of destroyers
and torpedoes.  My instructor in this subject was Lieutenant Captain
Kurt Steffens, torpedo expert of the Intelligence Department of the
Imperial Navy.  After a month of tutelage under him, I was able to
tell the various types of torpedoes, submarines, and mines, etc., in
use by the principal Powers.  I could even tell by the peculiar
whistle it made whether the torpedo that was being discharged was a
Whitehead or a Brennan.

I was also drilled in the construction of every known kind of naval
gun.  Dozens of model war-crafts were shown to me and explained.  I
saw the model of every warship in the world.  For days at a time I was
made to sit before charts that hung from the walls of certain rooms in
the Intelligence Department and study the silhouettes of every known
varying type of war-craft.  I was schooled in this until I could tell
at a glance what type of a battleship, cruiser, or destroyer it was,
whether it was peculiar to the English, French, Russian or United
States Navy.  As I shall show in relating one of my missions to
England, I was brushed up on the silhouette study of British warships,
for I had to be able to discern and classify them at long range.  The
different ranking officers of the navies of the world, their uniforms,
the personnel of battleships, the systems of flag signals, and codes,
were explained to me in detail.  I was given large books in which were
colored plates of the uniforms and signal flags of every navy in the
world.  I had to study these until at a glance I could tell the rank
and station of the officers and men of the principal navies.  The same
with the signal flags.  I pored over those books night after night
into the early hours of the morning.  My regular hours for tuition
were from ten to twelve in the forenoon and from two until six in the
afternoon.  But it was impossible to compress all the work into that
time.  I was anxious to get my first mission, and I presume I did a
great deal of cramming.

My study was not all in Berlin.  I spent most of my time there at
Koenigergratzerstrasse 70 and at the Zeughaus, the great museum of the
German General Staff.  But there were side trips to the big government
works at Kiel and Wilhelmshafen.  There I was taught every detail of
the mechanics of naval construction and I was not pronounced equipped
until I could talk intelligently about every unassembled part of a
gun, torpedo tube, or mine.

In the course of my five months' instruction under the various experts
of the Prussian Service I had many opportunities to observe the
exhaustive thoroughness and the minuteness of detail which the German
General Staff possesses.  I did not lose the chance of this
opportunity.  I really did observe and see more than was intended for
me to see.  Of the amazing amount of labor, time and money that has
been spent to gather the information contained in the secret archives
of the German General Staff, the marvelous system of war that has been
perfected in the German Empire, I shall tell when I consider the
secrets of the War Machine.

Naturally, I soon came to know still other things than what they
taught me.  I began to consider the whole proposition of Secret
Service, and before relating my first important mission for Germany I
shall tell you some of the general secrets of the System.

There are four systems of Secret Service in Europe, the four leading
powers each possessing one.  First in systematic efficiency is the
German, next comes the Russian, then the French, and English.  England
has a very efficient service in India and her Asiatic possessions, but
has only lately entered the European field.  Last but not least comes
the International Secret Service Bureau with headquarters in Belgium,
a semi-private concern which procures reliable information for anyone
who will pay for it.  This service is generally entrusted with the
procuring of technical details, such as the plans of a new kind of gun
or data on a new and minor fortification.  Mr. Vance Thompson has also
cited special missions like this one that follows.

Not often does the chance come to leave the regular channels of
espionage and go forth upon a mission out of the ordinary.  That
chance came a few years ago to the Russian agents in Brussels.  In
St. Petersburg the chiefs were desirous of knowing the identity and
names of a group of revolutionists who had formed a sort of colony in
Montreux, Switzerland.  A French woman, known sometimes as Theresa
Prevost (the last I heard of her she was in prison) was detailed to
the mission.  Young and clever was Theresa; likewise the man who was
ordered to accompany her, posing as a "brother," Charles Prevost.

The chief of these Russian fugitives, who were down around the lake of
Geneva, brewing their dark plans, was known.  He was Goluckoffsky, and
he had a son twenty-two years of age--an impressionable Russian son.
Hence the young and pretty Theresa.

It was decided by her Brussels chiefs that she assume the role of an
heiress from Canada.  Five thousand francs for preliminary expenses
were handed over to her and with Charles, the brother, she descended
upon Montreux.  If you were there at the time you will recall the
social triumph made by the young Canadian heiress.  You may even
remember that she seemed to be infatuated with the young
impressionable son of old Goluckoffsky.  The day long they were
together.  They were going to be married, and Charles Prevost the
"brother," stood in the background, chatted amiably with old
Goluckoffsky and his friends and smiled.

Then as an heiress should, Theresa and her "brother" invited
Goluckoffsky, his family and friends, to a pre-nuptial luncheon.  No
expense was spared, for the wires had moaned with requests sent to
Brussels for money.  Young Goluckoffsky was delighted with his
fiancée.  She was insistent that _all_ his friends should be there,
all the revolutionaries--although of course his dear Theresa did not
know that.  How the spelling of their names puzzled her.  With gay
heart young Goluckoffsky wrote out all their names on a slip of paper
so she could send their invitations properly--the names St. Petersburg
wanted to know.

Came the day of the luncheon, a gala affair in the banquet room of the
hotel.  Theresa looked charming; even the grimmest of the old
revolutionists were taken with her.  Old Goluckoffsky beamed upon this
sparkling febrile woman, rich too, who was to marry his son.

Ices had been served when Theresa, her pretty face in smiles, declared
that she had a surprise for her guests.  To her it was the day of
days.  What better than a group photograph of her dear and new
friends?  How she would treasure it!  Strangely enough this did not
please the guests.  Photographs were dangerous.  Suppose, in some way,
the _Okrana_ got hold of them.  They breathed easier, though, when
Theresa, calling in the photographer--the best in Lausanne, she
assured them--instructed him to deliver all copies to
Mr. Goluckoffsky, her dear father-in-law to be.  So the revolutionists
grouped themselves on the hotel lawn; the photographer pressed the
bulb; and everybody laughed.

As quickly as the photographer could print his proofs they were
delivered to Theresa; that night she and her "brother" left Montreux.
In two days the names of all the revolutionists in young
Goluckoffsky's handwriting and their pictures were delivered to the
chief in Brussels.  A substantial fee was paid Theresa, besides, and
she must have smiled; some of those young Russians are delightful.

So much for an example of the clever work done by Brussels.  The
German Service, in which I served on and off for twelve years, has
three distinct branches--the Army, Navy and Personal, each branch
having its own chief and its own corps of men and women agents.  The
Army and Navy division is controlled by the General Staff of Berlin
(Grosser General Stabe), the most marvelous organization in the world.
The Political and Personal branch is controlled from the
Wilhelmstrasse, the German Foreign Office, the Emperor in person, or
his immediate Privy Councilor.  The Army and Navy divisions confine
themselves to the procuring of hidden and secret information as
regards armaments, plans, discoveries, etc.  The political branch
concerns itself with the supervision of meetings between potentates,
cabinet ministers and so forth.  The Personal branch, under the direct
control of the Privy Councilor, is used by the Emperor for his own
special purposes and service in this branch is the _sine qua non_ of
the service.

The Personal consists of all classes of men and women.  Princes and
counts, lawyers and doctors, actors and actresses, mondaines of the
great world, demi-mondaines of the half world, waiters and porters,
all are made use of as occasion arises.  It may well happen that your
interesting acquaintance in the salon of an express steamer or your
charming companion in the tearoom of the Ritz is the paid agent of
some government.  Great singers, dancers and artists, especially of
Russian and Austrian origin, are often spies.  Notably Anna Pavlowa,
famous for light feet and nimble wit, said wit being retained by the
Russian government at 50,000 rubles per annum.  When Mlle. Pavlowa
travels in Germany, she has the honor of a very unostentatious
bodyguard, the government being anxious that nothing should happen to
_them_.  Perhaps Mademoiselle may remember a little incident at the
Palais de Dance in Berlin--Anna _vs._ He of Lichtenstein.

Or perhaps Mademoiselle will recall a little episode in the Eis Arena
in Berlin during a certain New Year's Eve carnival when the
restoration--not the loss--of her magnificent gold chatelaine bag
caused her much embarrassment.  The chatelaine in question being
dexterously commandeered by an expert in such matters of the Secret
Service squad.

It happened that the Personal Branch of the German Secret Service was
exceedingly interested in that gold bag.  Mademoiselle had been
carrying on an affair with a young ordnance officer of the Potsdam
garrison.  Now the Service does not like to see officers, especially
those of the ordnance, becoming involved with ladies like the Pavlowa.
On this particular night he had presented her with the new bag and she
had been injudicious enough to have kept in the golden receptacle a
dangerously compromising letter that he had enclosed.  Injudicious,
dear lady!  Corsage or stockings, Mademoiselle; but vanity
bags--never!

I have reason to believe that the following incident cost the Pavlowa
a rather remunerative engagement in Berlin.

Celebrating the coming of the New Year, Mademoiselle and her party
were feasting in the Ice Arena.  I happened to be at near-by table,
and saw everything; as well as later hearing the inside of it.

The gold chatelaine lay on the table at her elbow.  Upon observing its
position, the waiter--a secret agent on the case--deliberately tipped
over a champagne glass that stood within a few inches of the bag.  Of
course, Mademoiselle was worried lest the wine run over on her gown
and while thus preoccupied, the waiter, stammering apologies, mopped
up the table cloth with his serviette--mopped up the wine and cleverly
covering the bag folded it in the napkin and hurried away.  In two
minutes he had opened it, abstracted the letter from the young
ordnance officer; and was back, apologizing to the Pavlowa.

"Your pardon, Mademoiselle," he said, handing her the gold
chatelaine."  In my haste I picked up this bag by mistake.  I suppose
it is yours."

With a slight start she said "yes," took the bag and hurriedly opening
it felt for the letter.  To her dismay it was gone.  I saw her eyes
narrow a little and then I marveled at time cleverness of the woman.

"No," she suddenly said, "that is not my bag.  I never saw it before.
I advise you to find the owner."

Clever Anna!  You sacrificed the costly gift, but you went over the
frontier just the same.

The necessary qualifications of an agent vary of course with the class
of work to be done.  We can dismiss the waiter and porter class, as
they never receive independent commands and work only under direct
supervision on minor details without knowing why.  The trusted agent
handling important matters and documents must needs be a person of
intelligence, tact and address.  He must be a linguist and, above all,
a man of resource and a close student of his fellow men.  In the woman
agent charm and tact, beauty and manners, _à la grande dame_,
knowledge of the world and men are essential.  The pay varies, but is
always good.  Expenses are never questioned, the money being no
object.  For instance, I spent on a mission through the Riviera 20,000
marks in fourteen days.  My fixed salary towards the end was 10,000
marks a year, besides twenty marks a day living expenses when not at
work, which was automatically tripled irrespective of expenses when
out on work.  Besides, there is a bonus set out for each piece of
work, the amount of which varies with the importance of the case in
hand.  I received as much as 30,000 marks ($7,500) for a single
mission performed successfully.

The risks are great, so are the rewards--if successful.  If not, then
one pays the usual price of failures, in this case only more so.  For
in the event of disaster no official help or protection could or would
be granted and quarter is neither asked nor given.  The work is
interesting and fascinating to those of an adventurous turn of mind
and not overly nervous about their health or squeamish in regards to
established ethics.  I would not suggest the Secret Service as a means
of livelihood for a nervous person.  At times it is arduous and
strenuous work and mostly undertaken by men and women who fear neither
man nor devil.  It is not compatible to longevity.  As a rule, the
constant strain of being on the _qui vive_, playing a lone hand
against the most powerful influences often unknown, having one's plans
upset at the last moment and continually pitting one's own brain
against some of the acutest and shrewdest minds of the world, the
knowledge that the slightest blunder means loss of liberty, often of
life, is wearing, to say the least.

I have known men and women, courageous to a degree, who have broken
dowm under the strain; sooner or later one is bound to succumb.  I
have known of a dozen men and women who have mysteriously disappeared,
"dropped out of sight," caught or killed--_not always by their
opponents_.

To cite but two cases, one of a woman, the other of a man.

Olga Bruder was a spy.  She worked for Germany and for the Service
Bureau in Brussels.  A few years ago it was announced in the European
newspapers that a woman known as Olga Bruder had committed suicide in
a hotel at Memel on the Russian border.  Fraulein Bruder had been sent
after the plans of a Russian fort.  In Berlin they learned that she
had obtained them, but becoming involved in a love affair with a
Russian officer was holding them out, planning to restore them to him.
Also, contrary to the service regulations, she knew four foreign
agents well.  Later reports from Danzig revealed the fact that she had
become enamored with a sectional chief of the Russian Service and that
she was about to give up everything to him.  So Olga Bruder committed
suicide.  _She was poisoned_.

As for Lieutenant von Zastrov, an ex-army officer in the German Secret
Service, he was killed in a duel.  Zastrov was suspected of flirting
with Russian agents--only suspected.  He knew too much to be
imprisoned.  He was a civilian and under the German law entitled to a
public hearing.  Had he still been a military man, a secret tribunal
would have been possible, but being the scion of an old aristocratic
house and knowing official secrets, it was not wise to put him in
against the regular machinery of elimination.  So Zastrov was
challenged to a duel.  He killed the first man the Service chiefs sent
against him, yet no sooner was that duel over than he was challenged
again.  In half an hour Zastrov was dead.

Yes, your own employers often think it advisable at times to eliminate
a too clever or knowing member of their service, unless that same
member has procured for himself a solid good "life insurance" in the
nature of documentary evidence of such character that to meddle with
him brings danger of disclosure.  Of late there have been no attempts
on my life.


Chapter III. Into the East


Reclining in my deck chair on the N. D. L. liner _Bayern_, bound for
Singapore, I was smoking a pipe and idly speculating.  I had
cultivated the acquaintance of my table neighbor, a Japanese, Baron
Huraki, and was at the moment, expecting him to come up the
companionway and take his place in his deck chair beside me.  Instead
came two officers of the Second Siberian Rifles, strolling along the
deck.  It was obvious that, although it still lacked three hours of
noon, these gentlemen had been quite frequently to the shrine of
Bacchus.  I had no fault to find with that, as long as they did not
interfere with my own personal comfort.  When they began tacking
along, talking at the top of their voices on that part of the deck
known by experienced travelers to be reserved for repose and reading,
however, they began to irritate me.  When one of them threw himself
into the Baron's chair and displayed that beastly annoying habit of
continually wriggling and creaking the chair, meanwhile shouting to
his companion at the top of his lungs, I lost all patience.  It only
needed Baron Huraki's appearance and quiet request for the evacuation
of his deck chair, and the insolent stare and non-compliance of the
Russian, to make me chip in with:

"Damn it, sir!  You don't own the whole world yet."

I went on in terse military German which eighty per cent. of all
Russian officers know and the trend of which is never misunderstood.
I pointed out that any further encroaching would be resented in a most
drastic and sudden manner.  The usual farcical exchange of cards,
permitting all sorts of bluffs, does not impress a Russian, but the
imminent chance of blows from fists does.  A pair of astonished
bulging eyes, a muttered apology and quietness reigned.

With a mild smile Baron Huraki dropped into his chair, but I did not
like the expression in his eyes.  Knowing the prowess of the Baron as
an exponent of his national system of self-defense (I had seen him
harmlessly toss about the biggest sailor on the _Bayern_, the chief
butcher, who was as strong as an ox), I said:

"It's a wonder to me, Baron, that you didn't throw that boor half way
across the deck."

I shall never forget his answer.

"We of the Samurai never fight when there is nothing behind it.  It is
not the time."

I did not like the expression in his eyes.

All this transpired because I was on the road to Singapore, away from
Berlin, on my first important mission in the German Secret Service.
The Intelligence Department had instructed me to ascertain the extent
of the new docks and fortifications in course of completion in the
Straits Settlements--an assignment calling for exact topographical
data, photographs and plans.

Leaving port, I had found the _Bayern_ comfortably crowded.  In the
East war clouds were gathering and among the passengers were a number
of Japanese called home, as I afterwards learned, for the impending
struggle.  At Port Said we had taken on a Russian contingent, quite a
few of whom were officers bound for Port Arthur, Dalny and
Vladivostock, and in view of the gathering conflict I found the
relative conduct and bearing of representatives of these races that
were soon to clash, vastly interesting.

And after my experience with the Russians, I was to know more.  From
that time on, I began to notice a subtle change in Baron Huraki's
attitude toward me.  Quite of his own accord he discussed with me the
customs, ideals and aspirations of his caste and country.  Wrapped in
a Shuai kimono, his gift to me, we spent many hot and otherwise
tedious nights, sprawled in our deck chairs, discussing unreservedly
the questions of the East.  What I learned then and the insight I got
into the aims and character of Nippon, were invaluable to me.  Baron
Huraki, now high in the services of the Mikado, is my friend still.
Once a year he sends me _Shuraino-Ariki_, a wonderful spray of cherry
blossoms, the Japanese symbol of rejuvenating friendship.

A Secret Service agent, although making no friends or acquaintances,
always makes it his business to converse with and study his fellow
travelers.  Following my usual habit, I went out of my way to
cultivate the acquaintance of the Japanese, particularly Huraki.  A
scholar of no mean attainments was the Baron.

Quietly, without being didactic, he upheld his end in most discussions
on applied sciences or philosophic arguments, putting forth his deep
knowledge in an unobtrusive way.  I found this trait to be an
invariable rule with most of the Japanese with whom I came in contact.
Once or twice during our lengthy and pleasant chats I tried to veer
the subject round to the all-engrossing Eastern question, only to be
met with the maddening bland smile of the East.  I was rather
inexperienced in the fathomless, undefinable ways of the Orient, but
on the _Bayern_ I learned rapidly the truths that Western methods and
strategy are absolutely useless against the impenetrable stoicism of
an Asiatic and that only personal regard and obligation on their part
will produce results.  In striking contrast to the Japanese, small and
sinewy, any two of them weighing no more than one Russian, quiet,
taciturn, genial and abstemious, were the children of the "Little
White Father."  The Russians were an aggressive, big, well set up,
heavy type of men, by no means teetotalers, talkative, with
overbearing swagger, always posing, talking contemptuously about the
possible struggle in the East, invariably referring to the Japanese as
"little monkey men."  Fortunate for me was it that the _Bayern_ was
carrying both Russians and Japanese; the knowledge I acquired from
Baron Huraki of the Asiatics was invaluable in Singapore; what I
learned of Russians, I needed at Port Arthur.  But I am anticipating
my narrative.

Arriving in Singapore, I put up at the Hotel de la Paix on the Marine
Parade.  I posed as an ordinary tourist with a leaning toward hunting
and a fad of doing research work in tropical botany.  I gradually
became acquainted with a number of English officers and was introduced
at their clubs.  The information obtained through these channels about
the new naval base was merely theoretical and I soon found that to
obtain practical results I would have to get in touch with the native
clerks.  In the English Eastern possessions, you see, most clerical
and minor mechanical positions are held by natives.  It soon was
brought home to me, though, that this cultivating natives was by no
means easy and a rather dangerous thing to do.  To be in any way
successful, I had to find a native of a higher caste, one with
sufficient influence to command the clerks.  If I could get hold of
one of the numerable discontented petty rajahs, for instance, there
might be a chance of obtaining what I sought.

In one of the clubs, I found a clue.  A young Rajah, one of the
numerous coterie of petty princes--fair play compels me to withhold
his name--had got himself into some trouble and the paternal
government had promptly suspended his income.  Here was my chance.  I
soon ascertained young Rajah's haunts and made it my business to
frequent them.  One day I found him on the veranda of the Marine Hotel
and asked him for a match, making a return compliment of a cigarette.
This was a procedure against established British social usage in the
East, where it is considered _infra dig_ to meet a native on a social
footing.  Herein lies a grave danger to English colonial policy.  Your
semi-European educated native, having partly absorbed European
manners, resents this subordination and ostracism.  So, with this
high-spirited, rather clever young rajah.  I accepted his invitation
to whiskey "pegs" and subsequent dinner at his bungalow.  One visit
led to another and we were soon rather intimate.  The young Rajah,
having the usual native taste for luxury well developed and his income
stopped, I became of some monetary assistance to him.  Also,
judiciously fostering his discontent against the government, I soon
had him in a desired frame of mind.  Through his influence on the
native clerks, I was able to gain all the plans, data and photographs
of England's new naval base in the Straits Settlement.

By this time my close association with this notorious young Rajah was
marked and I found it advisable to pull up stakes, which I did in
short order, arranging passage on the N. D. L. liner _Sachsen_,
homeward bound.  Having a week to spare and finding that by leaving
the _Sachsen_ at Colombo, I could catch the _Prinz Regent Leopold_ of
the same line, coming up from Australia en route for Europe, I had my
ticket transferred.  This would give me a ten-day vacation in Ceylon,
where I had a number of acquaintances, having hunted there during my
early travels.  Accordingly, at Colombo I put up at the Galle Face
Hotel, and the first man I met was Allan MacGregor, one of Lipton's
tea estate managers, in Kandy and Newara Elya.  MacGregor and I were
old pals, having done much hunting and bridge playing in days gone by.
I planned to spend a week with him and go after some leopards.  By the
by, I'd like to see the MacGregor's face when he learns that his
quondam friend and boon companion was an international spy!

"Dinna get sair, Mac.  You're no the only chiel what'll tak a wee
surprise."

I was just arranging a hunting trip with MacGregor when Bill Peters,
manager of the hotel, another old acquaintance, handed me a cable
knocking all my plans to bits.  It was a cipher message from Captain
von Tappken, and shortly I was again on the high sea, bound not for
home, but for Port Arthur.  My orders were to ascertain how far the
Port Arthur fortifications were completed and to report on the general
conditions as I found them.  I wondered not a little at this mission,
as I could not then see what close interest Germany could have in a
possible war between Russia and Japan.  Also, I by no means relished
the assignment, for it was a perilous business and I judged the
Russians to be extremely suspicious--which I afterwards learned they
were not.

I decided to travel under the cloak of a doctor of natural history and
botany, my medical training giving me the necessary knowledge to
impersonate the character.  The reader will understand that if Doctor
Franz von Cannitz is subsequently mentioned, it refers to me.  Almost
everybody, especially my government, knew that war between Russia and
Japan was inevitable.  I say, all, except Russia.

To make this situation clear, let me hark back a little.  Japan,
beating China in the war of 1895, took and occupied Port Arthur.
Japan later, compelled by hostile demonstrations on the part of Russia
backed up by France and Germany, restored Port Arthur to China.  Note
the holding aloof of England here.  The actual text of the ultimatum
delivered was that the possession of ceded territory by Japan would be
detrimental to the lasting peace of the Orient.  Japan was bitterly
humiliated and an Asiatic never forgets or forgives.  Japan bided her
time.  Russia's duplicity in the Boxer Campaign, and her seizure of
Port Arthur, gave Japan the needed _casus belli_.  Result, the
Russian-Japanese War.

Arriving in Port Arthur, I established myself at the Hotel l'Europe
and with prospecting spade, botanical trowel and butterfly net, I
sallied forth around the hills of Port Arthur.  The first thing which
struck me was the enormous number of Chinese and Chunshuses (bad
Coolies) employed everywhere.  I came to know that they were not all
Chinese Coolies and that almost every tenth man was a disguised
Japanese.  To an observer, trained in the facial characteristics of
the Oriental, it was not difficult to pick out the Japanese from the
mass of Coolies.  They fairly swarmed in Port Arthur right under the
very noses of the Russians.  As Baron Huraki had told me during our
passage on the _Bayern_, his countrymen were actually employed in the
building of the Port Arthur defenses!  These Japanese w ere later able
to give invaluable information in directing the Japanese batteries.
Numerous other alleged Coolies were acting as servants to Russian
officers.  I also found that on the Lioa Teah Shan Railway and at
Pidgeon Bay the very porters were Japanese.  In fact, the entire
Russian stronghold was infested with them.

This carelessness, lack of knowledge or suspicion, with a total lack
of belief on the part of the Russian officers, that the "little monkey
men" would ever dare attack, is in my opinion the chief cause of the
comparatively quick fall of Port Arthur.  For even with the
incompleted defenses the place was tremendously strong.  Everywhere I
could see the most elaborate plans incomplete.  For instance, as I
wandered through the hills seeking my botanical specimens, I found
that the chain of forts on the hills of the Quang Tong peninsula south
and west of Dalny, were totally unfinished and that the Kuan Ling
section of the Port Arthur and Dalny railway was not even adequately
protected from capture by a hostile force.  The lack of adequate
supervision and the general slovenliness prevailing made it easy for
me to go about unchallenged.  I mixed freely with officers and men.
The expenditure of a few rubles on _vodka_, in the case of the men,
and the never-rejected invitation on the part of most officers to join
in a jamboree, made me a very popular figure indeed.  Through them I
learned that the provisions of Port Arthur were in a most deplorable
state.  To use but one instance: Out of 1,420,000 pounds of flour,
nearly one-half was bad with sour cords, which caused part of the
enormous amount of sickness even then prevailing in the Port Arthur
garrison.  During the war forty-five per cent. of the troops were
incapacitated because of unsanitary food.  I found 600,000 pounds of
maize were wormy and over 700,000 pounds of corned beef were putrid.
Women and wine, however, abounded.

Never in any place--and I know all the gayest and fastest places on
earth--have I seen, comparatively speaking, such an enormous amount of
wine in stock, or such a number of demi-mondaines assembled.  Most of
the officers had private harems.  I often sat in the Casino and
watched the officers of the First Tomsk Regiment, the Twenty-fifth and
Twenty-sixth Siberian Rides practicing with their newly supplied
Mauser-pistols on tables loaded with bottles containing the most
costly vintage wines and cognacs.  At such times the place literally
ran ankle deep in wine.  There were over sixty gambling houses and
dancing halls supporting more than a thousand _filles de joie_.  In
fact, the general intemperance was such that on the night of Admiral
Togo's attack more than half the complement of the Russian fleet was
ashore, dead drunk, in honor of one of the tutelary Russian saints.

The harbor defenses comprising submarine mines and searchlight
stations, etc., I found to be in the worst condition.  In pottering
around, I visited many of the switchboard stations controlling the
submarine mine fields.  Everywhere the eye met evidences of defective
work--rusty contacts, open insulations and exposed connections.  There
were carelessly exposed buoys betraying to the naked eye supposedly
invisible submarine mines.  The whole mine field was so badly laid
that the Japanese were subsequently able to drag and explode three out
of every five mines.  This explains the astounding fact that during
Admiral Togo's five dashes, some of them lasting thirty-six hours, all
that he lost from torpedoes and mines was one ship, the _Hatsuse_,
which struck a floating mine.

I did a great deal of investigating the composition and geological
formation of the ground surrounding Port Arthur.  I found most of the
ground consisting of loose layers of lava scoriæ.  The comparative
easy capture of the otherwise immensely strong 203 Metre Hill did not
surprise me.  The texture of the ground, besides having a deadening
effect on shell fire, made the approach to the forts by means of
parallels surprisingly easy.  The Japanese, by the way, also knew this
peculiarity of the ground and used it to great advantage in their
advances.  I also found the forts on 174 and 131 Metre Hills as well
as the north fort of East Rekwan in an incompleted state.  The
commander of the forts, General Smyrnoff, was using strenuous efforts
to complete the work, but the personal animosity of General
Krondrachinko, the commander of the general defenses, vetoed most of
his suggestions.  The vast sums of money which the Russian central
government appropriated for the fortification of Port Arthur, honestly
used, would have made the place completely impregnable.  It is not too
much to say--and this will be borne out by any trained observer and
student of the conditions then existing in and around Port
Arthur--that sixty per cent. of the money for defense purposes
disappeared mysteriously.

All the Russian officers, however, were not grafters and drunken
libertines.  Among them I did find men of alert and earnest character
who were quite aware of the frightful conditions existing, but who
were so used to them right through Russia that they viewed things with
true Slavonic composure.  I even found the searchlight stations back
on the hills to be in a deplorable state.  Indeed, on the night of
Togo's second attack on Port Arthur the power plant was out of order
and the searchlights which should have flooded the harbor with light
were dark.  The plant was subsequently repaired under enormous
difficulties and cost, but of no avail.  Coolie spies had procured the
exact location of the power house and searchlight stations and thus
aided, the Japanese gunners riddled them with shell.  A great deal has
been said about the wonderful marksmanship of the Japanese, but for
the most part it was due to data on exact distances and locations,
furnished by their spies.

Although the officers were a careless, thoughtless lot, I found that
the personnel of the garrison contained, on the whole, a good type of
Russian soldier.  They were not brilliant but faithful and obedient.
A Russian regiment is never routed.  They stand and are killed, being
too stolid to run.  I found most of the officers of Port Arthur to be
brilliant dashing men of the world, personally of high animal courage,
but self-indulgence, neglect, disbelief in hostilities and
underestimation of their foe, undermined them.

Among the high officials at Port Arthur, Colonel Reiss, Commander of
the Ordnance Service, stood out alone.  He was the only officer, not
excepting General Stoessel himself, who seemed to realize the gravity
of the whole situation.  In long chats which I had with him, he more
than hinted at the lamentable state of his ammunition.  Once I asked
him why these conditions were not changed and he said:

"The Little Father (the Czar) is far away,"--he shrugged expressively.

Officers told me that tons and tons of ammunition bags did not contain
full weight.  Whole ammunition trucks had only a double layer of
powder bags on top, the rest containing sand bags to be used only for
bastions and escarpions, the money flowing into the pockets of the
army contractors.  I met General Stoessel at the Casino twice, and
neither time did he impress me as a military genius.  A soldier of the
Buller type, he was bluff, hearty, courageous and stupid.  His florid
bearded face, thick-set figure and his deep guttural growls reminded
me of a Boer _Dopper_.

Among all the Russians I met at Port Arthur, the most interesting
figure was to me the great battle painter Verestshagin.  I am proud to
be able to say that he called me "friend."  I happened to be of some
assistance to him in alleviating an attack of malaria.  This, with a
similar taste in the arts and literature, soon put us on a friendly
and intimate footing.  I have met many men of letters, artists and
statesmen, but never one who impressed me so much with the profundity
of his learning and thought as did Verestshagin, and I am not easily
impressed.

One night we were sitting on the Casino veranda overlooking the
wonderful Harbor of Port Arthur.  It was one of those quiet, balmy,
semi-tropical nights for which this part of the world is famous, one
of those crystal, clear, soundless nights, and the silhouettes of
Russia's grim silent battle monsters riding at anchor were sharply
outlined on the moonlit waters of the bay.  We were smoking our pipes,
having just finished a long chat about the history of these
regions--the old Manchu and Tartar dynasties, how far they had
influenced and still influence the history of the world, the
_Volker-Wanderung_--of the Huns, the Goths, and Vandals--a subject on
which Verestshagin disclosed a deep store of knowledge.

As the night was far advanced, I suggested that I had probably
trespassed long enough on his kindness and hospitality.  He turned
around in his chair and placing his hand on my shoulder said in his
soft deep voice:

"No, Doctor Cannitz, you are doing me a service instead.  I am
restless to-night.  I have a curious presentiment that before long
these lovely hills will hear the roar of guns in earnest."  Dreamily
speaking as if to himself he continued, "And Russia will lose .  .  .
but I shall not see it."  Abruptly he looked up, sat erect in his
chair and shook himself as if throwing off something that oppressed
him.

"Do you believe in premonition.  Doctor?  I know I shall find my death
here soon."

An indescribable shuddery sensation seemed to pass over me.  I am by
no means sentimental or easily moved, nor am I overly superstitious;
but I have encountered one or two things in the course of my life
which cannot be explained by rule and line.  Throwing off my sudden
strange mood, I told Verestshagin that his morbid fancies were due to
his still feverish condition, and the depressing effect of over-doses
of sulphate of quinine.  He rose and smiled, and said:

"Of course you are right, Doctor."

Before parting, he gave me a little sketch of Port Arthur which I have
still.  I keep it as a treasured memento of one of the few really good
men I have met, and one of the few from whom I had been able to part
without harming.

Verestshagin's premonition was fulfilled.  He died--a hero's death,
going down with Admiral Marakoff on the flagship of the Russian
squadron six weeks later.

I remained at Port Arthur for another five weeks, and exactly seven
days before Togo's first night attack I received a cable from my
government.  It was in cipher, of course, and I was ordered to leave
Port Arthur immediately and make my way home as there was danger of my
being bottled up at any minute.  It is significant that in the
Intelligence Department at Berlin they knew an attack was imminent,
although they did not know it at Port Arthur.  Furthermore, Russian
securities dropped eighteen points on the New York Stock Exchange,
hours before the official knowledge of the attack came through.  This
information leaked out through the German Embassy in Washington.
Seven days after I left, Togo made the torpedo attack in which he sank
the _Czarevitch_, _Retvitsan_ and _Palada_.

Before I took the steamer back to Europe, I went to Kiou-Chau, the
German colony in China, and filed a long report by cipher cable.  Six
months later I had the satisfaction of having a talk with numerous
officers of the German General Staff and of receiving compliments on
the correctness of my observations, reports and predictions.

Later I learned the reasons why I had been sent to Port Arthur.
Germany desired to ascertain the exact relative strength of the Port
Arthur defenses and Russian positions in the Far East for the
following reasons:

Since the time of Frederick the Great, the only power on the Continent
which Germany has feared and has always been loath openly to quarrel
with, is Russia.  Through the setback she received in the Far East in
1905, her influence steadily decreased in the Balkans and the recent
fiasco of Russian machinations during the Balkan war, has made her
become a secondary factor for decades to come.  Germany, through her
keen Intelligence Department, foresaw the result of the Russo-Japanese
conflict and immediately set about to undermine and destroy Russian
influence south of the Austrian border.

By Russia's defeat in the East, the balance of the power was
completely shifted.  It gave Germany and Austria the desired
opportunities and a free hand in the Balkans and Turkey.  Had Germany
through her Intelligence Department found Russia invulnerable in the
East, the map of the Balkans would have to be painted in different
colors--as you will see.


Chapter IV. At the Sublime Porte

I was back in Berlin from my mission to the Far East on March 10,
1905.  The next four months were rather commonplace--odd little
commissions of no particular interest or importance.

On July the 5th, however, there came a hurried summons from Captain
von Tappken for me to report at Koenigergratzerstrasse 70.  I lost no
time in getting around, nor did I have to wait to be ushered up.  I
was shown direct to the Captain's office and as he received me, I
noticed that he was in a rather excited frame of mind.

"Verdammt!  Doctor!  I am going to lose you.  I am requested by the
Wilhelmstrasse to hand you over to them.  Very annoying.  I do not
like to lose you from our branch here.  But we must obey."

I expressed my regrets.

"Doctor, you are bettering yourself.  It is seldom that they over
there take any notice of us over here, or request the services of any
of my men.  But your work has attracted some attention.  I shall
request that your services are not entirely lost to this department.
Herr Stammer will take you over.  Good-by and good luck!"

He gave me a hearty handshake and my connection with the Intelligence
Department of the Imperial Navy came to an end.  Stammer and I hailed
a taxi and drove to the Wilhelmstrasse, where the doorkeeper put me
through an official ceremony similar to the procedure of
Koenigergratzerstrasse 70.  Stammer gave the commissaire his card and
we were shown into a chamber and bidden to wait.  I was frankly
curious about what was in store for me, but I knew better by now than
to ask questions.  Presently there entered a tall, thin, iron-gray
gentleman, the very type of a Prussian bureaucrat.  Walking with quick
nervous steps to his desk he acknowledged our bows with a curt nod and
turning to Stammer he said:

"Well, Stammer?"

"This is Dr. Graver, your Excellency."

"Ah, yes.  Sehr schön.  Convey my thanks to Captain Tappken,
Stammer."

Stammer then bowing himself out, I was asked to step into an anteroom.
There a secretary took me in hand and informed me that the tall, thin,
iron-gray gentleman was Graf Botho von Wedel, Wirklicher Geheimrat and
Vortragender Rab Botho Kaiser--(Privy Councilor to the German
Emperor).

So--Count Wedel.  H'm!  Although this was the first time I had seen
the Count, I had heard a great deal about him.  The Emperor's Privy
Councilor and right hand was the head of the political sections of the
Secret Service.  This promised to be interesting.  I wondered what the
likely upshot would be, but I was interrupted in my soliloquy by a
summons to reenter the Count's chamber.

I was shown to a seat.  Graf Wedel looked me over carefully and
minutely for a considerable length of time with a frank stare of
appraisal.

"How old are you, Doctor?"

I must confess my extreme youth always made this question one of
secret annoyance.

"Twenty-five, your Excellency."

"Very young, very young."  He stared at me again and after a pause
said:

"Yet the reports about your work are satisfactory and show discretion
and intelligence above your years."

I bowed in acknowledgment.

"You will from now on," he said, "become attached to this section of
the Service.  You will be trusted with some very grave and important
matters.  You will receive your orders and instructions only from me.
You will report only to me direct.  On no account will you see any
subordinate or any person, no matter what his official status, without
my expressed permission.  Verstehen sie?"

"Yes, sir."

"For funds," he continued, "you will apply to my secretary.  Of your
expenses you will furnish a monthly account.  How soon can you be
ready to go on a mission?"

I told him in two hours.

"Good!" he exclaimed, "the sooner the better.  This is what I want you
to do.  You will go at once to Constantinople and find out which of
the court officials are in French and Russian pay.  You will find out
the favorites of the high officials and officers, especially the
nationality of these women.  I will not give you any points of
introductions.  They might lead you to be suspected.  They are a
crafty lot down there.  Be careful and take your time.  You know
nothing can be done in a hurry down in that country,"--he paused as if
waiting for questions from me.  We discussed a few minor points then
he said:

"Your official number with us from now on will be 1734.  You will
always use 17 to sign personal cipher messages sent to me.  You will
use 34 in signing official reports and communications."

The necessary arrangements for my preliminary expenses were discussed
with one of his secretaries and I then went back to my quarters to
think over a plan of campaign and prepare myself for the mission.  The
transfer from Captain Tappken's department pleased me for I knew that
at the Wilhelmstrasse I would be in closer touch with the bigger
affairs of diplomacy.  Tappken had hinted at my finding favor with the
Wilhelmstrasse and I guessed that coming on top of my Port Arthur
success a delicate private mission was responsible for it.  To cite
the case:

Germany keeps a watch on all her officers.  When one of them is
spending more money than his income, he is promptly investigated.  I
recalled how they had sent me to the Spandau Garrison to inquire into
the affairs of an officer who was too lavish with his money to suit
the Intelligence Department.  He was an ordnance officer in a small
arms factory at Spandau and it was the natural conclusion that he was
obtaining this extra money by selling state secrets.

I encountered, however, an entirely different situation.  I learned
that he was absolutely innocent on that score but that he was
receiving money from a certain princess who had become infatuated with
him.  She was of a very high house and I realized that her name could
not be mentioned in a report to Captain Tappken.  This situation
required delicate treatment.  I solved the dilemma by reporting to
Tappken that the ordnance officer was guiltless of any act of treason
against his country.  I then made a private report, covering the
intimate facts, which went direct to officials of higher
responsibility.  The princess' name did not appear as far as
subordinates were concerned and the whole affair was hushed up.  My
fortunate discretion in this matter undoubtedly strengthened my
standing with the Wilhelmstrasse.

By this time I had installed myself in quiet quarters on the
Mittelstrasse, and Kim, who had been transformed from a Basuto boy
into an efficient man servant, looked after my comforts.  To secure
myself from the questions of prying neighbors, I had caused it to be
known that I was a retired South African planter inclined to poor
health.  This was the most likely explanation for my curious mode of
living and my sudden periodical disappearances, for I was away from
the Mittelstrasse for months at a time.  Presumably I was traveling
about to the different watering places on the Continent for my health.

My mission to Constantinople called for some considerable thought in
selecting the most advisable character to impersonate.  A tourist came
first to mind.  A tourist was out of the question, because tourists do
not stay long in one place and I expected to be three or four months
in Turkey.  There was nothing to study in Constantinople.  I thought
of a student of botany, the rôle I had used at Port Arthur.  But that
would not do.  The idea of a merchant came to me, but I dismissed the
idea of a prosperous merchant, for it would necessitate making
business connections, a careful and slow process, the fulfillment of
which would consume entirely too much time.  I finally decided to
travel as a physician, or to use the Turkish word a _Hakim_.  A
_Hakim_ is always accorded respect, even reverence, by Turks and
Arabs.  This character determined upon, I went to the telephone and
requested the Service Intelligence Department to give me letters of
introduction to the German hospital and the Pera Hospital in
Constantinople.  They were sent to me signed by the authorities of the
Charitee in Berlin and described that I was going to study tropical
and Asiatic diseases and requested that the hospitals give me every
facility for research work.  I had Kim pack a case of medical
instruments and told him to have everything in readiness to leave
Berlin that night, on the Orient Express.  He was necessary to my
plans and was to accompany me.  A messenger from Wedel brought a few
final verbal instructions, my funds and sealed instructions.  I was
bidden to keep away from all official German intercourse in
Constantinople.  Wedel might have saved himself the trouble of that
word of caution for I knew enough of the subtle Oriental mind to keep
away from anything that would raise the slightest suspicion in regard
to my identity.  If I pride myself on anything, it is a knowledge of
Eastern character.  With the instructions were a thousand marks cash
and a draft for 5000 marks on the Ottoman Bank of Constantinople that
had been deposited in my name.

It may strike the reader as curious that I took Kim with me, but I
knew he could be of tremendous use to me in Constantinople.  In
addition to speaking his _Kaffir_ dialects, he knew Arabic.  Any negro
boy who could speak Arabic could learn almost anything in
Constantinople, which abounds in black men of all tribes and
nationalities.  Among the servants of every household, Kim would find
many compatriots from whom he could get information, impossible for
any European to obtain.

After an uneventful trip to Constantinople, I took preliminary
quarters in the Brasserie Kor, a quiet, second-rate hostelry on the
Rue Osmanly.  I went to an unpretentious place to avoid attracting any
particular attention.  Had I put up at an expensive hotel there would
immediate]y bave been queries about me.  Who is this stranger?  He
seems to have money.  If it isn't his money, whose money is he
spending?  It is not well to invite a Turk's suspicion.  As I was
totally unacquainted with Constantinople, I used the first week for
getting familiar with the geography of the city.  It was necessary
that I learn the location of the various legations and the residences
of high court officials.  The next week I found lodgings in the very
center of the district of court residences and began to seek out the
haunts and places of rendezvous of demi-mondaines, favorites and
hangers-on of the Turkish officials.  On the second day of my arrival,
I had presented my credentials and letters at the German Pera
Hospital, and had my name entered as a visiting honorary surgeon.
Every day thereafter, rain or shine, I made it a point to spend some
time at these hospitals, and it was well that I did.  Once a day and
often twice I would sign the book at the hospital and I believe that
the signature Dr. Franz von Graver appears on the record books of the
Pera and German Hospitals in Constantinople, at least one hundred
times.  Was I not fulfilling my duties as a physician doing research
work?

I finally located myself in the residential district of Pera where I
rented a small residence, typical of the well-to-do Turk of the middle
class and quite in keeping with my assumed character.  An elaborate
residence would have aroused immediate suspicion, for there is no
country on earth where curiosity and suspicion is so easily roused as
in Turkey.  Kipling, who knows the East so well, portrayed Port Said
as the dwelling place of concentrated wickedness.  He is right, but I
do not think he has ever visited Stamboul.  In Stamboul there is with
no exception the most conglomerate mixture of nondescript
nationalities on the face of the earth.  Not only are all
nationalities represented but breeds of men that defy all pathological
research, hideous in their conglomerate intermixtures.  If an Albanian
bandit, himself a mixture of Greek and Nubian mulatto, has issue by an
Arab woman with French blood--find the genealogy.  Can you imagine a
more difficult field of operations for an Occidental and a stranger?

In the course of my preliminary observations, I found Constantinople
to be a city of sharp contrasts.  The quarters inhabited by your true
Ottoman are characteristically clean and comfortable.  The remainder
of the city except foreign quarters is intolerably dirty.  With true
Oriental tolerance, the Turk lets things gang their ain gait.  The
casual observer and traveler always confounds the Turk with the rest
of the nondescript mass of humanity that swarms in Constantinople.
That is a crass mistake.  Your true descendant of Ossman is a clean,
dignified, easy-going gentleman with a deep philosophical strain in
his make-up, contaminated by hundreds of years of contact--not
association, for your true Turk does not associate--with the outcast
Mischling of southern Europe and Asia Minor.

My mission was indeed a difficult one and only by tedious, painstaking
work, observing the life of the city and its character, I succeeded in
isolating the individual who gave me the key to the circumventuous
political life and the government of Constantinople.  It took me a
full month of night work to become familiar with the innumerable
demi-mondaines.  They were of French, Russian and Circassian birth and
extraction, and were identified with the various Turkish court
officials from the Grand Vizier down to an officer in the
Ganitsharies.  This preliminary work is always exhausting, but it is
so necessary on a mission of this kind.  One blunder, one step in the
dark, and you are gone.  One spends months without any tangible
results, often going on the wrong track.  One has to be excruciatingly
circumspect in one's inquiries.  To use a hunter's expression, there
is no quarry so wary, sharp-sighted and keen at smelling the wind as a
political demi-mondaine.

In this work Kim was of inestimable value to me.  In fact, without him
I would not have succeeded at all.  All the households kept by the
Turkish officials and their favorites swarm with negroes of the
various types.  A white man has not the slightest chance of finding
the way into their confidences.  The universal golden key does not
unloose tongues in such cases in the Orient.  But Kim as a member of
the once mighty Zulu nation (he was really a descendant of a prince of
the house of Dingnan) was able, through a mysterious free masonry
still existing among colored races the world over, to obtain most
valuable information.

My method of campaign was to ascertain the name of one of the
favorites of the Turkish officials, to locate her residence and then
put Kim to work.  Finally locating one of these women, I would manage
to learn her name and where she lived.  Then it was time for Kim.

"Kim," I said, "I want you to find out who comes to see her, whether
it is always the same official and if so, how frequently.  I want you
to learn everything you can about any letters she may receive.  I want
to know just where she gets her money from, if she has any outside
sources of revenue, other than in Constantinople.  I want every scrap
of any kind of information about her."

And Kim would go his way, seek out the servants in that household and
he would generally come back with all this information.

Now I noticed that a certain Mlle.  Balniaux was very much in the
company of Abdulla, who was at that time the influential adviser of
the Grand Vizier.  It was known in Berlin that the Grand Vizier had
lately become very deaf and antagonistic to German influence.  The
Wilhelmstrasse knew that France and Russia were at work, but were in
the dark as to the channels.  Therefore I sent Kim to ascertain if
Mlle.  Balniaux was visited by Abdulla at her private residence.  I
told him to learn the exact hour of arrival in each instance and the
length of the visits.  The bare fact that Abdulla might be seen in her
company in public bore no particular significance.  These women are
always accompanied by a whole retinue of officers and young Turkish
noblemen.  It is part of their work.  Their method of procedure is to
bewitch young officers and officials, attach them to their person,
make them spend huge sums of money and then play their card.  I
noticed that the money Turkish officers squandered on these women
compared to their pay and income was tremendous.  They think nothing
of going ahead blindly and buying the most expensive jewels; I have
seen them even buy motorcars.  The result is not difficult to
forecast.  The young officer soon finds himself head over heels in
debt.  Two courses are open to him.  Either he must pay the debt or be
transferred to some dreary interior post, and a Turk who has been in
the gay life of Constantinople would rather commit suicide than go to
any inland garrison.  Those women then pay the debts, exacting state
secrets as the price of their timely assistance.

Abdulla, therefore, might only be one of these hangers-on.  Kim
established connections with Mlle.  Balniaux's household and soon I
had the required information.  He brought me letters and scraps of
paper that Mlle.  Balniaux's dark skinned servants had stolen for him.
He supplemented this by conversations that the servants had overheard
and told to Kim.  All this showed me that more by good luck I had
stumbled upon the hotbed of the prime mover of the whole intrigue,
Mlle.  Balniaux.  There was not the slightest hope of intimidating or
buying over this particular lady's allegiance.  I had to learn exactly
who was subsidizing her machinations and there was no possibility of
obtaining the clew from her.

I must find the accessible person among her intimate friends.  From
time to time I had seen her with a pretty little dark-haired girl who
danced in the Folies Arabic.  I learned her name was Cecelia Coursan.
I began to frequent the Folies, a kind of cabaret crowded every night
with Turkish officers.  Admiration was no longer a delight to her and
she accepted it with a wooden smile.

The Folies is quite dissimilar from its European or American
prototypes, by reason of its Oriental atmosphere.  Most of the year
round it is conducted in the open.  Picture a large court, the center
of which is covered with a priceless Smyrna carpet.  Seated around on
little divans and silk cushions are the principal native performers,
Neulah girls wearing the teasing Yamashk, covering half their faces
although the rest of their figures are visible through gauzy Damascene
shawls.  The European performers, dressed in the latest and most
startling Paris creations, flirt and flitter among the
audience--seated round on dainty marble-topped bamboo tables,
inhaling, in the case of Madame, a dainty "Regie," or if Bey or
Effendi, a Tshibuk or Narghile, gravely drawing on the amber
mouthpiece and slowly exhaling the perfumed smoke.  The gorgeous
officers' uniforms, mostly a vivid red, blue and gold; the picturesque
flowing robes and burnouses, with here and there a six-foot stalwart
silk trousered Albanian with gold and silver inlaid daggers and
pistols thrust in his sash, make a picture reminding one of the
Sheherezade.

Observing that everybody was bent on spoiling this popular little
houri by emphatic admiration, I made myself conspicuous by a
peculiarly British stony indifference.  Nor was I wrong in my tactics.
The piqued little dancer was not to be ignored.

One night she approached my table and challenged me in French, at
which I gave a noncommittal smile.  I pretended that I did not know
French.  Then she tried indifferent German and I looked at her with
puzzled blankness.  Finally she spoke to me in a piquant English and I
answered.  She spoke English extremely well and it developed that she
had been a choriphyée at the London Empire.  I let the acquaintance
grow leisurely.  One night I found her in a fit of despondency, over a
quarrel with her friend, Mlle.  Balniaux.  My subterfuge getting
effective, I was just beginning to ply her with questions when a
Turkish officer full of cognac wandered by and dropped a remark to her
in French.  It went against the grain for those swine to cast
innuendoes to a white woman and forgetting my play acting, I told him
his comments were uncalled for and advised him to draw in his horns a
bit.  After a little bluster to which I angrily replied in French, he
disappeared, and, as I sat down at the table, Cecelia was looking at
me with a queer smile.

"I thought you did not understand French," she said.  "I observe you
have a pretty good Parisian accent."  Then the full significance of my
blunder came to me and I felt like the classic capricornus, meaning
goat.  She said she was tired of the Folies that night and suggested a
drive.  I called a careta and as we were driving down the boulevard I
said to her:

"Is this existence always pleasant?  Is it not as it was with that
officer, often unendurable?"

She replied in a bantering tone, only half hiding a hurt undernote.

"I'm getting used to it," she said.  "A Turkish pig is no worse than
an English cad or a German boor."

The typical, philandering Broadway or Bond Street masher makes the
physiological mistake of undervaluing the innate sense of decency
inherent in every woman.  Gentle courtesy and manners impress a
courtesan by reason of the novelty.  The inverse is often useful in
dealing with a pampered society woman.

Much to the annoyance of the Turkish officers, I often thereafter took
the pretty Cecelia away from the Folies, after her performance, for a
drive, and I began to compare her small confidences with certain bits
of information that Kim had given me.  I knew, or I could pretty well
guess, that she was not staying in Constantinople, enduring the
insults of those Turkish officers, simply for the money she could earn
as a dancer.  Then I made my second dramatic play for confidence.  I
suddenly stopped going to the Folies.  I suppose it was rather
lonesome in Constantinople and a man who was not a Turk was a novelty.

One afternoon she sent for me and I was confronted with a human
situation which I must in this narrative of Secret Service operations
treat as impersonal though it is full of pathetic implications.  I
found her with her luggage packed.

"Why haven't you come to the Folies lately?" she demanded with a
pretty air of bossing the situation.

I told her my work at the hospital had made heavy inroads upon my
time.

"Oh!" she began, tapping a little boot impatiently on the floor; after
a pause, "I have to leave for Paris.  .  .  .  Well?"

"That is most unfortunate."

"Is that all?"

"To say anything more would only be painful, Machere Cecelia."

"But there is no need of our being blue.  Why not make the occasion a
happy one?  Why not come along to Paris?"

She looked up at me with an impudent little smile.

"My dear little girl," I said, "I am no man of means and I cannot go
gadding about Europe.  Besides, I have my work here.  I will be busy
at the hospital for another month."

That seemed to displease her.  She looked at me carefully,
unconsciously her manner changed.  She became somewhat appraising.  It
seemed as though a different woman was speaking,

"Franz," she said, "a man like you is wasting his time pottering
around a hospital with your evident knowledge of the world and people.
With your education and travels you ought to be very valuable to
certin men back in Paris."

I felt what was coming, but I asked her to explain.  She did so and
from her I received a tentative offer to enter the French Secret
Service.  I had difficulty in mastering the muscles of my face to keep
from betraying the laughter that was almost ready to break out.  Very
gravely I asked her to tell me more about Secret Service.  Proudly,
Cecelia showed me letters that she had received from Paris.  From the
addresses and the signatures I thus learned the individuals in direct
control of the system that was undermining German influence by using
demi-mondaines such as Mlle.  Balniaux.  I gathered that Cecelia
Coursan was only a go-between for Mlle.  Balniaux in making her
reports to the French government.  I asked her some more questions,
exclaiming that her proposal interested me tremendously.

I pretended to be particularly anxious as to what pay I would receive
were I to come to an understanding with "her friend in Paris."  She
assured me it was liberal and urged me to hasten to Paris.  I told her
that as soon as I finished my work at the hospitals I would do so.
She then asked me to take charge of her mail and to forward any
letters that might come for her.  I did--to the Wilhelmstrasse.

That incident is one of those in my Secret Service work of which I am
not entirely proud.  Of course from my viewpoint Cecelia Coursan was
not a woman, she was simply the paid agent of another government and
it was a case of her wits against mine; at least with this sophistry I
quieted my doubts.

Three years later I found the same little woman in an obscure cafe in
Antwerp.  She was no longer in the French Service.  I concluded that
her blunder in Constantinople had "broken" her, for she seemed to have
gone down the ladder.  She did not recognize me, but as she seemed to
be in straitened circumstances, I found a way to assist her to at
least three months' board and lodging by sending her anonymously 500
francs.  It was conscience money.

When I had thus located and coupled up the chiefs of the French Secret
Service with the situation in Constantinople, I began quietly to
cultivate the acquaintance of the average Turkish officer.  I had to
learn the tendency of their thoughts.  I met officers and merchants,
administrators and students.  From them all I learned that they were
sick of the intrigues and wire-pulling of the harems.  I learned of
the discontent of the Young Turk party.  I gathered that the time was
ripe for an overturning of the government.  In my report I made a
correct forecast of the trend of affairs.  I drew attention to Enver
Bey, who was even then considered clever, even dangerous, by the Grand
Vizier.  As a most aggressive Young Turk, they had sent him to an
obscure post in Thessalonia, but upon sounding out the younger
officers I found that he was still regarded highly.  Without doubt my
reports in addition to the reports made by von der Golz, the
accredited German instructor of the Turkish Army, helped to shape the
policy of the German Foreign Office.  I learned beyond all doubt that
the Sultan Abdul Hamid was nothing but a figurehead, that the Grand
Vizier, bought by Russian and French gold, was running the government
in a way that was antagonistic to German influences and that the
swarms of demi-mondaines in French and Russian pay were corrupting the
higher Turkish officials to their cause.  All these things I included
in my report and after four months I was back in Berlin.

To better understand the diplomatic significance of this mission, I
shall recast the political situation.  The modern German policy in the
European Orient, inaugurated by Bismarck as a defense and check
against Russia, has always been keen on the friendship and good will
of the Turk for reasons which will be obvious enough later.  During
the Caprivi Chancellorship, the relation between the two empires
became rather lax.  Wilhelm II with his keen farsightedness set about
to remedy this.  In his usual spectacular, but in most cases
efficient, manner, he went with his royal consort in state to
Palestine, calling first on the Sultan.  The tremendously enthusiastic
reception that the Moslem countries accorded him is a matter of
contemporary history.  This was really a master stroke of diplomacy
although sharply criticised at the time.

Until the Kaiser's visit, France, with more or less right, considered
herself protector general of all Mohammedans.  From now on this began
to change.  The immediate result of the Emperor's visit was a close
understanding between the Wilhelmstrasse and the Sublime Porte.  The
buying of vast quantities of guns, ammunition, and the influx of
Prussian officers and drilling instructions, besides huge orders of
all sorts of German goods was significant.

The always uneasy jealousy of France and Russia was at once aroused,
England, in this instance, not taking any decided stand in affairs.
England had spent many lives and much money, notably in the Crimean
War, to keep Russia out of Turkey and was averse to encouraging
Russo-French influences at the Sublime Porte.  How far England would
like either Germany or France to acquire control of the Dardanelles
remains to be seen.  With Russia, it has been bloody wars and grim
struggles since the days of Catherine, misnamed the Great, to
gaincontrol of the Dardanelles.  Unceasing intrigues have been and are
still going on in Stamboul.  Russia's influence has been steadily
undermined by Germany, in Turkey and Asia Minor.  Since the disastrous
campaign against Japan, Russia has made strenuous efforts to recoup
her sphere of influence through her coalition of the principal Balkan
States.  Of this you will learn later.

Germany, always including Austria (the external policy of both
countries on all these questions is synonymous), found French-Russian
influences at work.  Through their marvelous, efficient Intelligence
System, Germany soon learned who were the prime movers and puppets; in
this instance the Grand Vizier and the Seraglio officers; the then
sultan, Abdul Hammid, "The Damned," being completely cowed and under
the thumb of his Grand Vizier, could not be relied on for a moment.
After my mission they knew in Germany that the time was ripe for a
radical change, and they engineered it.  Result: A revolution and the
Young Turks in power, with Enver Bey, Tuofick Pasha, Ibrahim Mander
Bey and similar men, with German training and learning, directing
affairs.  Germany regained complete sway and is to-day easily the most
powerful influence in Turkey.  What significance this has on the
general bearing of European politics, I shall discuss in a later
chapter.


Chapter V. The Grand Duke's Letter

After a number of more or less strenuous missions, I felt thoroughly
run down.  During the Boer War I had been shot through the left lung
and now I began to experience trouble.  A series of hemorrhages
brought about by unchecked cold and exposure, led me to consult
Professor Bayer, the noted specialist in Berlin.  He advised me to get
away from everything for a month at least, recommending the pine
ozone.

There is no lack of pine forests in Germany or Norway; and I had
plenty of acquaintances in both countries.  To any one of them I would
have been welcome, but this would have entailed social obligations and
I wanted to be absolutely alone.  There were but two of my friends at
whose places I could do exactly as I wished, where man and beast knew
me.  One, whose place was in the Pushta, Hungary, was probably away on
a hunting trip and Hungary was too remote.  The other, a schoolmate of
mine, lived near Furstenwalde, about fifty-eight kilometers from
Berlin.  Furstenwalde, I decided, was an ideal spot, near Berlin, yet
isolated enough and in the heart of one of the largest of the
well-cared-for Prussian domain forests.  So Ehrenkrug, the seat of the
_Koenigliche Ober Forsterei_ and the family seat of the Freiherren von
Ehrenkrug, was the place I selected.

I had enjoyed three weeks of rest and quietness, doing some desultory
fishing and shooting but spending most of my time in a hammock slung
under some of the giant Fichten, when my sylvan idyl was disturbed by
the red-faced, stub-nosed post boy of the Forsterei.

He brought me a letter from Graf Wedel, an astonishing missive.

_Dear Graves:_

I hope your health has improved sufficiently for you to attend to this
matter.  Be pleased to understand that this is by no means an official
command.  However, I need not point out to you the advantages,
accruing to you through your assistance in the case.  The matter
briefly is this.  I have been approached by the Grand Duke of
Mecklenburg-Schwerein to assist him in the solving of a rather
delicate private affair.  It is outside the usual routine but we find
it advisable to comply.  The mission is delicate and leads into
England, for which reasons I have decided to let you undertake the
affair if willing.  In case of acceptance, all necessary leave of
absence will be arranged.  This is not a command but let me again
point out the advisability of your showing compliance.

Truly yours, V. Wedel.

Three weeks in the pine forests had been better than all the
physicians in Berlin.  Besides, I was tired of the monotonous country
life and was hungry for the fleshpots of Egypt.  Between the lines of
Wedel's letter I could read the opportunities for earning a handsome
fee.  I wrote Wedel that I had no objections, providing the mission
was something I could accomplish, for I was still in the dark as to
its nature.  I knew that intruding into the private affairs of ducal
and princely houses is often a most unthankful business.  I have ever
found it more satisfactory and less nerve racking to undertake a
mission into some foreign country than to become involved with some
petty local affair of royalty.  For some such affair I judged to be
the dilemma of the house of Mecklenburg-Schwerein.

Within two days there came another communication from Wedel asking me
to be at Mecklenburg-Schwerein on a certain immediate day.  Taking
leave of my friends, and thanking them for their hospitality, I left
for Schwerein.  Upon my arrival at the seat of the dukedom I was met
by a quiet landau of the Grand Ducal stables.  Two flunkies in the
Grand Duke's livery took my luggage, escorted me to the carriage and I
was driven up to the old castle.  The landau took me to a side
entrance and I was promptly shown into an austere and unpretentious
chamber.  Scarcely had I entered when a quiet, elderly,
benevolent-looking gentleman dressed in a shooting jacket appeared in
another doorway, evidently much perturbed.  I at once recognized him
as the old Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein.  He appraised me for
fully a minute; then as if to himself he said:

"You're only a boy, but I suppose they know," shaking his great gray
head.  "Strange times.  Strange times."  Then suddenly realizing his
inhospitality, he urged me to be seated.  "Take a seat, take a seat."

Unlike the gentlemen of the Wilhelmstrasse, he did not plunge
immediately into the subject at hand.  He began a chat with me about
purely personal affairs.  Finally the conversation drifting around to
the cause of my visit, he said:

"Can you fulfill this mission?"

I told him I could not say until I had learned what it was.  I
requested that he give me the privilege of refusal should I find
myself unable to negotiate it successfully.  He agreed that it was
fair and when he looked at me again he seemed to suggest that he did
not believe me so young after all.

"There's rather an unhappy and most inconvenient entanglement in my
household," he began.  "My nephew, the young Grand Duke, is tangled up
and ensnarled with a certain lady in England whom he wishes to marry.
It is unfortunate that she is of too high a social status to be
entirely ignored or roughly bought off.  Still, she is not eligible
for admission into our house.  For more than political reasons, it is
impossible that she enter into an alliance with us."  His eyes
flashed.  "This lady has lately threatened to make trouble through my
persistent refusal to countenance her desired relationship."  He
frowned.  "She has in her possession compromising letters and
documents which my nephew was foolish enough to give her.  These must
be returned to my hands.  Monetary questions need not be considered
for a moment.  Pressure and influence have been tried on both my
nephew and the lady.  But of no avail.  The means I leave to you.  But
force and publicity must at all cost be avoided.  I can give you very
little help as to procedure and information.  What do you think of the
chances?"

It has ever been my way to he conservative in making promises and I
said:

"I hope your Highness will pardon me, but I find it often undesirable
to voice my thoughts until I have reached a certain stage of my
investigations."

This appeared to impress him and he rose saying:

"I am entirely in your hands.  Communicate direct with my chamberlain,
or if necessary to use cable, I shall arrange with your chief in
Berlin for forwarding facilities.  Be good enough to wait and I shall
send you my secretary."  Slapping me on the shoulder, "You'll not
regret it, helping us out of this quandary."

Neither did I.  The Grand Duke stalked out.  A flunky appeared and
conducted me to a private little dining-room where cold game and wine
were served and at the end of which the secretary came in and handed
me an envelope with the Grand Duke's compliments and a request to
start at once on my mission.  Assuring him I would be on the road that
same night, I returned to Berlin.  I got Stammer of the Wilhelmstrasse
on the telephone and requested a preliminary two months' leave of
absence.  I then caught the Hook of Holland Express en route for
London.

Upon opening the Grand Duke's letter I had found it contained three
bank notes of 1000 marks each and a draft for 500 pounds on the
English, Scottish and Colonial Bank, with a note saying that any
future request would be honored at three days' notice to the same
bank.  Thus I would have all the money I wanted in London.

On the way over, I followed my usual custom and considered the
situation in detail.  The lady in question was in society and the
first thing to do was to try to get in touch with the little circle or
clique in which she moved.  This might have been difficult in any
other city but London.  But a man of appearance, culture and money,
setting his stage right, can with tact and persistence force an entry
into any clique of London society.

The only thing I had to worry about was a setting of my stage.  I was
undecided about it.  One often has to leave things to circumstances,
being guided by any momentary points that may arise.  My first task
was to create an impression, something that would get people talking
about me.  I did not want to show any sensational parvenuism; London
is not impressed by that.

Rather, I must become known for some eccentricity that would arouse
legitimate curiosity.  Your Britisher, the women included, are always
interested in a man of travel, a hunter, a desultory globe-trotter;
and nothing attracts the English mind so quickly as a well-bred
eccentricity in manner or habit.  The broad lines of my plan
determined upon, I left the precise setting of the stage until the
last minute.

I quartered myself at first at the Russel Square Hotel, in a few days
transferring to the patrician Langham.  I began by making tentative
inquiries.  I purchased all society papers which I read from cover to
cover, and then carefully feeling my way put further questions that
would locate the set in which my lady was a central figure.  From
acquaintances I made around the hotel, from the society reporters of
newspapers, I began to get little scraps of information.  Fortunately
it was the season in London and everybody was coming into town.  I
soon knew who the Lady's intimates were and their favorite rendezvous.
The next step was to become familiar with the personality of the lady
and to gain some idea as to her habits, her likes and dislikes.  I
heard that the lady was in the habit of going horseback riding in Hyde
Park.  Every day I made it my business to take a two-hour canter along
the bridle path.  My patience was rewarded on the fifth morning, for I
saw her galloping by with a party of friends.

The next morning I was on the bridle path at the same hour.  Finally
she came galloping along with the same group, and after they had
almost gone from sight, I galloped after them.  I found out where they
kept their horses and after they had dismounted I sauntered up to the
stable and made inquiries.  I learned that they always went out at the
same time of day.  Thereafter I made it my business to pass the lady
on the bridle path day after day.  I pride myself on few things, but
my horsemanship is one of them.  Many a hard tussle and bleeding nose
I got riding Brumbies across the wild tracks of Australia.  I also
learned a trick or two among my Tuareg friends which I exhibited for
the lady's benefit on various occasions.  I did not hope to gain an
introduction, but only to attract attention and familiarize her party
with my appearance, applying one of the test points of human
psychology.  I employed the theory of the subconscious attraction of
an often-seen, though unknown face.

I soon ascertained that my lady and her friends followed all the whims
of London society.  One in particular interested me.  They were in the
habit of frequenting Carlton Terrace between three and four every
afternoon and eating strawberries.  I also went to eat strawberries.

Carlton Terrace during the strawberry season is an exquisitely colored
fashion plate of life's butterflies and drones.  This throng of
fashion and beauty, marked with its air of distinction carelessly
abandoned to pleasure, ever murmuring pleasant nothings and tossing
light persiflage from table to table, is truly an interesting study of
the lighter sides of life.  One sits on a magnificent markee-covered,
glass-enclosed terrace, overlooking the Thames with its ever-changing
scenes of fussy tugs and squat barges.

At Carlton Terrace one pays well for the subtleties of eating.  By
courteous consideration of the waitresses I managed to secure a
much-coveted outside corner table, near to the one reserved for the
lady and her party.  I always made it a point to withhold my entrance
until the lady was in the terrace; then I would stroll in alone, take
a seat alone, and show a desire to be alone.  They have a very clever
way of serving strawberries at the Carlton.  A vine, growing from ten
to twelve large luscious berries is brought on in a silver pot.  It is
the acme of luxury.  You pick the fresh berries from the vine on your
table, the Terrace supplies quantities of cream, and you pay half a
sovereign--$2.50--for a dish of strawberries.  One dish is enough for
the average customer.  Every afternoon I ordered five!

Day after day I consumed in strawberries two sovereigns and a
half--$12.50--of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein's money.
Always tipping the girl a half sovereign which made my daily
strawberry bill come up to three sovereigns ($15).  For about ten days
I did this, always at the same time, always being careful to make my
entrance after the lady's party was seated, always ordering the same
number of portions, always giving the girl the same tip.  It wasn't
long before I began to be observed.  I soon saw that not only the
attendants but the patrons of the Terrace were becoming interested in
my foible.  One day as I passed I heard someone say:

"Here comes the strawberry fiend."

I was satisfied.  I knew it would be easy now to effect an entrance to
the lady's set.  I had been marked as something out of the usual in
the restaurant which from three to four in the afternoon at that time
of the year is the most fashionable in London.  Now, a woman like my
lady does not flirt.  If you glance at her under favorable conditions,
such as my strawberry "stunt" had created for me, she will return the
glance.  You both half smile and do not look at each other again that
afternoon.  That is not flirting.  Splitting hairs, we shall call it
psychic interest.

I continued my strawberry festival and one day a manager of Carlton
Terrace told me that people were making inquiries about me.  Several
men had wanted to know who I was.  Under questioning, he told me that
one of the men was a member of the lady's set.  It was easy to put
together two and two.  Obviously the inquiry had been inspired by her.

Meanwhile I had sent several communications to the Grand Duke,
insisting that pressure be brought to bear upon his nephew and to keep
him away from London; not even permitting him under penalty of
stopping his allowance, to write the lady in the case until the Grand
Duke gave his permission.  By now, London had gradually filled and the
season was at its height.  I went the rounds of the theaters from
Drury Lane to the Empire, and I visited the clubs.  I found here men
whom I had met previously and presently I rounded up two or three
fellows with whom I had been fairly intimate at one time or another on
hunting expeditions and at continental watering-places.  I made them
introduce me to different sets.  Dexterous maneuvering obtained me
invitations to afternoon teas and at-homes in the same circle
frequented by my lady.

I was introduced to her at an afternoon reception.  She was a typical
outdoor Englishwoman.  Not particularly handsome, hut possessing to
the full the clearness of skin and eyes and strong virile health, that
is the hereditary lien of Albion's daughters.  Tall, willowy and
strong, of free and independent manners and habits, she was the direct
antithesis of the usual German woman.  I reasoned that this was
probably the reason of the young Duke's infatuation.

"How do you do, you wild Colonial boy.  Still as fond of strawberries
as ever?"

We both burst out laughing.

"So your ladyship observed and classified my little maneuvers."

"Of course," with a toss of her head.

Unforced and pleasant chatting followed.  I could more and more
understand the Grand Duke's infatuation; in fact, considered him quite
a "deuced, lucky beggar."

From that day on I made it a point to be present whenever she attended
public places, such as the theater, concerts or restaurants.
Gradually and imperceptibly, by little services here and there, I won
her confidence.  There was an after-theater supper, in the Indian room
of the Windsor, and I was invited.  By this time people had come to
know something about me.  I was a globe-trotter, a man of leisure,
interested as a hobby in research work in medicine.  I discovered that
her affair with the young Grand Duke was a fairly open secret in her
set; also, that she was expecting him in London almost daily.
Gradually I hinted that I knew the young Grand Duke.  As I gained her
confidence further, I invented amorous affairs for him and hinted to
her about them.  In this way I finally managed to induce her to talk.
Subtly I instilled a vague resentment against him, which was
accentuated by his non-appearance in London society up to now.  His
Highness having been kept away by his Serene Uncle, the serene one
having been cautioned to do so by me.

Two months passed before I was invited to the lady's home in Mayfair
and by that time, partly because I pretended to know the young Grand
Duke, I was on a more intimate footing.  I had learned that she had
met him at a hunting party at the Earl of Crewes' shooting box in
Shropshire.  Later, she intimated that this was but their official
meeting and that their acquaintance actually dated from a mountain
trip she had taken to Switzerland, the universal playground of royalty
traveling _incog_.  I learned too that her heavy bridge gambling had
cost her a lot of money.

The information that the lady was in debt did not come easily.  To
obtain it, I had to work on her maid.  Whenever the occasion arose, I
made it my business to tip the maid liberally.  I contrived to do a
number of little things for her.  Knowing the lady to be out, I called
at the house one day and while pretending to be waiting for my
hostess, I put some leading questions to the maid.  I learned that her
mistress was pressed for money.  That was an opening worth working on.

Thereafter I contrived to be present whenever there was a bridge party
at the lady's.  They are pretty high gamblers, those English society
women, and I came to see that the lady was generally a heavy loser.
It was my good fortune for her to lose to me one night.  Now, it is
the custom at these gatherings not to hand over cash; instead, the
unlucky one pays with what corresponds to an "on demand note."  I took
her note that night and with others--the whereabouts of which I
learned from the maid and which I indirectly purchased from the
holders--I took all these to a notorious money-lender and made a deal
with him.  He was to take the notes and press the lady for payment, of
course keeping my name out of it.  It is obvious that, trying as I was
to w in her confidence, I could not go myself and hold these
obligations over her head.  That same day the money-lender paid the
lady a call.  He paid her a good many other calls, harassing her,
threatening legal action and driving her until she was almost to a
state of nervous collapse.  Well-placed sympathies soon made her talk
and she burst out pettishly that she was in debt and that most of her
acquaintances were in debt--nothing unusual in that set.

This was an opportune chance to be of material benefit to the lady.
Seriously we talked over her affairs.  I found them pretty well
entangled.  We discussed the young Grand Duke.  I gradually persuaded
her that there was no hope of a legitimate marriage with the house of
Mecklenburg-Schwerein, but because of her association with the young
Grand Duke and the fact that she had been betrothed to him, it was
only right that the Duchy provide her with some means of assistance.
The ice was perilously thin, for the lady is a high-spirited woman of
ideals and I had to be careful to word my language so that it would
not appear as though she were blackmailing.  In justice to her, I
believe that if she had taken that view of it she would have dropped
the entire matter, and retired from society for the season rather than
go through with my plan.  Finally I said:

" Have you any means by which you could compel the ducal house to make
adequate acknowledgments and redresses to you?"

After a long hesitation, she jumped up, swept from the room and
returned presently with a handful of letters.  I saw on some of them
the Grand Duke's coat of arms.  The young fool had been careless
enough for that!  She shook the letters in a temper and cried:

"I wonder what Franz's uncle would say to these?  Why, I could compel
him to marry me."

Here was the chance.  The iron--in this case my lady's tempe--was hot.
I suggested that we sit down and talk it over.  As an introductory
attack, to create the impression that I knew what I was talking about,
I hinted that I was connected with a leading family in Germany and
that I was in London _incog_.  I approached the situation from the
viewpoint that I was her friend, not a friend of the house of
Mecklenburg-Schwerein, but that, by knowing them and their ways, I
could be of great assistance to her.

"It is regrettable," I consoled; "but you have no chance for a
legitimate, even a morganatic alliance with the young Grand Duke.  I
consider their entire attitude toward you utterly unfair.  In view of
your understanding with him, you are most certainly entitled to
adequate recompense from his house.  If you went into court you could
obtain this on grounds of breach of promise, but I can understand your
feelings.  Such a step would only cast odium upon an old and noble
family such as yours."

That seemed to her liking.

"But what can I do?" she said.

"In view of my friendship for you," I told her, "I would consider it
an honor if you would permit me to act on your behalf.  I think I can
negotiate with the young Grand Duke's uncle and I promise that he will
regard the matter in a fair light.  I appreciate the extreme delicacy
of the situation and you must observe the necessity of a man handling
this affair."

She shook her head and tapped the letters nervously.

"No.  It is intolerable," she said.  "Not to be thought of."

I saw that I had to make it stronger.  I thereupon invented the most
ingenious lies it has ever been given me to tell.  In about five
minutes I had painted the young Grand Duke in such colors that the
adventures of Don Juan were saintly compared to the escapades of his
ducal highness.

"Why, consider it yourself," I said.  "He was to be over here with you
during the season.  He has not come.  You told me yourself that he has
not even answered your letters.  Well, that's all there is to it.
Your ladyship, he and his house deserve any punishment that you can
visit upon them."

The idea of punishment appealed where the other had failed.  The
outraged pride of woman, especially an Englishwoman, is a terrible
thing.  Soon after that I made haste to take my leave.  At my quarters
I wrote two letters to myself and signed the Grand Duke's name to
them.  In these I offered to pay her ladyship's debts.  They were
addressed to me and after allowing a reasonable time to elapse, I
again went out to Mayfair and read them to her.  She was now cold and
hard and gave me full permission to go ahead and make any arrangements
I deemed advisable.  I thereupon went to the Grand Duke's bank in
London and notified them that I must have 15,000 pounds ($75,000).  In
four days I had the money.  The rest of the transaction was
commonplace.  She handed over all the letters and documents and I gave
her the 15,000 pounds.  I know to-day that her ladyship travels
extensively in a very comfortable manner on the yearly appanage
allowed her by the old Grand Duke.  I do not know whether she still
goes to Carlton Terrace to eat strawberries, but I flatter myself that
her present good fortune is partially due to the fact that she once
went there.

At the time of closing our little transaction, she took the precaution
to protect adequately and seal all letters and documents from my
perusal.  Of course that was a disappointment.  I put the packet away
carefully, closed up my aftairs in London and went back to Germany,
going direct to Mecklenburg-Schwerein where I delivered the package to
the old Grand Duke in person.  He seized it eagerly and opened it in
my presence.  I noticed as he ran through the letters that he did not
stop even to glance at them.  He did, however, stop and pick out from
the pile an official looking document, at the sight of which a
tremendous sigh of relief seemed to escape him.  The document had a
decidedly close resemblance to a marriage license as issued in
Switzerland.  Of course I only got a fleeting, cursory glance at it,
but the eagerness of the Grand Duke in pouncing upon that one document
and ignoring the letters, and hints previously dropped by her
ladyship, embellished by rumors I later heard in Switzerland, all
leave very little doubt in my mind that a clandestine marriage did
actually take place between this lady of the English nobility and the
young Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein.

His Royal Highness must have been satisfied, for besides a fee of 5000
marks, I received a few days later through Wedel a diamond pin and a
magnficent gold watch and chain inscribed with the Grand Ducal arms of
Mecklenburg-Schwerein inscribed:

"For services performed faithfully to my house."


Chapter VI. The Intrigue at Monte Carlo

Back in Berlin from a mission to Vienna, my dispatches delivered, once
more comfortably ensconced in my quarters, on the Mittelstrasse, I was
looking forward to an evening at the Pavilion Mascotte.  I was just
getting into my dinner coat when my man bowed an orderly through the
door and at once all my plans took swift flight out the window.  The
orderly brought a command for my immediate attendance at the
Wilhelmstrasse.  Now the gentlemen of the Wilhelmstrasse are never
kept waiting and do not accept excuses.  Within twenty minutes I was
shown into the chambers of Count von Wedel; in thirty minutes I was
out again, having complete orders.  They know what they want at the
Wilhelmstrasse and they generally get it.

As I hurried back to my rooms I went over what von Wedel had said:

"You are to be ready to take the midnight express to Monte Carlo.  You
will there keep watch on and report any possible meeting between the
Russian, French and English ministers, at present traveling about the
Riviera.  You will have the assistance, if necessary, of the Countess
Chechany.  If you need her, send her this card" (he had given me the
card with his signature across it, a reproduction of which is
presented on this page)."  If meetings or conferences take place, you
must obtain the tenor thereof.  Here is an order for your primary
expenses."  He had flicked an order for 3000 marks, about $750, across
his desk.  "Anything you wish elucidated?"

Not having met the Countess, I had requested her description.  Pushing
a button, Count von Wedel had given the answering secretary an order;
within three minutes I was shown the photograph of the lady and her
signature, of which I took a copy.  Having no further requests I had
bowed myself out.

My first act was to cash the order; second to decide and prepare the
character I wished to assume in Monte Carlo.  I decided on a South
African mine owner.  I know considerable about mining, and being well
acquainted with South Africa, the Rand and Transvaal, I had the
advantage of knowing my locality first.  A Secret Service agent is
always careful to choose a character with which he is fully familiar.
One is certain to meet, sooner or later, men in the same walk of life;
and unless one be well primed, one is bound to be "bowled out."  I
knew there would be South African mining men at Monte Carlo.

Procuring necessary papers, such as mining journals, quotations, a
couple of South African newspapers and photographs, I went home and
had my man carefully select and pack my wardrobe.  I caught the
midnight Lloyd Express.  Selecting a pleasant middle compartment, and
getting my seat registered, I made myself comfortable and began to map
out a campaign.  This was rather a tough problem.  To be in the
slightest degree successful, I had to get near, and if possible in
touch with the ministers that Count von Wedel had designated.  How is
this to be done?  I knew it was far from easy, almost impossible, to
make their casual acquaintance.

I began to cast the personality of the three men over in my mind.
There was Prince Kassimir Galitzin, at that time high in the favor of
the Czar.  There were Delcasse of France and Sir Edward Grey of
England.  All three were gyrating about the Riviera and the
Savoy--ostensibly it was for their health, possibly for other reasons.
In any case the health of these gentlemen seemed a matter of some
concern to the German emperor.  Health trips of more than one
statesman in or about the same locality are looked upon with much
suspicion and promptly investigated; more so when there is any extra
political tension.  At that time--it was in 1910--the air was tense,
Germany was in the dark, unable to distinguish friend or foe.

Sir Edward Grey's habits were unknown to me.  With Delcasse's I was
somewhat familiar.  Prince Galitzin--ah, yes!  I knew him pretty well,
_bon vivaint_, extremely fond of a pretty face.  Um!  I began to see
light.  Here is where the Countess might come in.  By her photograph,
an extremely beautiful woman; but photographs often flatter and do not
give an indication as to personality.  _Festina lente.  I could see.

Five forty-five the next afternoon and I was installed at the Hotel
Metropole in Monte Carlo.  After a refreshing bath, I had supper
served in my room, and sent for the hotel courier--this an old
globe-trotter trick.  Hotel couriers or dragomen are walking
encylopædias.  They are good linguists, observant and shrewd.  They
are masters of the art of finding out things they should not know, and
past grand masters in keeping their mouths shut unless you know how to
open them.  Not with palm oil.  Oh, no, nothing so crude!  You would
never get any truths or anything worth while, with bribery.

I had to find out local intrigues and gossips, who was in Monte Carlo
and what was doing, who were the leading demi-mondaines and gamblers?
Were there any possible Secret Service men?  Hence the courier, a
Swiss from Ober Arau, a district of Switzerland, I luckily knew well.
When he knocked at the door, I cheerily bade him come in.  I made my
manner as good natured as possible.  I offered him a real Medijeh
cigarette.  As befitting his station, he was slipping the cigarette in
his pocket.

"Oh, no!" I said.  "Light it, won't you?  Have a little smoke with me
here.  I'm a bit lonesome.  I want to get my bearings.  Won't you join
me in a glass of wine?"

That was my first oar in.  After some commonplace conversation, as to
how the season was, I asked:

"Anybody of interest here?"

I winked knowingly.  Possibly it pleased the courier to have someone
to chuckle over a secret.  All my oars were in.

"At the Grand Hotel de Londres," he said slyly, "there is a gentleman
who does not fool me."

I offered him another cigarette, helped him to another glass of wine.

"He is registered there as Count Techlow, but he can't fool me.  He is
the Prince Galitzin."

"What's he doing; gambling a lot?" (I knew he wasn't.)

"No," replied the courier, "he's keeping pretty quiet."

"Is there a Countess Techlow?"

The courier shook his head.  _Buenno!_ The coast seemed clear.  I knew
it was extremely awkward and often dangerous to tempt the quarry away
from a demi-mondaine, especially at Monte Carlo.  After chatting some
more I bid the courier good night.  I would see the Countess the first
thing in the morning.

Along toward noon I called at the Nouvel Hotel Louvre where von Wedel
had told me I would find Countess Chechany.  I sent in my own card
bearing the name of H. Van Huit, Doorn Kloof, Transvaal (the reader
will recall my experience at Doorn Kloof); also von Wedel's card with
his signature.

I had to wait for some time, but finally the Countess received me in
her boudoir.  She was in bewitching negligee.  From the photograph I
was prepared to find a very handsome woman, but shades of Helen!  This
was Venus, Juno and Minerva--the whole Greek and any other goddesses
rolled into one!  Tall and willowy, superb of figure, great dark-blue
eyes, masses of blue-black wavy hair, full red lips forming a perfect
Cupid's bow.  But why go on--I might get too enthusiastic, and mislead
the reader.  After my adventure I never saw the Countess again.

I knew that by birth the Colmtess Chechany was a high Hungarian
noblewoman.  By marriage she was related to the Counts of Tolna
Festetics, a leading house in Hungary.  Also, she was one of those
marvelously beautiful women peculiar to that country.  Waving a small
jeweled hand, she begged me to take a chair beside her.  A cigarette
was daintily poised in her fingers.

"Be seated, Mr. Van Huit of Transvaal," gazing at me with a roguish
grin.

We both burst out laughing.  Of course she knew what I was.  Von
Wedel's card showed her that.  But, as her next words plainly showed,
she knew a great deal more.

"I've got a badly sprained ankle, Doctor.  Can you do anything for
me?"

I must have shown a pretty stupid face, for she laughed amusedly
again.  I certainly was surprised, for up to now I had never met her,
and my being a doctor was known only to one or two persons in the
Service.  Besides, it is strictly a rule of the Imperial Secret
Service never to discuss or divulge personal matters.  Her attitude by
no means pleased me.  I cordially hate anyone, especially women,
knowing more than I do.  One never knows where one is standing in a
case like this.  I decided not to show my curiosity, but I was
determined to learn how she knew about me.  Coolly I said:

"Well, Countess, you have somewhat of an advantage.  But if I can be
of any assistance to you, pray command me."

As answer, she sprang up, and pirouetting around the room, exclaimed:

"Now, why be peevish.  If you're good and nice, I shall tell you
sometime all about it."

She never did, for with all her ingenuous mannerisms, my lady was
about the deepest and least fathomable bit of femininity I have ever
met--besides being the possessor of a devil of a temper.  After some
more banter, which I instigated to become somewhat acquainted with my
prospective partner, I came to business.

"Do you know, Countess, the object of my mission?"

"Nothing beyond the intimation of your coming and the command to
cooperate with you if necessary.  So you had better enlighten me, mon
chère."

I did so with some reservation, it being my habit not to let anyone
into a thing too much, least of all a woman.  I suggested that our
first object was to make Prince Galitzin's acquaintance.  As his
Serene Highness resided at the Hotel de Londres, we agreed to dine
there.  After accepting a dainty cup of chocolate I departed,
purposely returning home by way of the Londres.  Here, with a little
diplomacy, I managed to reserve for dinner the table I wanted, one
next to the Prince.  Well pleased, I later dressed, armed myself with
a bouquet of La France roses, and called on my partner.

I had the roses sent up and waited.  The Countess sent word that she
would be down shortly.  I smoked three cigarettes.  Still no Countess.
I have yet to meet a woman who could or would be punctual.  Finally I
heard the soft swish and frou-frou of silk garments and looking up saw
her ladyship coming down the grand stairway.  She was brilliantly
robed, jewels flashed at her neck and wrists.  She was of that type of
beauty difficult to classify, although assured of approval in any
quarter of the world.

"Tired of waiting, mon ami?" tapping me playfully on the arm.  "See,
in return for your patience I am wearing your roses."

She had them pinned on her corsage.  We entered our carriage and drove
to the Hotel de Londres, discussing the parts we were going to play.
Would the Russian Bear be caught?  I wondered.  When we arrived, I saw
that the hotel was pretty well filled.  Everybody who was anybody
seemed to be there.  I noticed a number of prominent American society
ladies.  Experience has taught me that there are three places where
you meet sooner or later every known person in the world,--Piccadilly
Circus, the terrace of Shephard's Hotel, Cairo, and Monte Carlo.

Remembering our diplomatic conversation of the afternoon, the maître
d'hôtel came rushing forward and with profound bows directed us to
our table, which was tastefully decorated with La France roses, the
Countess' favorites (charged to expenses).  As we walked slowly down
the passage to our table, many eyes were turned toward us.  The
Countess appeared unconscious of it all.  Lazily, half insolently
observant, yet wholly unconcerned, she was without doubt the most
strikingly beautiful woman in the assembly; this, though the society
of the world seemed to fill the Londres that night.  Poor Galitzin!

As we seated ourselves, a hush fell about the immediate table to our
right and left.  It was followed by a low buzzing of curious or
interested, wise or ignorant, human bees.  On our right I saw the
Prince Galitzin.  From the moment of our entrance he had kept looking
at the Countess.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye, and
abruptly he changed seats with one of the gentlemen at his table.
Obviously his view of the Countess' face was not at the angle he
wished.  Screwing his monocle in his eye, he began to stare pretty
consistently.

Of course this delighted me.  The avidity with which his Serene
Highness was swallowing the bait promised much.  I thought it
advisable, however, to create a little diversion, something that would
drive away a possible suspicion that this was a "plant."  It was
perfectly obvious to all that the Prince was becoming fascinated.
Also, he was losing his head, for he was showing his fascination in a
rather rude manner.  His staring began to attract some attention.

That was the opportunity I was looking for.  Calling the maître
d'hôtel, I requested him, pitching my voice so that it would be
easily audible at the surrounding tables:

"Persuade the gentleman on our right to discontinue his annoying
stare."

I saw that the Prince had heard my request.  Flushing deeply red, he
abruptly rose and with a bow to the Countess went out of the room.  It
was as I wished.

We finished our exquisite and excellently well-served dinner, and went
out to the Terrace Gardens to have our café Turc and cigarettes.
This, to my mind, is the most enjoyable hour of the day, especially in
a place like Monte Carlo, well groomed, well fed, surrounded by an
ever-varying throng of interesting people, beautiful scenery,
exquisite music, the ideal _dolce far niente_.

Slowly inhaling the smoke of my excellent Medijeh, I fell into a sort
of contemplative reverie while waiting for the Prince.  I knew he
would come.  Back and forth in front of me wandered humanity, all
grades and shades.  Here a prince, scion of a noble house, there a
parvenu, fresh from his latest stock-jobbing victory.  Here a
mondaine, a demi-mondaine with a reputation in half a dozen countries.
Here a group of famous lights of the stage, there a couple of eminent
statesmen.  Truly, a cosmopolitan crowd.  What if the antecedents of
some of the pleasure seekers here were known?  I recognized many and
it being my business to know such things, their stories came back to
me magically.  Skeletons at the feast?  Oh, yes, grewsome ones, too.
Just as well, an all-wise Providence has ordained our inability to see
behind the veil.  I knew that the woman opposite me could no more
afford to lift her veil than I could mine.

Then one of the gentlemen from the Prince's table came up and
addressed me.  First, however, he handed me a card, which I saw bore
the name of Prince Kassimir Vladimir Galitzin.

"Monsieur," said the Prince's companion, "I'm deputed by the Prince to
convey his regrets, should he have caused Madame or you any annoyance.
The Prince begs permission to make his apology to Madame in person."

I replied in words to the effect that Madame being a free agent and
only an acquaintance of mine, must decide this for herself.

"Personally," I added, "I have no objection."

The Countess simply nodded.  The Prince's envoy bowed and went away.

He returned in a few minutes with the Prince.  Mutual introductions,
general chatting, the Prince confining himself exclusively to the
Countess.  About half an hour's talk, refreshments, and there came an
arrangement for luncheon the next day at which the Countess and myself
were invited to be the guests of the Prince.

The luncheon was duly gives at the Hotel Londres and the Prince was a
princely host.  Having been invited, I had to attend.  There was a
theater party that evening however, to which I was not invited, and
supper after, to which I was not invited.  Indeed, when I met the
Prince Galitzin on the grand promenade the next day, he gave me a very
princely stare and kept on walking.  All of which suited me perfectly
well.  He was in the hands of the Countess.

From afar I watched him become daily more infatuated.  They were
constantly driving and attending theaters together.  The Prince was
showering valuable presents right and left.  In the midst of this, I
received information that Delcasse had arrived at Nizza.  The Countess
had her eyes on the Prince, so this left me free to take care of
Delcasse.  My work was now to learn if the French minister held any
meetings with Sir Edward Grey or Winston Churchill, ministers from
England, who were shortly expected also to arrive at Nizza.
Subsequently I guessed there would be a final meeting with the Prince.
I continually and unobtrusively followed Delcasse everywhere, but
nothing eventuated owing to unforeseen circumstances in the House of
Commons, and the Cabinet of England, Sir Edward and Churchill were
unable to take their "vacation trips" in person.  So they sent an
emissary with important documents to Delcasse, one of which came to
light in his subsequent meeting with Prince Galitzin.

On the night of the ninth of November I received a wire from the
Countess.  It w as delivered at the Hotel Anglais, Nizza.  Opening it,
I read:

"Return.  De Camp here.  Meeting our friend."

Of course by De Camp she meant Delcasse.  Clearly he had slipped away
from me.  "Our friend" referred to the Prince.  This was news indeed!
Hiring an automobile I made record time for Monte Carlo.  I arrived at
my hotel about three o'clock in the morning of the tenth and found
awaiting me in my room, the Countess' maid.  She delivered part of an
important conversation which had taken place between Delcasse and the
Prince, and of which I shall presently give the substance and its
explanation.  Instructing the maid to inform her mistress that I
wished to see her at ten A. M. at the Casino, in the Salle des
Estranger, I dismissed her.  I chose the Salle des Estranger because
it was the most frequented and for that reason the least suspicious
meeting place.

We met as appointed and the Countess confirmed the maid's report.  For
about three hours on the evening of the ninth, Delcasse, of France,
and Prince Galitzin of Russia were in conference in the Prince's
chamber at the Hotel de Londres.  Having changed her hotel and being
in a chamber adjoining the Prince's, the Countess had managed to
overhear most of this conversation.  In her report there were
naturally some blanks.  She had not been able to hear every word
uttered.  But the purport and trend showed me it was of tremendous
importance.

It was evidently an arrangement between France and Russia, with the
understanding of England, to force Germany into an abject isolation.
Going further, they were trying through a closer alliance of these
three great powers to curtail the activities of German expansion and
completely coup her up diplomatically.  The Countess told me that
Prince Galitzin and Delcasse were going to meet again that same
afternoon about five o'clock.  As it was absolutely imperative to
obtain knowledge of the rest of the conversation I enjoined the
Countess to exert all her skill to secure the details at this most
important interview, and to meet me once more in a corner of the Salle
des Estrangers, this time at seven o'clock.

I returned to my hotel, settled my bill and had my grip taken over to
the railway station; I got a ticket for Milan.  It is always advisable
to lay your plans carefully for a possibly very hurried exit, the
nearest friendly border in this instance being Italy.  In the event of
trouble arising, hurrying through France would have been out of the
question.  Switzerland is an independent country which would have held
me up officially on being requested to do so, although they do not
extradite for political offenses, but being held up is bad enough.
But once across the Italian border, I was safe enough.  A
semi-official hint from the Wilhelmstrasse to the Quirinal would
always procure an open sesame for me--no danger of being held up
there.  Hence the ticket for Milan.

The intervening hours I spent on the outskirts of Monte Carlo,
dropping into many a quaint little wine cellar.  At dusk I entered the
Salle des Estrangers of the Casino and settling myself comfortably in
the appointed corner, awaited developments.  It was a trying wait.  I
sat there from seven to ten-thirty, smoking incessantly.  I was just
finishing my last cigarette and I had about come to the end of my
resources in entertaining myself.  One has ample time to conjecture
all sorts of possible mishaps, and mishaps are deucedly uncomfortable
in this sort of work.

Not to create curiosity or suspicion, by my long occupation of this
particular corner, I had started a tremendous flirtation with a rather
plain, rather rotund lady of the English Cook's Tour type.  Her return
glances and smiles attracted the amused attention of most of the
passers-by, especially the attendant of that part of the Salle.  This
was rather good, for if one does not gamble or flirt in the Casino he
is regarded by the commissaires as a Chevalier d'Industrie, in other
words "confidence man."

Just then I saw the Countess' maid making a signal to me from the
entrance door and without as much as by your leave I hurried after
her.  In about ten strides, I overtook the girl.

"Have you got anything for me?"

"No, sir," she replied.  "But her Ladyship wishes to meet you.  You
are pleased to make a rendezvous."

This was clever and suited me; knowing that she must have procured
something of importance, I selected a little café, the Boulanger,
close to the station, and after giving the girl a louis, I jumped into
a carriage and drove there.  In a short time I was joined by the
Countess who had thrown a hooded mantle over a brilliant evening gown.
Quietly slipping into a chair next to me she took some folded papers
out of her glove, and while fastening a little rosebud into my lapel
slipped them into mvv pockets with the words:

"All I could obtain, but you'll find it sufficient.  I'm leaving for
Rome to-morrow night.  Bon voyage!"

I looked at my watch and saw I had time to catch the train for Milan.
No sooner was I locked in my coupe and the train in motion, when I had
a good look at the papers.  They were two half sheets of note paper,
embossed with the princely coat of arms and containing abbreviated
sentences of dates, and names and a route, all in the handwriting of
Delcasse and the Prince.  The whole gist with her repeated, overheard
snatches of conversation showed clearly an intended secret visit of
the President of France to the Czar of Russia, the names of the
officials to be present and the meeting place, the Czar's yacht, the
_Staandart_, off Kronstadt.  This meeting, however, did not take
place, the Kaiser forestalling it by his quick action on the Moroccan
situation.

From Milan I went to Berlin and within forty-eight hours the documents
were delivered into the hands of Count von Wedel, and then into the
hands of the Emperor.  Their significance was this:

The Moroccan trouble was very ominous.  Germany was in a position
where, sooner or later, she would be forced to act.  Before this
mission the Kaiser was in the dark.  France, Russia and England did
not have their cards on the table.  He did not know which countries
would remain neutral in case of war with France.  He had suspected
that there was some sort of an understanding brewing against him.  The
results of my mission--learning of Sir Edward Grey's message to
Delcasse, Delcasse's meeting with Prince Galitzin of Russia--confirmed
this beyond all doubt.

But how strong was this alliance?  How close would England stick to
France?  This he did not know.  He only knew that there was a sort of
an agreement, and to find out just how strong was the bond between
England and France, he used a master stroke of diplomacy.  He brought
the Moroccan question to a crisis, long before it was anticipated; he
sent the warship _Panther_ into Agadir Harbor and forced England and
France to show their hands.  How close war was averted, only four
persons knew at that time--the Captain of the _Panther_, von Wedel,
the Kaiser and myself.  And how Europe just missed being plunged into
a tremendous war I shall tell of in my secret mission that nipped war
in the bud.

I came near forgetting.  For his discretion at Monte Carlo, the Czar
rewarded Prince Galitzin by transferring him to a province in Siberia.


Chapter VII. The Kaiser Prevents a War

It was Kaiser weather in Germany.  Back from a five months' trip to
the Far East, Berlin seemed to me like Heaven.  I had finished a
secret diplomatic mission for the Kaiser and as a result my pocketbook
was full.  Days and days in the Orient make a man try to crowd into
the first twenty-four hours home, all the enjoyments that his city
offers.  Accordingly, with money running through my fingers like sand,
I planned a long ride in the Grunewald; I saw myself ordering the few
special dishes one gets at Kempinsky's; I would buy a good seat at the
Metropole and to wind up I would look in at the Admiral's Palace when
the performers were mingling in the audience.  It being my first day
back in Berlin, that programme appealed to me a lot more than did the
European diplomatic tangle.  I had been idling the early afternoon
hours at the Café Bauer, Unter den Linden, but my programme for the
rest of the day finally chosen, I got up, paid my bill and strolled
home.

My boy Kim must have been on the lookout for me; before I could use my
key the door flew open.

"Master!" he exclaimed in his heavy, jerky voice.  "You are wanted on
the telephone."

I had an uneasy suspicion of what that meant, which was confirmed when
my boy added, "Number A 11 wants you."

Bismillah!  That settled it!  That ended my Grunewald, Kempinsky's,
the Metropole, the Admiral's Palace.  It meant the highway away.  It
always means that when a man of my position is in Berlin and somebody
says to call up that number, A 11.  Whenever A 11 summons it is wise
to be prompt.  It is the number of the Wilhelmstrasse, the foreign
office of Germany.

I lost no time in getting a connection and I was told to report at the
Wilhelmstrasse at 10.30 that night.  I was to hold myself ready for
instant service.  I must come prepared possibly for a long journey.

I gave orders for my boy to have me dressed by ten o'clock.  I decided
to take a nap, for I knew that midnight interviews with the gentleman
at the Wilhelmstrasse often led to some mighty unexpected and
protracted traveling.  Before going to sleep, however, I went over the
European situation.  What had loomed big?  I hoped it was something
big, for while a Secret Service agent doesn't get blasé, he likes to
work when thrones or the boundaries of empires are involved.

I reflected that June--it was in 1911--had been a decidedly strenuous
month for more than one cabinet in Europe.  Germany and France were
snapping and snarling.  France was going around with its chest stuck
out; its attitude decidedly belligerent.  Of course, this cockiness
was due to the fat fingers of honest John Bull; indeed, England had
more than ten fingers in this pie that was baking.  I knew that the
air was full of Morocco and war talk.  I knew that there was a certain
faction in Germany that was trying to push the Kaiser into a war.
This clique, composed of army and navy men and the junker, the "Jingo"
party, the big gun interests, backed by public opinion, were trying
their utmost to urge war with France.  What was the latest at the
Wilhelmstrasse?

On the stroke of 10.30 I was there.  I handed my number to the
commissaire.  This number is important.  All German secret agents are
known by number, all carry little cards and a photograph of mine is
published between these covers.

Presently the commissaire returned and showed me into the chambers of
Graf von Wedel, Privy Councilor to the German Emperor.  With another
man in evening dress, I was told to wait in an antechamber.  We bowed,
and although we took pretty good stock of each other, neither spoke.
It is an unwritten law not to hold unnecessary conversation in the
Imperial Secret Service.  After about half an hour's wait, we were
shown into the Count's private room.  This rather astonished me, for
the usual rule at the Wilhelmstrasse is to interview only one man at a
time.  Clearly something out of the ordinary was in the air.  After
the Count greeted us, he inquired if we were known to each other.
Receiving a negative, he introduced us.  My companion was a Herr von
Senden, ex-officer of the Zweite Gaarde Dragona.

"You will both be taken at half-past eleven to a certain room," said
the Count.  "You will advance to the middle, wheel to your right, face
the portière and stand at attention.  You will answer all questions,
but make no comments or queries yourself.  I need not enjoin you to
total silence.  You understand?"

We bowed.  Just then a gong boomed somewhere below us.  A last word
from the Count, "Be ready!"  He left us.  Reappearing almost
immediately, he beckoned us to follow him.  We noticed that he seemed
even more grave than usual.  Down a flight of stairs along a great
corridor we made our way, no one speaking a word.  At the end of the
corridor we saw two sentries; then, a big solid oak door, guarded by
an attendant in the livery of the Royal Household.  At a sign from the
Count we halted; he knocked.  The door was opened by an officer of the
Erste Gaarde du Corps and, remembering our instructions, we entered
and came to attention in the middle of a large room, facing an
adjoining chamber, the portières to which were divided.  The room in
which we stood was brilliantly lighted, but the other was dark, save
for a green glow that came from a shaded reading lamp on a big writing
desk.  Senden looked at the desk and gave a sort of gasp.

Then I quite understood his emotion.  For seated behind that heavy,
old-fashioned desk, was Wilhelm II, Emperor of Germany.

We stood at a rigid attention, absolutely silent, for full five
minutes.  The dimly lit, solitary figure at the desk made no sign but
went on writing.  I am not a timid or a nervous man, the sort of work
I was doing seasons one pretty thoroughly.  But this began to get on
my nerves.  Drawn up in front of the Emperor and waiting, waiting.
Contact with the great ones of the earth, especially through Secret
Service, can take some almighty queer turns and a short circuit is
confoundedly unhealthy for the negative wire.  The more I looked at
that silent, lonely figure, War Lord of Europe, the more I began to
feel a great big longing for the African Veldt, a thousand miles north
of Port Natal, preferably.

Suddenly the Emperor made a move, and there came a sharp, rather high
pitched voice, saying, "Wedel, I will see the doctor."

At once Herr Senden was shown from the room; obviously the mission,
whatever it was, was not for him.  I never saw him again.

I was bidden to step to within three paces of the Emperor; the officer
who escorted Herr von Senden from the room attempted to return, but
was waved out.  There were just the three of us: Count Wedel, standing
at the corner of the desk on the right, the Kaiser and myself.  I had
seen the Emperor on many occasions, but never so close before.  He
appeared to be lost in some document.  He looked well but older than
any of his portraits.  Tanned, almost dark, his rather lean face bore
a striking likeness to Frederick the Great; more so than ever, for he
is getting gray.  I realized that none of his portraits do his eyes
justice.  Of a bluish-steel gray, they have an icy, impersonal,
weighing look in them.  It is hard to define.  It struck me in that
moment that Lord Kitchener, Teufick Pasha, Cecil Rhodes, and Li Hung
Chang had exactly those same eyes--the eyes of men who feel it in them
to master the world.

Presently His Majesty looked up, and in that same, rather shrill
voice, asked:

"How long are you in the Service?"

"Three years, sir."

"You know Morocco?"

Morocco!  So that was it.  France and Germany quarreling over the
bone, at the point of war!  I replied:

"Yes, sir!"

"How long were you in Morocco?" continued the Emperor.

"About twelve months, sir."

On this he seemed to hesitate.  Frankly, I was nervous, so instead of
thinking about Morocco, I noticed that the Kaiser wore the undress
uniform of a Colonel of the Grenadier Guard with the star of the Order
Pour le Merite, dangling from his coat button.  As if making up his
mind, he turned again on me those gray eyes.

"You know Kaid MacLean?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you get to know him?"

"I happened to be of assistance to Sir Harry Kaid MacLean who was at
that time Commander-in-Chief and Man-of-Affairs to the Sultan of
Morocco."

My answer seemed to please the Emperor, for his eyes gleamed.

"Any likelihood of his remembering your services?"

I hesitated, then said:

"I cannot vouch for another man's memory, sire.  Besides, I do not
care to put the Kaid to the test."

The Emperor looked at me queerly, but, evidently satisfied with my
answer, he turned to Count Wedel, saying:

"He will do.  Have the dispatches ready."

At once the Count hurried noiselessly into an adjoining room.  The
Kaiser, making one of his characteristic sudden movements, flung
himself back into the chair, looked steadily at me, and added:

"Besides the official dispatches you will memorize these commands, for
the Captain of the warship _Panther_."  He handed me a note, which I
did not immediately look at, for he continued: "Outside of Count
Wedel, no one is to know anything of your mission.  No one is to know
that you are carrying a verbal message from me to the Captain of the
warship _Panther_.  Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The Emperor as abruptly drew himself forward, and propping his head
with his hands, fell into a deep study, gazing fixedly at nothing.  He
seemed in that moment to be considerably older.  His face, even for
the tan, had that grayish look of a man who is carrying some
tremendous responsibility.  It came to me swiftly, the popular clamor
for war, _Panther_!--the _Panther_ was lying off Spain ready to steam
across the Mediterranean to Morocco.  And I was to bear secret orders
from the Emperor to the _Panther's_ captain.

Then I opened the note that the Emperor had given me, and began to
memorize its contents.  Amazement must have shown on my face.  A blow
with a feather would have knocked me down.  So wonder Wilhelm II was
staring blankly, no wonder this message had to be delivered verbally.
Hurriedly I began to memorize it.  Presently, I saw Count Wedel come
in and he and the Kaiser began to talk in whispers.  Then Wilhelm
looked up and said:

"Have you memorized it?"

"Yes, sir!"  Taking the note from me, he at once struck a match and
held it under the paper until it was reduced to ashes.  Then making a
curt gesture of dismissal, Wedel gave me a signal to retire and we
backed toward the door.  I was in possession of a secret known only to
the Emperor himself and which at that moment the cabinets of France
and England and the financiers of the world would have given hundreds
of thousands of dollars to possess.  Out into the hall we backed,
always being careful never to commit the discourtesy of turning our
faces away from the Emperor, and the last I saw of him, was that
lonely figure seated at his desk, the greenish light playing over him,
around and beyond him darkness and his face illuminated against that
background, grayish, old.  There he was, at his desk at midnight, in
an underground chamber of the Foreign Office, the Emperor of Germany,
working in solitude, while most of his subjects slept, tirelessly
mapping out a policy the trend of which he dared discuss with no man
save Wedel and possibly his oldest son.

Bowing, we were out in the hall; the big oaken door closed.  Wedel led
the way to his private chamber.  He produced a package of sealed
papers and handing it to me, said:

"Doctor, this is a most important affair.  There is a most serious
trouble brewing somewhere--trouble about war.  We have our suspicions
as to what power is behind all this and we are going to find out.  You
are well enough acquainted with the situation to require no further
illustration.  You know how here at home they are also trying to force
the Emperor into a war-- You will leave this package at the Embassy in
Paris.  It must be there at the Rue de Lille to-morrow noon.  To do so
you will have to catch the Orient Express at half-past three this
morning.  At the Paris legation you will receive another package which
you will take on to Madrid.  After delivering this, you have _carte
blanche_ to make your way to the _Panther_, which you will find off
Barcelona.  Also, you will visit Gibraltar and inform yourself of the
strength and state of preparation of the British Naval Squadron
there."  He paused.  "This time you will not apply at the cashier's
desk.  Your expenses are borne this time out of the Emperor's private
chatulle.  In a few hours time I will have French and Spanish money
ready for you and send it to your lodgings.  You thoroughly understand
your instructions?  Of course, you have not forgotten the message that
you memorized before the Emperor?"

I assured him I had not and after a cordial handshake I bowed myself
out and hurried back to my quarters.  Here I found that my boy had my
traveling bag ready with his usual completeness.  One does not take
much baggage on these trips.  Pajamas, slippers, smoking cap, tooth
brush, have seen me three-quarters around the globe, and I never
carried a six-shooter in my life.  In all my experience I have seen
few secret agents who do carry it.  The only protective article I ever
carried was a little silk bag containing a mixture of cayenne pepper,
snuff and certain chemicals.  It is very effective to throw into the
faces of those who attack you.

Soon there came a messenger from Wedel with the promised funds, a
thousand francs and two thousand pesos.  It lacked a half hour to
three-thirty, so I made my way to the Friedrichstrasse depot on foot.
Experience has taught me that the Orient Express is generally
overcrowded and that unless one reaches the depot early and uses a
good deal of palm oil, it is impossible to secure a decent seat.  A
judicious oiling of palms enabled me to get a very pleasant window
seat in the middle compartment.  After making myself at home I took a
tour through the train.  It is my invariable custom to take stock of
my fellow travelers and in this case it was most imperative.

Nothing happened until we pulled in at Frankfort-on-the-Main, the
second last stop for the express in Germany.  Glancing out of the
window I saw a party of three entering the carriage.  They selected
the compartment next to mine.  Obviously they were traveling together,
equally obvious was it that there was plenty of room in their own
compartment.  The train was hardly in motion, however, when the woman
of the party entered my compartment.  She started to complain about
being annoyed by the man next door and to ask my protection.  As a
matter of course, I got up and offered my assistance to remove her
belongings into my compartment.  I had, up to now, not the slightest
doubt as to there being anything fishy in her request.  I had, in
fact, no reason to be apprehensive of any interference, because only
two people besides myself--Wedel and the Emperor--knew my mission.  Of
course, there were others who would have given anything to know of it,
who would have done anything to prevent my reaching my destination.

I had hardly entered the compartment and tried to remove the traveling
bag indicated by the lady as hers, when one of the men exclaimed:

"How dare you remove my wife's property?"

The lady in question stood in the corridor of the carriage.  I had my
back to her but I could see her by means of the looking-glass with
which the sides of the compartment were framed.  I noticed her make a
sign to the man.  Of course, this put a different light on the affair.
It was preconceived.  For the life of me, though, I could not see how
they could use the situation to advantage.

Presently I was enlightened.  When the conductor came along, the
"husband" coolly requested my detention on grounds of interference
with his wife's luggage.  He was stanchly supported by the other man
and by the lady who had come to me for assistance.  I attempted to
explain, but it didn't go down with the conductor.  Pending our
arrival at Cologne, he locked me up in my compartment and leaving me,
said that he intended to hand me over to the station master here.

I had time to ponder over my situation.  I was thoroughly angry,
chiefly with myself.  Here I was, an old, and presumably experienced,
secret agent and I was caught by a simple device.  But the simplicity
got me!  When one is prepared for elaborate schemes, the simplest
trick lands one high and dry.  Still I could see no daylight.  They
could not hope to keep me on this preposterous charge.  A single wire
to Berlin would settle the matter, but then there would be a delay.  I
would not reach Paris until six o'clock at night.  Wedel had insisted
that I be there at noon.  Hum!

Delays at this time were of tremendous importance.  A difference of
six hours might mean war.  Powerful influences in Germany were all for
war.  It filled the air.  It needed only a false or overstep on the
part of any government official to bring about an explosion.  France
seemed fairly itching for a fight.  My verbal message to the captain
of the Panther must be delivered on schedule or the explosion might
occur.  I began to see what they hoped to gain by the trick of
detaining me, but how they got word of my mission I have never been
able to learn.  I must have been shadowed from my lodging to the
Wilhelmstrasse and subsequently lain in wait for on general
principles.

According to the time-table, the Orient Express stops at Cologne nine
minutes.  This time it stopped eleven.  The station master held it up.
After the party in the next compartment made their charge, we all
hurried to his office.  I called the station master aside and showed
him my Secret Service card.

I showed him a package addressed and sealed to the German Embassy at
Paris.  It was an official linen envelope tied with a black and white
silk cord and with the Foreign Office seal on the back.  He was
impressed.

"This is a ridiculous charge," I declared.  "Telephone the
Wilhelmstrasse at my expense.  Detain me and you do so at your own
peril.  That is all.  I have given you the facts.  I put no obstacle
in the path of your duty.  I judge, though, that you are a man of
discretion."

The station master _was_ a man of discretion.  I could imagine what
was going through his mind:

"This fellow who says he is the Emperor's messenger," he doubtless
thought, "has three more hours on that train before he crosses the
German border.  If he isn't what he claims to be, we can catch him at
the Frontier.  If he is what he claims to be and I hold him here, I
will get in trouble."

Finally, he told the others that their charge was too thin and they
hurriedly left his office.  I never saw them again.  The station
master escorted me to my compartment and I noticed that from Cologne
to the French Frontier I had no other traveling companions.  My
arrival and what I accomplished in Paris is commonplace.  Arriving in
the Gare du Norde, I took a taxi to the German Embassy on the Rue de
Lille, where an under-secretary signed for my dispatches and handed me
two letters addressed to the Embassy in Madrid.  I immediately posted
his receipt to the Wilhelmstrasse, something German secret agents
always must do--mail the Foreign Office signatures for documents as
soon as they are delivered.  Without further adventure I reached
Madrid.  As the train was four hours late I did not present myself at
the Embassy.  I was met by a commissaire at the station, delivered him
the paper, received his signature, posted it to the Wilhelmstrasse,
and made connections for Barcelona.  Somewhere off the city, on the
open sea, the _Panther_ was waiting.

With the utmost difficulty I chartered a tug and in the twilight set
off to find the _Panther_.  It was coming night when we finally saw
her dark trim hull lying against the horizon.  Well named the
_Panther_, for in this case a false spring by her meant war.  As we
steamed up alongside a sentry hailed us from the deck.  I shouted that
I had come to see the Captain, but he told us to stand off.  Finally,
after persistently hailing the warship, the officer of the watch came
to the rail and held parley with me.

"I have Imperial orders to see the Captain," I shouted.

Apparently this satisfied him, for he let me come on board.  Without
further delay I was shown into the Captain's room.  Very important,
the Captain.  Picture him, a man in the forties, straight-backed,
rather jolly, and with one of those German naval beards.  The
slightest mistake by the Captain of the _Panther_ and England and
France would have flung themselves into war with Germany.  He stood
for a moment regarding me, then he said,

"Well, what is this?  What is your Wilhelmstrasse number?"

"Seventeen," I told him.

That appeared to satisfy the Captain.  I knew that the Wilhelmstrasse
had wired him that "Number Seventeen" was coming.  Still he was
careful.

"Where were your first instructions received?"

"From Wedel."

"Subsequently?"

I felt him looking at me sharply.

"Confirmed by the Emperor," I replied, "and I deliver you herewith the
following message.  You are requested to use the private service code
as soon as I have delivered this message to you and repeat it at once
direct to Count Wedel."

The Captain got up and, moving noiselessly to the door, opened it
swiftly.  There was no one about.

"All right," he said, "let me have it."

I repeated what I had memorized, what the Emperor had given me in the
secret chamber and immediately afterward destroyed all visible trace
of.  I said: "On no account, it does not matter what official commands
you have received or may receive, are you to use open force when the
_Panther_ goes to Agidir.  No matter what stress is brought to bear
upon you by arising conditions, no matter what affront may be done
your code of naval honor, you are under no circumstances to use any
force against France or England."

Like myself, when the Emperor gave me that message, the Captain of the
_Panther_ was dumbfounded.  It was a direct contradiction of the
official orders he had received from the Foreign Office to go to
Morocco and make a demonstration against the French and the English
interests.  Those previous orders had been to create war, this verbal
message was to stop war.  Could the German "jingos," the big gun
manufacturers, the shell people, the army and navy men, the powerful
feudal faction have heard me deliver that message to the Captain of
the _Panther_, they would have bellowed in rage.  The whole empire
wanted war, but the tired, swarthy faced man in the little underground
chamber at the Wilhelmstrasse, not "absolutely absolute" as he is
popularly supposed to be, deemed it wise not to fly in the face of
public opinion at the time and countermand the official orders to the
_Panther_.  So he had done so in the dark, verbally, by me, knowing
that so he served the best interests of his empire.

The rest is contemporary history.  You remember how, on Sunday
morning, July 7, the _Panther_ steamed to Morocco, how it forced its
way into the harbor of Agadir and created an international sensation
by remaining there more than two weeks.  You remember how a French and
an English warship came simultaneously, how they formed in what was
equivalent to common line and how, with officers and everybody itching
to open fire, war just missed being precipitated.  You may not know
that the British and French officers sent an ultimatum to the Captain
of the _Panther_.  Unless he left Agadir he would be forced to leave.
That meant war.

Now, had the Captain of the _Panther_ not received the private message
from the Emperor, he would have been forced by his naval code to
resist this ultimatum by force.  Had he gone there acting under the
original official orders, red war would have blazed across in Agadir
Harbor.  The slightest slip would have caused it--the report of a
rifle.  But the _Panther_ steamed away.

And this is the cleverest part of the Emperor's scheme; he knew that
France and England were allies, he didn't know, though, just how
sincere this alliance was.  By sending the _Panther_ into Agadir he
learned that the _entente cordiale_ really meant something, that
England and France were allies, that they were prepared to resist
Germany shoulder to shoulder in war.  It took a master stroke to bring
the situation up to the point of war--for it was a dangerous business,
with all Germany roaring for war--and then avert war when England and
France were on the verge of it.  But with his verbal message the
Emperor shrewdly accomplished it.  The results were before him.  By
creating the situation he knew that he had two powerful nations
opposed to him.  Good!

What he would do now would be to try to take one nation and secretly
ally himself with it, leaving the other out in the cold.  Then began
the intrigues which planned the isolation of France, an amazing
situation, a bombshell in present day international diplomacy, that I
shall discuss fully in the next chapter.


Chapter VIII. The Isolation of France

After my experiences with the earlier stages of the French, English,
and German situation, I was quite prepared for the most unexpected
developments.  What occurred in the middle of October, 1911, was,
however, beyond what I had imagined.  The Morocco incident had shown
the German Emperor that the _entente cordiale_ was indeed solid.
England and France would stand shoulder to shoulder in war.  Being
used to the ways of German diplomacy, I knew that from the
Wilhelmstrasse would come a quick countermove.  I guessed, too, that
when it came I would be employed.  It stood to reason that, knowing so
much of the trend and importance of the affair--I had seen the
intrigue grow step by step--I was the logical choice.

Nor was my reasoning at fault.  I soon received the expected summons,
and it brought me into the most amazing of my diplomatic adventures-a
mission which showed me the utter ruthlessness that characterizes
foreign ministers, particularly when the vital interests of their
countries are concerned.

Word to appear at the Wilhelmstrasse came when the autumn holidays
were in full swing.  The usual procedure of the Foreign Office having
been observed, I found myself in Count von Wedel's private study.
After an invitation to be seated, the Count surprised me.  He
complimented me on my previous missions on the _entente cordiale_
situation, and handed me a pretty substantial check.  It was actually
10,000 marks--$2,500--which the stubs of the royal check book will
show.

As I took the money he remarked "Seine Majestät"--Foreign Office
brevity for conveying that His Majesty was satisfied.  Without more
ado, von Wedel plunged into the subject.  Leaning back and crossing
his legs, he began to talk in his abrupt way.

"I want you to go with his Excellency, Herr von Kinderlen-Waechter, as
his private attendant and secretary,'' began von Wedel.  "I have
selected you because of your knowledge of English and your insight
into the whole matter in hand.  There is to be a meeting of certain
statesmen in a certain spot in the range of the Schwarzwald.  You are
to be the sole attendant of these gentlemen.  You'll see to it that
nothing of their identity becomes known.  You will look after them in
every way.  You will destroy all writing, such as paper and blotters.
You will burn any such things in the presence of Herr von
Kinderlen-Waechter."

He paused impressively, and I found my mind in a whirl.  What his
words portended I could guess.  This mission promised to be very
interesting indeed.

"I want you to be at the place of meeting," von Wedel continued,
"three days before the arrival of these gentlemen.  You will have to
make arrangements as regards catering and so forth.  You'll be the
only attendant.  Means have been taken to assure strict privacy in the
district.  Understand that we want this to be thoroughly cloaked.  I
suggest to you the idea of a hunting party.  The details I leave to
you.  The gentlemen in question may or may not be known to you.  I
shall write you their names."

His pen began scratching across a piece of paper, and I had a moment
in which to realize the grave importance of this mission: the future
of Germany menaced, complete isolation was in the making between
England, France, and Russia; and the Kaiser was about to save Germany
by a master stroke of diplomacy.  Of what tremendous importance it
was, however, I did not learn until I had gone down into the forest.

Looking up, von Wedel tossed a piece of paper across the desk to me
(the identical paper which has been reproduced in connection with this
article).  It bore these names in his handwriting:

Viscount Haldane, Winston Spencer Churchill, Admiral von Tirpitz,
General von Heeringen, General Moritz Ritter von Auffenberg, Herr von
Kinderlen-Waechter.

I suppose, had it been my first Secret Service mission instead of the
climax of eleven years in the service, I could not have controlled my
surprise.  These men, all meeting in a lonely spot in Taunus Hills
region, foretold a grave situation.  Especially was this true in view
of the newspapers of Europe.  Here was all the press having Germany
and England ready to rush at each other's throats in war.  It was the
time of the German spy scare in England.  And now here were the two
powerful members of the English Cabinet meeting the Kaiser's Minister
of War secretly.

I also knew of a secret visit Churchill and Haldane had made at the
Foreign Office's invitation.  Significantly these English diplomats
had been shown certain of Germany's preparations for war, notably war
in the sky.

But von Wedel was not yet through.

"These gentlemen," he said, "will meet at Schlangenbad about the
middle of this month.  You know the place, in the Taunus Hills--one of
the Emperor's hunting lodges.  I suggest that you get down there
to-morrow and have everything ready.  You thoroughly know what is
required of you, Doctor?"

On my assenting I was dismissed.  I lost no time in getting home to my
quarters and into comfortable togs.  This mission needed some thinking
out.  And after I told my Basuto boy to pack my bag, I glanced again
at the list von Wedel had given me.

Haldane, Lord Chancellor of England, persona grata with the Kaiser--in
fact, a personal friend.  Churchill, First Lord of the British
Admiralty.  Waechter, the German Minister of Foreign Affairs and,
despite court opposition, the trusted man of the Kaiser.  Tirpitz and
von Heeringen, chiefs of the German navy and army staffs, the latter a
second Moltke.  When I came to von Auffenberg's name I whistled.  Von
Auffenberg was Minister of War and the right-hand man of the
Chancellor of the Austrian Empire.  Thus three great powers were
represented.  Six men of this eminence, the brains and force of three
nations, to meet in secret in a little obscure hunting lodge in the
forest!  It portended darkly for France; but how darkly I could not
then conjecture.  It interested me tremendously, but I consoled myself
that I would probably know all when the party gathered in that
secluded hunting lodge.

According to instructions, I presented myself early next morning at
the residence of Herr von Kinderlen-Waechter.  It was in the
Thiergartenstrasse.  Without delay I was shown into his Excellency's
room.  He was seated at his desk, and while we exchanged a few
perfunctory words I permitted myself a moment's brief conjecture.

Judging from appearances, you would never have taken this portly,
rubicund, iron-gray, bushy-browed gentleman for a statesman.  But a
statesman he was for all that, and the Emperor and Germany miss him
sorely.  I would have taken him for a Boer Dopper or an English
yeoman.  This suggestion was supported by his atrocious taste in fancy
waistcoats.  The one he had on still sticks in my memory.  It was a
lurid peach-blossom creation, spotted with green.  But once his
steel-gray, deerhound eyes looked you up and down you forgot all about
the fancy waistcoat and got right down to business.  I told his
Excellency I had come for his personal instructions.

Besides telling me to "halt my maul" (a German military expression
literally meaning to keep your mouth shut, but implying the need for
utmost secrecy) he gave me certain general instructions.  But from
them I could gain no idea of just what was going to happen.  I could
only guess.  How big was the gathering storm he never even hinted.

Remembering von Wedel's suggestion about the hunting party, I procured
some guns and reached the station in time to catch the 12.30 express
for Schlangenbad.

It was early in October when I went to the Kur Hotel and registered as
Herr Bamberger from Berlin.  If you ever go to Schlangenbad, look up
the register.  Schlangenbad is a mineral watering place in Prussia,
near the Black Forest, and within easy distance of our ultimate
meeting place, the hunting lodge that von Wedel had mentioned.

I was alone at the hotel for several days.  Then, traveling incognito,
the dignitaries be,,an to drift in.  First came the Austrian, General
Moritz Ritter von Auffenberg.  A distinguished, quiet, unassuming
gentleman, he is known to be high in the confidence of Francis Joseph.
I found the War Minister very fond of salmon fishing, and got quite
into his good graces by enthusiastic tales of fly fishing in New
Zealand.

Admiral von Tirpitz and General von Heeringen came next.  The Admiral
is typical of the German sailor, a big man, six feet, wide of
shoulder, blue-eyed, and full bearded.  His manner I found genial and
courteous.  His exact opposite was von Heeringen, thin, almost crooked
of body, stoop shouldered, unusually taciturn, and possessing
deep-sunken, smoldering black eyes.  He struck me as an animated mummy
of the Rameses dynasty--come to think of it, he much resembles Rameses
II.

The exact date of the meeting, as I recall it, was October 12, and the
place a shooting lodge, named Ehrenkrug.  On the morning of the
twelfth I hired a vehicle and, loading provisions, wine, and other
necessaries aboard, drove to the lodge, sixteen miles into the forest.

No farmhouse or other human habitation was within a radius of several
miles.  It was a large stone and brick building, somewhat similar to
your colonial style.  It had five or six guest rooms, a large general
meeting hall, and a morning room.  It being the property of the royal
family, I found two old pensioners of the Imperial Forest Service in
charge.  They had a good fire going in the grate, which was welcome,
for it was still a little damp and chilly, especially in this wet
mountain forest.

Patroling both ends of the road were a number of gendarmes.  They were
scattered through the woods, too, forming a cordon through which no
one could come.  Indeed, they had challenged me.  About three o'clock
in the afternoon the German and Austrian envoys came out from the
hotel, and at a quarter to four (I remember Waechter remarking
"They're three-quarters of an hour late!") the chug of a motor
announced the others, Lord Haldane and Winston Churchill.

I had never happened to meet Haldane before, and I found him the
English gentleman personified--polished and reserved.  Yet his
reserve, tempered by age, blended into a genial mellowness.  The usual
English arrogance had evidently been subdued by reason of his training
and cosmopolitan knowledge.  In speech and action he was a
Chesterfield, but in appearance he was not unlike a canon or a bishop,
a little ascetic looking, and rather bald.

Quite the other type of Anglo-Saxon, still boyish in looks,
high-strung and nervous, erratic in speech and action, just a bit
self-conscious, Winston Churchill was the youngest member of this
remarkable gathering.  I had met him during the Boer War, and as he
took off his motoring coat he looked at me closely.

"I believe I've seen you before," he said.

"I met the right honorable gentleman in the Bloemfontein Field
Hospital during the war."

"Ah, yes," said Churchill, his face lighting up.

He had had his wound dressed there; his recognition showed his
remarkable memory.

After refreshments the envoys immediately adjourned to the big morning
room, and I was posted outside to see that no gendarme or forest
pensioner carne within earshot.  I was not present at the beginning of
the conference, but after an hour had passed I was summoned.  My first
impression as I opened the door was of an air of tenseness.  It was
obvious in the way Churchill was staring across the table at Haldane.
It was an ordinary large German oak dining-room table, and in the
middle were two big shaded lamps.  It was growing dusk, and after
lighting the lamps, I backed away to a corner of the room.  I had a
distinct impression of the features of the six men who were making
history round that table.  There were writing materials, stacks of
paper, and documents at every place.  Sheets and sheets of paper were
covered with their handwriting.  Only in front of von Heeringen were
the sheets blank, for he never makes a note of anything, carrying
everything in his marvelous memory.

Obviously what were the last words of a speech came from Moritz, the
Austrian, as I entered: "And to make this all possible," he was
saving, "we must break the Russian Federation in the Balkans."

From his place at the head of the table the iron-gray-haired
Kinderlen-Waechter rose slowly.  I noticed he wore another of those
atrocious vests.  Turning on his left he gazed at Churchill and
Tirpitz; his careful measuring eyes then met Moritz, an expectant,
slightly nervous figure at the other end of the table awaiting the
reply to the point he had raised.  And Waechter's eyes turned from him
to Heeringen, to Haldane; then he spoke.  I recall distinctly the
import of his remarks.

"Gentlemen," he said, "the point raised by General Moritz must stand,
and, of course, it needs the sanction of our respective heads.  As
Lord Haldane has pointed out, it does complicate matters to some
extent.  The Balkans concern Austria most; to my way of thinking it is
quite within reason to accede this point.  [As I write I recall
vividly how grave they had all become.  They knew what this meant--war
in the Balkans.] On all main points," said Kinderlen-Waechter, "we are
agreed.  As indicated by his Imperial Majesty, the primary reason of
our meeting is to come to a tacit understanding in regard to technical
details.  This we have done.  It is unfortunate, however, that this
possible phase, the Balkan point, has not been gone into before.  I
suggest that we adjourn, to inform our respective Governments of this
point.  If necessary, we will meet again on Wednesday."

This second meeting, by the way, was not necessary, all the
Governments represented tentatively agreeing with Austria.  The
treaty, however, was subject to signatures and if it was officially
closed, I cannot tell.

Apparently the conference was at an end.  But what had they
accomplished?  From the general tenor of their conversation it was
obvious that they all agreed.  But what were the terms of their
bargain?  Presently I was to know.

"Bamberger," said Kinderlen-Waechter, addressing me by the name I had
taken, "gather up any pieces of paper on the table and consign them to
the fire."

I replied: "Yes sir."  Then turning to the others, he continued:

"Gentlemen, select the memoranda you wish to keep.  The rest is going
to be destroyed immediately."

While they ran over their papers, saving necessary scraps, I stood
back from the table.  It was characteristic of the men that Winston
Churchill should have taken the most voluminous notes, while Heeringen
had not put down a line.  I then gathered up every scrap of paper left
on the table--blotters, little note pads, foolscap--used or unused.
Everything was to go into the fire.

I went about this slowly and deliberately, taking care to glance at
everything before I carried it over to the grate.  I wanted to make
sure that nothing of value was destroyed.  Here and there came a good
chance to read some of the contents.  Piece by piece from the
memoranda the different men had made, always being careful not to
confuse individual notes, thus learning one by one their train of
thought, the thing began to piece itself together for me.  There were
extensive notes on army and navy matters.  Churchill, for instance,
had carefully noted the full strength that Austria and Germany could
muster in case of war.  Kinderlen-Waechter had recorded the full
strength of England and Austria as given by Churchill and Moritz.  So
had Moritz taken down German and English statistics.  Obviously it was
a triangular alliance, each noting to what extent dependence could be
placed upon the other.  Then there were data on the French and Russian
armies and navies.  The significance of that was apparent.  What
puzzled me, hovrever, were numerous statistics on Holland and Belgium.

Not until Kinderlen-Waechter and Churchill, squatting down by the
fireplace and poking the burning papers with old-fashioned irons, not
until then, when there began a conversation and other pairs conversed
on certain points all around the room, did I gain a clear idea of just
what had happened.  What they said, the vital scraps of their
conversation as they drifted to me while I moved to and from the table
and fireplace, I shall now present as close to the words of the men
involved as I am able.

Heeringen, who had drawn Haldane aside, said: "We are ready at any
time with 3,500,000 men without any further straining of our reserves.
According to our latest agreement Austria will support us with
2,000,000 more men.  The financial aspect of this is, of course, out
of my hands."

Haldane mumbled something that sounded like "that is very
satisfactory."  At any rate, he nodded an affirmative.

By this time the positions had changed somewhat, and Churchill drew
Tirpitz aside.  Churchill spoke German only indifferently, so they
conversed in French and partly in English.  I heard Tirpitz say:

"We could bottle up the Baltic in twelve hours.  Russia would not have
a chance to stir.  Of course, in the event of any outside situation
arising, we shall look to England to take care of such new conditions.
That seems to rest clearly with your navy."

Churchill became a little cautious.

"There is a certain contingency that might arise," he said.  "Suppose,
under stress of circumstances the United States should take a definite
stand against us in this matter?"

The reply of the Admiral was the very expressive German
word--_Quatsch_!  He further intimated that the United States was so
interested in its own internal affairs that it would not be drawn into
the question, and that in any event its navy would be needed for its
own immediate protection.  He had a disposition, however, to put the
entire situation up to Churchill.

Kinderlen-Waechter and Moritz were deep in the Balkan question, and I
sensed then the coming Balkan imbroglio.

"Without doubt," Moritz said, "we will bring that to an issue within a
few months."  I knew he meant that Austria would precipitate the
Balkan question.  Kinderlen-Waechter was serious.

"It has got to be done."

There were other snatches, all bearing on the same subject, and
gradually the situation began to clarify in my mind.  It was not,
however, until I had noted the contents of certain documents before
destroying them that the tremendous importance of the big stakes they
were all playing for became apparent.  What I shall now do is to
reveal the substance of these documents, coupling them with o

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