Part 14

My first visit after my arrival was paid to the Director of the Imperial Secret Service, my old friend Finkelstein. I felt it would be impossible for me to remain long in the German capital without my presence becoming known to this astute chief of police, and I deemed it the most prudent course to throw him off his guard at the outset.

I caused myself to be announced as Father d’Aurignac, of the Order of the Assumptionists. My assumed character completely imposed on Finkelstein, and I opened the conversation by saying--

‘I have come here in consequence of the persecution of the Order now being carried on by the French Republic. We are obliged to seek other homes, it being impossible for us to remain in France. A large number of houses have been transferred to England, but my brethren and I detest that country so much that we wish to settle in Germany instead. I have been deputed to ascertain what treatment we are likely to receive at the hands of the authorities.’

‘That is not in my department,’ Finkelstein answered. ‘You should apply to the Minister of the Interior.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ I returned smoothly. ‘I do not doubt that we shall be permitted to settle here. The question is, how much independence we shall enjoy from police supervision. In France we were always able to maintain exceedingly friendly relations with the police. We are, of course, a very wealthy Order.’

Finkelstein’s eyes sparkled. I knew that he was in receipt of a secret pension from the exiled claimant to the throne of a State annexed by Prussia in 1866. It was evident that he was perfectly ready to do business.

‘You will find that the Berlin police exercise the greatest tact towards communities of high character like yours,’ he said eagerly.

I lay back in my chair and threw off my hood, as I observed--

‘My dear Finkelstein, I see that you are not changed.’

The Director’s consternation was quite laughable to witness.

‘V----!’ he exclaimed, drawing back as if he had been stung; then he added, in a tone of hesitation: ‘My old friend?’

‘Yes; your friend--and your ally, if you will accept him as such,’ I said cordially.

Finkelstein looked immensely relieved. He was well aware that the Kaiser did not accord him his complete confidence, and he must have feared that I had come to him, as on a former occasion, as the Kaiser’s agent.

‘My dear V----, any friendship and assistance that I can give you are at your service at all times,’ he hastened to assure me.

‘It is understood, then, is it not, that we are to stand by each other? If I undertake to report favourably of you in a certain quarter, you will give me your confidence?’

‘That is always understood between Secret Service agents who are men of honour,’ the German responded.

We shook hands with great warmth.

‘Now,’ I said, ‘I can afford to be perfectly frank.’

Finkelstein glanced at me with the suspicion which such a declaration was certain to provoke.

‘I am here, this time, in the interests of Russia.’

The Director met my eye with a look of polite incredulity.

‘Distrust has been awakened in the Russian Council of State by this Venezuelan affair, in which Germany has been much too friendly with England. It is necessary to ascertain exactly what the Kaiser’s views and intentions really are. He is either deceiving the Tsar, or deceiving the English, and I have to find out which. For this purpose I must pass a night in the Emperor’s private cabinet.’

‘But surely that is not a difficult thing for you to manage,’ observed Finkelstein, with evident distrust. ‘His Majesty trusts you implicitly, does he not?’

‘He may trust me as a spy on you, and yet not confide to me his political designs,’ I answered. ‘The truth is that the Kaiser is on his guard. He knows that he is being watched, and just now he distrusts everybody--his own police most of all,’ I added pointedly.

The Director put his hand to his head, with a gesture of despair.

‘It comes to this,’ he cried pathetically, ‘that unless I betray him you will report to him that I am a traitor!’

‘You should have thought of that before you accepted the money of the Duke of Heligoland,’ I retorted, naming the Royal exile referred to above.

The German sighed, and hung his head.

‘The Russian Government is not less wealthy than the Order of Assumptionists,’ I added.

Finkelstein brightened up again. A man of such mercurial temperament was most unfit for his position.

As soon as it became a question of terms between us I knew that the battle was won. The German really hated and feared Russia, like all his countrymen, and had it been prudent to do so, I should have been glad to relieve his mind.

It was an easy matter for him to make the required arrangements. A hint to the commander of the regiment which supplied the Palace guard that some theft had taken place, and that a detective’s presence was necessary, was sufficient. At the hour of eleven, the Kaiser’s time for retiring, I found myself in the uniform of a Prussian soldier, pacing the corridor which gave access to his Majesty’s cabinet.

Secured from suspicion by the character in which I had entered the Palace, I lost no time in unlocking the door of the room by means of a key invented by myself. I must be excused from describing its mechanism in these pages; but the only lock against which it is powerless is the familiar letter padlock.

As soon as I was inside I closed the door again. I did not venture to turn on the electric light, but made use of a dark lantern I had brought with me, to explore the chamber.

In front of me stood his Majesty’s writing-table, covered with despatch boxes. I considered it useless to open them, and turned my eyes round the room in search of some more secret receptacle.

At first no sign of anything of the kind I sought was visible. There were cupboards, but they were not even locked. The walls were hung with maps, among which my eye was particularly caught by a chart of the world on Mercator’s projection, on which the various possessions of Great Britain were indicated by small red flags attached to pins. It seemed to me an ominous thing that such a map, so marked, should be ever before the eyes of the ablest Continental ruler, who was known to be feverishly at work building a navy fit to contend with that of England.

In a reflective mood I stepped towards the map and looked at it. The flag which marked New Zealand had sagged down slightly, as though less firmly thrust in than the rest. Without stopping to think what I was doing, I took hold of the pin and pressed it into the wall.

To my surprise I felt a resistance which at once accounted for the loose position in which I had found the flag. I removed one of the other pins, and found it went into the wall without any difficulty. It was therefore clear that at the particular part of the wall covered by New Zealand there existed some obstacle, probably of a metallic nature.

Once convinced of this, I had no doubt as to my next step. I drew out the whole of the pins in the eastern portion of the chart, and rolled it back.

I was rewarded by the sight of a dark round patch on the wall-paper, beneath which I could detect the presence of a metallic disk or knob. I pressed it boldly, and a square section of the wall opened out on a hinge, revealing a small cupboard, secured by a black seal showing the impress of the Emperor’s signet, with which I was sufficiently familiar.

This discovery placed me in an awkward position. There was no time for me to counterfeit the seal, and if I broke it, it was evident that Wilhelm II. must know that his hiding-place had been tampered with.

The prudence I had shown in dealing with Finkelstein was now invaluable to me. At the worst the Kaiser would learn that his secrets were in the hands of a Russian spy, and my real employer would be unknown. It was this reflection which emboldened me to proceed.

I broke the seal, opened the cupboard, and found a pile of papers which I took to the writing-table to look through.

The papers were enclosed in what is styled in Government Departments a ‘jacket’--a large sheet of paper folded to form a cover. The outside of this jacket was endorsed in the Kaiser’s well-known hand--‘_European Zollverein_.’

Those words told me all. The daring brain of Wilhelm II. had revived the idea which the great Napoleon embodied in his famous Milan Decrees. The whole of the Powers of the Continent were to be united in a Customs League against Great Britain.

Russia and Austria, I saw, had eagerly welcomed the proposal. Spain and Turkey, with the Balkan States, were also committed to it. So were Belgium and Holland, the first in revenge for British criticism of the Congo Free State, the second on account of the Boer War. Sweden and Denmark were evidently disinclined to the scheme, but unable to resist the pressure put upon them. Only three countries still held out firmly--France, Italy, and Portugal.

The opposition of France seemed to be due partly to the fact that Great Britain was her largest customer, and partly to dislike of any proposal coming from Germany. Italy and Portugal seemed to realise that their own fate was bound up with that of England, and to view with dread the prospect of weakening the British power.

I had just finished reading the spirited protest of little Portugal, contained in a private autograph letter from Dom Carlos to the German Emperor, when the room was suddenly flashed with the full glare of the electric light. I looked up and saw his Majesty standing before me, in full uniform, with his sword drawn in his hand.

I had reckoned without Wilhelm II. when I undertook my perilous enterprise. The colonel of the guard, it appeared, had reported that a detective had been admitted into the Palace by Finkelstein’s request. The Kaiser had thought little of the matter at first, but later on his curiosity had become too strong for him, and he had decided to find out for himself what was going on.

I confess that for the first and only time in my life I turned cold with fear, as the sudden apparition of the armed Emperor burst on my startled consciousness.

‘Arrest that man!’ he commanded, without giving me time to speak.

Two soldiers advanced from the corridor and pinioned me by the arms. Then the Kaiser himself stepped forward, seized the papers I had been studying, and thrust them into his breast.

‘Order a firing-party with ball cartridges to get ready in the inner courtyard,’ was the next command.

All this time it was evident that the Kaiser had not recognised me. Indeed, my disguise was so perfect that I felt quite secure on that head. The question was whether it would make matters worse or better for me if I revealed my identity.

‘Now,’ his Majesty demanded, turning to me, ‘who are you, and what are you doing here?’

‘Does your Majesty wish me to speak before these men?’

The Kaiser hesitated.

‘Yes,’ he said at last; ‘speak out.’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘I am here as the agent of the Federal Council,’ I declared. The Federal Council, as most readers will remember, is the Senate of the German Empire. It represents more especially the dynasties of Bavaria, Saxony, and the other small kingdoms united with Prussia to form the modern Empire.

Wilhelm II. started as I pronounced the name of this body. It is well known that his Imperial Majesty does not enjoy the full confidence of some of his satellite kings. In the army there has been a good deal of friction beneath the surface. It was therefore not at all improbable that the lesser royalties of Germany should have employed a spy to detect the designs of their erratic and overbearing suzerain.

‘Did you tell this to Herr Finkelstein?’ was the next question.

‘No, sire.’ I was anxious to save the Director from the Imperial wrath. ‘I persuaded him that I was your Majesty’s confidential agent.’

The Kaiser glared at me, and muttered an exclamation which I need not repeat.

‘How do I know that you are telling the truth to me, any more than you did to him?’ he cried.

‘Your Majesty cannot know it,’ I answered coldly. ‘The Council, of course, will disown me.’

‘You are a cool hand,’ Wilhelm commented, gnawing his moustache. ‘It seems to me that I can do nothing with you, except shoot you.’

‘That will be much the simplest course,’ I replied. I saw that it would be a contest between the Emperor’s curiosity and his vengeance, and already I began to hope.

His Majesty gave the signal, and I was led out into the courtyard, where I found six men under the command of an officer, drawn up in line.

I was placed in front of them, and as I looked down the rifle-barrels already pointed at my heart I felt really nervous for a moment. The scene was illuminated by a solitary lamp fixed over the gateway, and its rays broke against the row of steel tubes which held death.

‘Now,’ said the Kaiser, stepping close to my side, ‘tell me the truth--the real truth, mind--and I will spare your life.’

I tried to think of something which Wilhelm II. would be likely to believe. In the meantime, I congratulated myself on not having disclosed my identity, as in that case, of course, it would not have occurred to his Majesty that I could be induced to betray my employer.

He saw that I was hesitating, and fortunately mistook the reason.

‘I will not only spare your life, but I will send you across the frontier under an escort, and let you go free,’ his Majesty declared.

I affected to yield reluctantly.

‘My mission is not, strictly speaking, an official one. I am the agent of an individual, who wishes to render a service to his countrymen, without his action being publicly known. Your Majesty’s recent alliance with Great Britain to blockade Venezuela has aroused the fears of thoughtful American statesmen. It is suspected that you may have other projects in which the interests of the United States are concerned, and I have been instructed----’

‘By Theodore Roosevelt!’ the Kaiser exclaimed, falling back a pace or two.

I nodded.

‘Your Majesty has guessed the truth. The project which I have discovered among your papers does not concern the United States, and I am therefore willing to undertake that it shall not be revealed to the President.’

‘Enough,’ Wilhelm II. said in subdued tones. ‘I have passed my word.’ He turned to the officer. ‘Take this man in irons to Hamburg, and place him on board a British vessel.’

If I felt some compunction at the liberty I had taken with the name of the United States President, I consoled myself with the assurance that he would pardon me in view of the fact that I was acting in the interest of the mother-country.

My escort placed me on board a steamer bound for Hull, with an intimation to the captain that my irons were not to be struck off till the ship was out of the Elbe.

The captain was naturally curious to learn who I was. I allowed him to suppose that I was a Pole banished for sedition. Fortunately, I had ample funds about me to defray my first-class passage, and I have generally found in dealing with Englishmen that a Bank of England note inspires more confidence than a testimonial from an Archbishop.

As soon as the boat reached Hull I made the best of my way to Balmoral, where Lord Bedale was staying in attendance on King Edward.

Into his lordship’s astonished ears I poured the whole tale of my discovery, passing over as lightly as possible the dangers through which I had passed.

Lord Bedale was much moved.

‘I must thank you warmly for having kept the K----I mean, for having kept my name out of this. The Emperor would certainly have suspected that I was acting on King Edward’s behalf.’

‘It is possible,’ I said drily.

The Marquis glanced at me and we both smiled.

‘Enough!’ he said. ‘Remain in the neighbourhood, and I will see you again in a day or two.’

The next time Lord Bedale sent for me his manner was entirely changed.

‘Monsieur V----,’ he said, ‘I have related the whole of your adventure to his Majesty, who has formed the highest opinion of your tact and fidelity; so much so, that he has now instructed me to offer you a mission on his own behalf.’

‘That will be the highest honour I could receive.’

‘His Majesty’s health is not yet fully recovered. In consequence, his physicians have advised him to take a sea-voyage in the early part of the year.’

‘I trust it will benefit his Majesty very greatly.’

‘The climate of the Mediterranean has been recommended.’

‘There is no pleasanter climate at that time of year.’

‘As his Majesty will be obliged to pass by the mouth of the Tagus, it will seem discourteous if he does not land in Lisbon, and see the King.’

‘His Majesty’s courtesy is proverbial.’

‘In visiting his Maltese subjects he will be so near Italy that King Victor may expect to see him in Rome.’

‘That will be only natural.’

‘In case his Majesty should feel tired of so much sea, he may feel it pleasanter to return overland.’

‘That will involve his passing through Paris.’

‘Exactly.’

Portugal, Italy, France--these were the three States which had made a stand against the threatened alliance against the United Kingdom. I looked at Lord Bedale and we understood one another.

‘His Majesty proposes that you should visit each of these three capitals in advance, and ascertain in a confidential way how he is likely to be received, not merely by the head of the State, but by the people themselves--the nation.’

‘I understand.’

‘King Edward desires to be received, not with formal courtesy, but with the recognition due to the ambassador of the world’s peace.’

‘I shall bear that in mind.’

‘I may add that he only defers bestowing the Victorian Order on you till he is able to do so in return for the services he now asks you to render him.’

There is not much more for me to add.

In Rome, as in Lisbon, I found there was little for me to do; the name of King Edward was already on every tongue. Even in Paris, with its jealous and reckless Press, I found that the British King was a favourite with those who were most ready to criticise British policy.

I had an interview with Father Loubet, as the French love to call their homely peasant-President; the man who has proved once more that sterling character counts for more in public life than rank or wealth or intellectual cleverness.

Later on I had the honour of accompanying the ruler of Britain on his stately progress of peace. And as his coming was acclaimed in capital after capital, and the nations so long sundered by senseless rivalries shook hands, with their sovereigns, the angry Emperors realised that England’s ‘splendid isolation’ was over, and that she had resumed her historic _rôle_ of the champion of the weak, and protector of the liberties of Europe.

The glittering jewel pinned to my breast by the great Monarch’s own hands was an unnecessary reward. To have served such a master was enough.

XI

THE HUMBERT MILLIONS

The Humbert Case, like the Dreyfus Case, is a _chose jugée_.

Thérèse Humbert, one of the greatest women of the century, who united the commanding personality of a Catherine the Great with the genius for intrigue of a Catherine de Medicis, has been formally tried and condemned, and is now secluded from the public eye. The journals of the Boulevards pretend to be satisfied; and their credulous readers are taught to believe that this remarkable affair was a vulgar swindle, and that the famous millions had no existence except in the mind of the arch-intriguer.

It is under these circumstances that I find myself at length free to make an announcement which I foresee must provoke a storm of denial and denunciation.

_I know what has become of the Humbert millions._

I do not make this declaration without having weighed the consequences. If my part in this affair could be brought home to me by legal proofs, it is possible that I should find myself in danger of a penalty such as has been meted out to Madame Humbert herself.

I believe, however, that I have sufficiently secured myself against such a contingency. For many months past I have been engaged in a duel of a singular character with the famous head of the French police, M. Rattache: a duel of wits, in which the combatants have kept on the mask of friendship, while exchanging thrusts and parries with an assumption of perfect unconsciousness.

In no step of her marvellous career, perhaps, did Thérèse Humbert show more sagacity than in establishing relations with myself. Accustomed as I am to act almost exclusively for crowned heads, or ministers of state, I was the agent least likely to be suspected of any connection with what wore the appearance of an ordinary police affair.

With the same prudence which marked nearly all her actions, Madame Humbert refrained from coming to my office to engage my services, and from asking me to visit her. Instead, I received what appeared to be a casual invitation to dine with a banker, whom I will call Baron Y----.

Baron Y---- was a man whom I knew but slightly, but his house enjoyed a good reputation, and he moved in the best society of the financial world. He was noted for his entertainments, and therefore I was surprised on this occasion to find only three other persons present, besides the members of the family.

The three other guests were M. Bas-Riviére, an ex-member of the Waldeck-Rousseau Ministry, the Marquis des Saintes Roches, a distinguished Legitimist, that is to say, a member of the party which aims at the restoration of the Bourbons, and--Thérèse Humbert.

At this time the voice of rumour was already busy with Madame Humbert’s name; but though assailed, she still maintained a bold front, and her enemies had not yet been able to touch her.

It did not occur to me that her presence at the dinner had any significance, but I studied her with that interest which her reputation naturally excited. Impassive, almost stolid in her demeanour, and speaking but little, Madame Humbert impressed me more than any woman I have ever met, with the single exception of the Dowager Empress of China. I will not say that I felt awed by this extraordinary personage, but I recognised in her one of those commanding personalities which overrule all who are brought into touch with them.

After dinner Baron Y---- led us through some of the rooms in his superb mansion, to view the pictures and curiosities which his wealth had enabled him to gather together.

Somehow or other Madame Humbert contrived to fall gradually behind the rest of the party, keeping me by her side. I did not realise that this was a deliberate manœuvre, until, just as the others were passing out of a small Turkish smoking-room, my companion abruptly laid her hand on my arm, and whispered in my ear--

‘Let us remain here a moment, if you please, Monsieur V----. I have something which I wish to say to you.’

Even then it did not at first dawn on me that the whole entertainment had been arranged for the single purpose of enabling Madame Humbert to interview me without attracting the notice of the police, who were already beginning to take an interest in her movements.

‘Let us sit down,’ the custodian of the mysterious millions said with authority. ‘What I have to say to you will take some time.’

Observe, she did not admit the possibility of my objecting to receive her confidences. She had made up her mind that I was the agent necessary for her purpose, and it was only left to me to obey.

I took a seat beside her without speaking. Magnetised by her strange power, it did not occur to me to lay down any conditions in advance.