Part 2

‘That is the serious part of the affair,’ he answered. ‘Kruger, in his eagerness to proclaim to the world that I was on his side, had sent copies of this infamous production to every newspaper in the two hemispheres before it reached my eyes. At the moment when I first saw it, it had already been read and commented upon all round the globe. The British newspapers were already threatening war, and my own people had been excited to a pitch of enthusiasm such as no other act of mine has ever called forth. You see the position I was placed in. If I were now to disavow this forgery, my disavowal would be received everywhere with the same scepticism as was felt even by my own Chancellor. The British would triumph over me, and my own subjects would never forgive me for what they would regard as a surrender to British threats.’

I sat silent. I realised the full difficulty of the Kaiser’s position. He was committed in spite of himself to the act of some impostor, whose real motives were yet to be discovered, but who had already succeeded in bringing the two greatest Powers of Europe to the verge of war.

‘Before I can undo the mischief which has been done,’ the Emperor proceeded, ‘I must first of all ascertain from what quarter this forgery emanated. When I have obtained that information, backed by clear and convincing proofs, it may be possible for me to satisfy the British Government that they and I have been the victims of a conspiracy. If you can succeed in furnishing me with those proofs, it shall be the best day’s work you ever did in your life.’

I listened carefully to these words, scrutinising them for any trace of a double meaning. It was impossible for me to dismiss entirely from my mind that suspicion which the story told by Wilhelm II. was naturally calculated to excite. I asked myself whether the Kaiser was really in earnest, or whether he was not inviting me, in a delicate fashion, to extricate him from the consequences of his own rashness, by putting together some fictitious account of the origin of the telegram, which might impose on Lord Salisbury.

It was clearly necessary, however, for me to appear to be convinced.

‘May I ask if your Majesty’s suspicions point in any particular direction?’ I asked, trying to feel my way cautiously. ‘The President of the Boers is perhaps----’

The Kaiser interrupted me.

‘I do not think Kruger would dare to provoke me by such a trick. He would know that he would be the first to suffer when it was found out. No, I am convinced that we must look nearer home for the traitor.’

Something in the Emperor’s tone struck me as significant.

‘If you could give me any indication of the person----’ I ventured to throw out.

His Majesty looked at me fixedly as he answered--

‘Does it not occur to you, Monsieur V----, that there is in my Empire a powerful family, the heads of which seem at one time to have cherished the notion that the Hohenzollerns could not reign without them, a family which aspired to play the same part in modern Germany which was played by the Mayors of the Palace in the Empire of the Merovingians?’

‘You allude, sire, without doubt, to the Bismarcks?’

‘My grandfather was forced into war with the French by a forged telegram. There would be nothing surprising in an attempt from the same quarter to force me into a war with England.’

I had no answer to make to such reasoning. Daring as such a manœuvre might appear, it was absurd, in the face of historical facts, to pronounce it improbable.

After a minute spent in considering the situation, I turned to the question of how the fraud might have been carried out.

It was quite clear to me that such a message could not have gone over the ordinary wires. The despatches of Emperors are not, as a rule, handed in over the counter of a post-office, like a telegram from a husband announcing that he is prevented from dining at home. I asked the Kaiser to explain to me the system pursued with regard to Imperial messages.

‘That is a matter about which you will be able to learn more from the Chancellor than from me,’ was the answer. ‘Foreign despatches go through the Chancellery, and there is a staff of telegraphists there to deal with them. The wire goes direct to the Central Telegraph Office, I believe, from which it would, of course, find its way to the Cable Company.’

‘Then this fabrication must have been sent from the Chancellery in the first instance?’ I inquired. ‘It could not have been received at the Central Office from an outside source?’

‘Impossible. They would not dare to transmit a message in my name which had not reached them through one of the authorised channels.’

This was the reply I had expected. But I did not fail to mark the admission that there was more than one channel through which the forgery might have come. I was quick to ask--

‘Is there not some other source from which this telegram may have reached them besides the Chancellery? Your Majesty, no doubt, has a private wire from the Palace.’

The Kaiser looked a little put out.

‘That is so, of course,’ he conceded. ‘But that wire is used only for my personal messages, and those of the Imperial family.’

‘Still, a message received over this wire, and couched in your name, would be accepted at the Central Office, would it not?’ I persisted.

‘Undoubtedly. But the Palace operator, a man who works under the eye of my secretary, would not dare to play me such a trick, which, he would be aware, must be detected immediately. Take my advice, Monsieur V----, waste no time over side paths, but go direct to the Chancellor, and commence your perquisitions among his staff.’

I bowed respectfully, as though accepting this plan of campaign. But, as I withdrew from the Emperor’s cabinet, the doubt pressed more strongly than ever upon my mind whether I was not being asked to play a part. I half expected to find everything prepared for me at the Chancellery, prearranged clues leading to the detection of a culprit who would recite a confession which had been put into his mouth beforehand.

I was perfectly willing to perform my part in the comedy in a manner satisfactory to my employer, but all the same I meant to keep my eyes open, and not to let myself be the victim of a deception intended for English consumption.

In this mood I presented myself before the Chancellor. As soon as the Imperial autograph introducing me had met his eye, his Excellency threw aside, or pretended to throw aside, all reserve.

‘I am delighted to find the Emperor has placed this business in your hands, Monsieur V----,’ he said obligingly. ‘Your reputation is well known to me, and I am convinced that you will be perfectly discreet. The Emperor is, of course, thoroughly taken aback by the results of his unfortunate impulse, and wishes to relieve himself of the responsibility he has incurred. In that I am quite willing to help him, but not at my own expense, you understand.’

I murmured something about the Bismarcks. His Excellency gave a smile of contempt.

‘All that is absurd,’ he rapped out. ‘The Emperor is quite foolish about that family, which possesses no more influence to-day than any Pomeranian squire. No, if his Majesty wants a victim he ought to be content with one of his own staff. I refuse to allow the Imperial Chancellery to be discredited in the eyes of Europe.’

This reception, so unlike what I had anticipated, made me begin to think that my inquiry would have to be serious. After a little further conversation with the Chancellor I decided to go to work regularly, beginning by tracing the Imperial telegram back from the Central Office.

The Chancellor readily furnished me with the necessary authority to produce to the Director of the Telegraph Service, to whom I had merely to explain that I had been instructed to verify the exact wording of the now famous despatch.

It is unnecessary for me to detail my interview with this functionary, whose share in the business was purely formal. Suffice it that within a quarter of an hour after entering his office, I came out with the all-important information that the congratulation to Mr. Kruger had come direct from the Imperial Palace, over the Kaiser’s private wire.

By this time it was clear to me that either Wilhelm II. was playing a very complicated game indeed with me, or he really was the victim of one of the most audacious coups in history. My interest in the investigation was strongly roused, as I made my way to the Palace for the second time that day, bent upon a meeting with the telegraphist by whose agency, it now appeared, the war-making despatch had come over the wires.

My recent audience in the Imperial cabinet had invested me with authority in the eyes of the household, and I had no difficulty in getting a footman to conduct me to the operator’s room, which was situated at the far end of the corridor which I had previously passed through on my way to the Kaiser.

The room being empty on my arrival, I dismissed the footman in search of the operator, who, he informed me, would most probably be found with the private secretary to the Emperor.

The moment I found myself alone I stepped up to the apparatus. I am an expert telegraphist, and the machine speedily clicked off the following despatch--

‘_To the German Ambassador, London.--See Lord Salisbury privately, at once, and inform him British Government entirely deceived as to my sentiments. Proofs will be sent to you shortly._--WILHELM, Kaiser.’

I had hardly taken my fingers off the instrument when the door opened and the operator walked in.

Herr Zeiss--I heard this name at the Central Office--appeared to me to be a simple-minded man, more likely to be the victim of a conspiracy than himself a conspirator. I thought it my best plan to assume an air of omniscience at the outset.

‘How is this, sir!’ I demanded with some sternness. ‘Do your instructions permit you to leave this instrument unguarded for any person who pleases to send his own messages over the Emperor’s private wire?’

The telegraphist stared at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm.

‘I don’t know who has authorised you, Herr Inspector----’ he began, when I cut him short.

‘Am I to go to his Majesty, and ask him if you have permission to leave this room when you please, without taking any precautions against the unauthorised use of the wire?’

Herr Zeiss quickly changed his tone.

‘That is not a thing of which I am ever guilty,’ he protested.

‘You have been guilty of it just now,’ I retorted.

‘I have not been away two minutes. No one could have taken advantage of my absence.’

‘Nevertheless, advantage has been taken of your absence.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Ask the Central Office to repeat the message you have just sent them, then.’

Casting a frightened look at me, the man complied. I have seldom seen an expression of deeper astonishment and terror on a man’s face than that which marked the unfortunate operator’s as my despatch came back to him, word after word, ending with the Imperial signature.

‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall be ruined!’

‘Whether you are ruined or not depends entirely on yourself,’ I said sharply. ‘It is in my power to save you, but only upon one condition.’

Herr Zeiss turned on me a gaze of mute appeal.

‘You must tell me the exact truth,’ I proceeded, ‘and you must tell me everything. How often have you left this room without taking precautions against the misuse of the wire in your absence during the last two days?’

Zeiss considered for a moment. Then his face brightened up.

‘Not once, I can assure you positively of that, Herr Inspector.’

This answer, given so confidently, came as a severe check to me. I looked at the man sternly, as I responded, with assumed confidence--

‘And I am positive that you are mistaken. An unauthorised use _has_ been made of this wire, and I am determined to know by whom.’

The operator’s face fell once more. He appeared to me to be honestly at a loss.

‘Come,’ I put in, ‘think again. Begin by recalling any occasions on which you have been called away hurriedly, and have perhaps omitted to lock the door.’

‘But there has been no such occasion. I swear to you that I have not once left this room without taking ample precautions.’

I fancied I discerned a touch of hesitation, rather in the operator’s tone than in his actual words.

‘Speak more plainly,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by precautions?’

‘Either the door was locked, or else----’ This time the hesitation was palpable.

‘Or else what?’

‘It was left in the charge of a trustworthy person.’

‘And that trustworthy person, who was he?’ I found it hard to suppress all signs of excitement as I put this question.

‘The gentleman who will shortly be my brother-in-law.’

‘Ah! Perhaps this gentleman is an employee in the same department as yourself?’

‘Not at all,’ Zeiss protested earnestly. ‘He is a teacher in the Military College. He knows nothing of telegraphy; in fact, he has sometimes asked me questions on the subject which have convinced me that he is quite a fool where electricity is concerned.’

‘Indeed! And the name of this foolish person, if you please?’

‘Herr Severinski.’

‘A Pole!’ I exclaimed.

‘No, a Russian. He was exiled to Siberia on account of his political opinions, but escaped. He teaches Russian in the college.’

‘How did he come to be left in charge of this room?’

‘He called here the day before yesterday, in the evening, to speak to me about his marriage with my sister. They have been engaged for some time, you must know. While he was here I received a note from my sister herself, pressing me to come and speak to her at once outside the Palace. I went, leaving my brother-in-law to wait here during my absence. My sister, I found, merely wished to urge me not to object to any proposal made by her betrothed. On my return I found Severinski yawning and apparently bored to death in my absence. I asked him, and he assured me no one had come near the room while I was away.’

I could scarcely resist smiling as the whole intrigue, so simple, and yet so consummately successful, lay bared to my perception. My whole anxiety now was to keep the worthy but stupid Zeiss ignorant of the transaction in which he had been an unwitting accomplice.

I brought him away from the Palace with me, so as to leave him no opportunity of warning Severinski, and we proceeded together to the Russian’s quarters. I flatter myself that the professor of the Military College was not a little disconcerted when he saw his dupe followed into the room by an Inspector of the Berlin Police.

I explained my position in such a manner as to let Severinski see that I knew everything, without enlightening the other man.

‘The day before yesterday Herr Zeiss left you alone in his room in the Palace. You took the opportunity to send a telegram, the terms of which are known to me, over the Emperor’s private wire. For this offence you and he are liable to severe punishment. What I now have to propose to you is to make a confession which will have the effect of exonerating every one except yourself. If you do this, I think I can promise you that you shall suffer no penalty beyond, of course, the loss of your post in the Military College.’

Severinski gave me a glance of intelligence.

‘You do not require me to denounce anybody else?’ he inquired significantly.

‘I do not require you to confess what is obvious to every one,’ I returned with equal significance.

Poor Zeiss followed this exchange with an air of bewilderment. It was evident that the discovery of the other’s guilt had caused a shock to his confiding nature, and he was still trying to reconcile the Russian’s prompt surrender to me with his previous stupidity on questions of electrical science, when I summarily dismissed him from further share in the interview.

As soon as we were by ourselves Severinski spoke out boldly enough.

‘I am quite willing to give you a statement that I sent the telegram. But I am not going to tell you anything more. You must know that I am an Anarchist.’

I waved my hand scornfully.

‘If I consent to your suppressing the truth, Professor Severinski, it does not follow that I am willing to listen to absurd fictions. Be good enough to write out and sign a circumstantial account of your own part in this clumsy plot, and I will undertake that you shall not pass to-night in prison.’

The Russian had the sense to do what he was told without further parley. I got from him more than I expected. He consented to put in writing that it was after his betrothal to Fraulein Zeiss that he had been solicited to make use of his connection with the Kaiser’s private telegraphist, and he stated the amount of the bribe, a very heavy one, paid him for his services in sending the Imperial congratulations to the President of the Transvaal. We became so friendly over the discussion that Severinski, who was bursting with vanity over his success, wanted me at last to let him tell me too much. I was obliged to order him to be silent.

‘If you tell me that you are an agent of a certain great Power, I must repeat what you say to the Kaiser. Then one of two things will happen. Either your Government will avow your action, in which case you will be hanged as a spy, or it will disavow you, in which case you will pass the rest of your life in prison as a criminal lunatic.’

This menace had all the effect which I could have desired, and I was satisfied that the Russian would now hold his tongue.

Bidding him a cordial farewell--for I confess the fellow’s audacity had inspired me with some admiration--I hastened back to the Palace, to lay the results of my investigations before Wilhelm II.

‘Your Majesty has been victimised by a secret agent whose employers are interested in bringing about a feeling of ill-will, if not an actual war, between Germany and Great Britain. The day before yesterday this agent, whose name is Severinski, and who is employed to teach Russian’--Wilhelm II. started--‘in the Berlin Military College, visited your private telegraphist in the room at the end of this corridor. He had previously contrived that the telegraphist should be called away during his visit, and he took advantage of this absence to send the message which has caused so much trouble.’

The Kaiser made no reply until he had finished reading the proofs I laid before him.

‘And you did not ask this Severinski by whom he was set on?’ demanded his Majesty, giving me a keen glance.

‘I did not know whether you would wish me to do so,’ I answered respectfully.

‘You were right, a thousand times right,’ exclaimed the Emperor. ‘As long as they are in doubt whether I know it is they who have played me this trick, I have the advantage of them, and they will keep silence for their own sakes.’ He paused in deep consideration for a minute, then he looked up quickly. ‘All this time I must not forget the English. Tell me, Monsieur V----, are you personally known to Lord Salisbury?’

‘I have that honour, sire. On one occasion----’

‘Enough! There is not a moment to lose. You will leave Berlin by the first train, and proceed straight to the Ambassador’s house in London. He will take you round to the Prime Minister, and you will offer him the proofs which you have just offered me, explaining at the same time that the excited state of public feeling in both countries makes it impossible for me to take any open action in the matter.’

I bowed and moved towards the door.

‘I will wire to the Ambassador to expect you,’ called out the Kaiser.

‘Pardon me, your Majesty has done so already.’

‘How?’

‘I also passed five minutes alone in the room of Herr Zeiss,’ I explained.

In the years which have elapsed since this celebrated episode, Wilhelm II. has left no means untried to convince the British people of his friendly sentiments towards them. It is as a service to his Imperial Majesty, though without authority from him, that I now venture to lift the veil from the most astounding transaction in the annals of even Muscovite diplomacy.

II

THE BLOWING UP OF THE _MAINE_

Although the revelations which have been made already in the British House of Commons have thrown some light on the international intrigues which complicated the progress of the Cuban War, the tragic event which caused the United States to draw the sword against Spain has remained a profound mystery to the present hour.

The truth concerning the destruction of the United States warship _Maine_, in the roadstead of Havana, is known fully to only two persons now alive. One of these two has taken the vow of perpetual silence in the monastery of La Trappe, and his name is already forgotten by the world.

I shall cause some surprise, perhaps, when I venture to assert that had I left my hotel ten minutes earlier on a certain memorable night in the year 1898, the Spanish flag might still be flying over the citadel of Havana.

The extraordinary adventure which I am going to relate had its starting-point in Paris, which is, to a large extent, the clearing-house of international politics--the diplomatic exchange where the representatives of the Powers meet, and sound each other’s minds. For this reason the highest post in the diplomatic service of every country is still the Paris Embassy, although France itself scarcely ranks to-day as a Power of the first magnitude.

It is Paris, as every one is aware, which was the scene of the long negotiation between the representatives of the Cuban insurgents and the Government of Madrid on the question of the terms to be granted by Spain to her discontented colony. In this negotiation it is equally well known that the Cuban delegates received the moral support of the United States; but it is not generally known that the Spanish Government acted throughout in consultation with most of the European Powers.

I was looking on at the negotiation without any very great interest, sharing, as I did, in the general impression that Spain would give way before long, when I was surprised one morning by receiving a visit from a very remarkable character.

Ludwig Kehler was a Bavarian, who had begun life as a candidate for the priesthood. A disgraceful affair, the particulars of which I had never learned, had caused his dismissal from the seminary, and, after drifting about the world for a time, and mixing in very shady company, he suddenly appeared in Berlin in the character of a police agent.

The exact nature of the services which he rendered to the police was a mystery, but I had formed the theory that he was employed as a spy on the German Catholics, whose attachment to the House of Hohenzollern has always been suspected in Berlin.

The presence of this man in Paris was in itself an unusual event. It did not occur to me to connect it with the Spanish-American question, and that for a very simple reason. Germany is the one country in Europe which has never possessed a foot of soil in the New World. Spain, Portugal, England, France, and even Holland and Denmark have planted their flags across the Atlantic, but the German Michael has been content to remain at home while his neighbours were colonising the globe.

I received Kehler coldly. My acquaintance with him was a purely professional one, and he was a man whom I profoundly distrusted.

As soon as I could do so, without positive rudeness, I invited him to explain the object of his visit.

‘It is of a confidential nature,’ prefaced the Bavarian. ‘May I assure myself that our conversation will remain a secret between us two?’

I bowed gravely.

‘That is always understood, where I am concerned. A man who desires to be trusted must begin by establishing a reputation for secrecy.’

Kehler contented himself with this assurance, dry as it was.