I got up, softly drew back the curtain of the window, and cautiously
peeped out. There, in the moonlight, rolled by gun after gun,
followed by the caissons and all the supplementary outfit of a park
of artillery.

They were heading southward, and the frontier lay only three miles
away. I counted six batteries--thirty-six guns--the equipment of an
army corps. When all had gone by I retired to rest again.

I rose at break of day, took out my car, and followed in the route
of the cannon. The road conducted me without a turning straight to
the frontier post, where I found a sleepy Russian sentry exchanging
friendly greetings with a still drowsier Austrian one. A short way
beyond stood the Austrian guard-house, with the men lounging on a
bench outside the door in the sunlight, waiting for their coffee.

Everything was as if my vision of the night before had been a dream.

I turned my car round, and drove back slowly, scrutinising every
hedge and tree along both sides of the road. Less than a mile from
the post my attention was caught by a place on the left hand side,
where the hedge appeared to have been mended or replanted. I ought
to explain that the road was bordered at this point by a thick wood
apparently impenetrable to anything bigger than a stoat.

I stopped the car, got down, and approached the hedge, examining
every inch of the ground.

The first discovery I made was that the road itself had been recently
mended. Creases in the surface, like the ruts made by heavy wheels
in turning, had been filled up, and the dust from other parts of the
road carefully raked over the spot.

Then, looking closely at the hedge, I perceived that the bushes were
no longer growing in their place. The entire hedge had been cut
away level with the ground for a space of several yards, and then
replaced, the matted bushes being wired together so as to form a sort
of gate or hurdle, like the furze hurdles in common use in England
and other countries. The leaves were already beginning to droop from
want of the nourishment supplied by the roots.

I drew up my car close to the hedge, and, mounting upon it, managed
to scramble over into the wood, at the cost of some scratches.

I found myself in the midst of a pile of brush-wood which extended
for some paces, completely covering the soil from view. Immediately
beyond came a gap in the trees, not in front, but at one side, so
that it was quite invisible from the road. Turning sharply towards
the frontier, and running almost parallel with the high road, was a
grassy drive or lane, about ten feet wide, and sufficiently free from
undergrowth to admit the passage of an army.

With my heart thumping against my ribs, and almost holding my breath
in my excitement, I stole along this path, which revealed, by a
hundred tokens, that it had recently been used for heavy traffic. I
followed its windings for I should think a mile and a half, when I
found myself brought up abruptly by a post and rail fence, the posts
being painted yellow on the side which faced me, and black on the
reverse.

This fence was the boundary between the two empires. A narrow
footpath bordered it on each side, so that the patrol might pass
along it each day on his rounds.

As for the artillery, it seemed to have disappeared, to have been
swallowed up by the earth.

I looked round me in all directions. The woodland road by which I
had reached the frontier stretched away on the other side of the
fence. This was in itself a suspicious sign. It scarcely seemed
likely that two independent drives would have been constructed so as
to meet in the heart of the forest, unless there was some traffic
meant to pass that way. All at once the explanation burst upon me. It
was a smuggler’s route!

The high tariffs of the Russian and Austrian empires have fostered an
important contraband traffic. The soldiers who patrol the frontier
are easily bribed by a share in the gains of the smugglers. What the
Russian War Office had done was to bribe the smugglers in their turn
to act as its allies in this strange invasion.

I have used the word invasion. Unless my deductions were wholly
false, the thirty-six guns which I had seen passing my window in the
night were by this time actually planted on the soil of Austria.

I sprang over the fence, and hurried forward on the still clearly
revealed track.

At the end of an hour from my first entrance into the forest, my ear
caught a low murmur which warned me that I was drawing near to some
kind of encampment. Striking from the lane into the wood, I advanced,
creeping from tree to tree. But I have had few opportunities of
learning woodcraft, and there were keener ears, and more stealthy
footsteps than mine in the forest. Suddenly I felt a powerful hand
gripping my throat, a dark cloth descended over my eyes, and I was
thrown violently to the ground.

I did not lose consciousness, while I was lifted up by the feet and
shoulders, and carried a distance which I calculated at two hundred
paces. After some twisting and turning I was set down, and the cloth
was taken off my head. I sat up and looked round.

I found myself in a small hut or wigwam of boughs and woven rushes,
surrounded by half a dozen dark-faced men who squatted between me
and the doorway, the only opening by which light was admitted. One
glance at my captors satisfied me that they were neither soldiers nor
Russians. Reassured on this point I prepared to defend myself boldly.

The head man of the party appeared to be an old fellow with a short
grey beard, who might have passed equally well in the uncertain light
for a Wallach, a Slovene, a gipsy, or a Jew, but certainly not for
an honest man of any race. Addressing myself to the chief of the
smugglers, as I conceived him to be, in Polish, I asked--

‘Why have you dared to treat me like this?’

‘He is a Pole!’ The muttered exclamation solved my doubt as to the
race of the smugglers. The language they used between themselves was
Romany.

‘What were you doing in our wood?’ the old gipsy asked threateningly.

Before I had time to reply, the old man’s eye suddenly lighted up.
He took a step towards me, uttered an amazed ejaculation, and then,
before I knew what was happening, fell on his knees before me, and,
seizing my right hand, respectfully kissed a ring on the little
finger. At the same time the other members of the party crowded
round, evidently impatient to follow his example.

The ring which excited this extraordinary demonstration was one which
I had worn so long that I had forgotten all about it. It had been
given me seventeen years before, in Baghdad, by an old woman I had
saved from the bastinado at the hands of a savage Pasha.

She was a gipsy, I now remembered; she had forced the ring upon me
against my will, and had urged me never to take it off night or day,
assuring me in the most solemn manner that it would one day be the
means of saving my life. This prophecy, which I had laughed at as a
vain boast and quickly forgotten, was coming true at last.

Blessing the old lady with all my heart, and inwardly apologising
to her for my past scepticism, I put on the air of one who was
accustomed to, and expected, the homage he was receiving.

‘That will do, my friends,’ I said, when each man had saluted the
magic ring in turn--it was engraved with a pentagram. ‘Now, if I give
you some money, how long will it take you to procure some bottles of
good wine?’

A grunt of pleasure welcomed this inquiry. I heard a word which
sounded like canteen. Then one of the men rose, in obedience to a nod
from the chief.

‘Cheni will fetch it in five minutes,’ said the old man.

I placed a double handful of gold in his outstretched palms. A
perfect salvo of approving cries greeted this munificence.

While we were waiting for the wine to appear I offered an account of
myself which appeared to be quite satisfactory. I said I was a Pole,
of gipsy descent through my mother, that I was engaged in a plot to
bring about a general rising in the event of war between Austria and
Russia, and that I was specially engaged to secure the support of the
numerous gipsies along the frontier, who were to watch the movements
of the two great belligerents on our behalf, a service for which they
would be handsomely paid.

The arrival of six bottles of first-rate Tokay gave all the
confirmation to my words that was required. As the wine vanished
down their throats, the gipsies laid aside all reserve, and freely
imparted to me what information they possessed.

They told me, in the first place, that the six batteries I was
tracing were within a few yards of us, skilfully hidden among the
trees. Their arrival brought the force designed for the occupation of
Galicia up to a total strength of eighty thousand men and seventy-two
guns, all of whom had been secretly brought across the frontier at
different points during the last few days, and were now ready to
move in concert as soon as the signal was given, and overrun the
unprepared province.

Vast convoys of provisions were being held in readiness on the
Russian side of the frontier, and a second army of one hundred and
twenty thousand men was to be secretly mobilised in and around
Warsaw, ready to come to the support of the first, in the event of
serious resistance on the part of the Austrian Government.

This last item rested on hearsay, but the presence of two army
corps on Galician soil was a fact for which my informants were able
to vouch from their own observation. The fact was known to every
smuggler along the Galician frontier, and yet, so profuse were the
bribes they had received, and so perfect was their secrecy, that not
the slightest hint had been suffered to reach any official of the
Austrian Government.

I spent some hours of the most agonising suspense I have ever known,
in the company of these drunken outlaws, before I dared to risk
an effort to get away. Their suspicions, or rather their natural
distrustfulness, caused them to raise all sorts of objections to my
departure. It was only by swearing on the sacred pentagram that no
hair of their heads should ever be imperilled by any action of mine,
that I was able to tear myself away.

When I got out on to the high road again, at the spot where I had
left my motor, I found, as I had feared, that it was no longer there.
I turned at haphazard in the direction of the frontier post. As soon
as I came in sight of the Russian guard-house, I saw, to my delight,
my car standing on the road in the front of the door, with a group of
interested soldiers curiously inspecting every part of it.

Now the car happened to be a Panhard, of the most powerful
construction yet turned out by the famous French firm.

I strolled up carelessly, greeted the astonished soldiers in broken
Russian, and asked them if they were familiar with the machine. The
lieutenant of the post, a man in education and intelligence below the
level of an English sergeant, bustled out and began questioning me,
with the evident intention of ordering my arrest.

I handed him my passport to read, a process which takes some time
with an illiterate Russian officer, and went on explaining the
mechanism of the car to the inquisitive soldiers. Finally I came to
the driving power.

‘And now, my friends,’ I said, ‘I will show you how the car is
propelled. Stand back clear of the wheels, if you please. You see
this lever. I place my hand on it so----’

‘Stay!’ shouted the officer, divining the danger in this
demonstration.

He spoke too late. As my hand grasped the lever, I vaulted into the
car, and before the excited soldiers realised that it was under way,
the Panhard was tearing towards the boundary line at the rate of
twenty-five miles an hour.

The Russian sentry ran out into the middle of the road to stop me.
He was a poor peasant, perhaps from the banks of the Volga, who must
have thought that the Evil One himself was upon him. I saw his face
blanch, and almost heard the chattering of his teeth, but he did not
flinch from his duty. I rode right over him, and I am sorry to say
that I believe he was killed.

[Illustration: “I rode right over him.”]

The Austrian sentry simply fired off his gun as a warning to his
comrades at the guard-house further along the road. They swarmed
out, and I pulled up the machine. I had put the brake on immediately
after crossing into Austrian territory.

‘In the Emperor’s name!’ I whispered to the Austrian officer of the
guard. ‘I am not an Englishman, but a member of the Austrian Secret
Service. By allowing me to pass without delay you will render the
Government a vital service.’

‘You have just killed a man,’ the officer objected, pointing to the
blood on my wheels.

‘I am afraid so. The fact that I killed a Russian sentry in order to
cross the frontier should convince you that I am in deadly earnest.’

The officer, by some rare chance, was intelligent enough to believe
me.

‘Pass on, sir,’ he said.

I pressed the lever, and set out on my mad race across an Empire to
Vienna. I had nothing to eat or drink. I had no shields for my eyes;
the Russian soldiers must have removed them while the car was in
their hands. I was utterly unprepared for my terrible journey. But
some intuition warned me that every moment was precious, and I kept
my splendid machine at full pressure for the whole five hundred miles.

I will not attempt to describe that nightmare ride. Late in the
evening of the following day, I alighted at the gate of the palace
of Schönbrunn, worn-out, my face and hands chapped and bleeding, my
eyes half-blinded with dust, and my strength nearly gone.

‘The Emperor! Take me to the Emperor!’ I gasped to the first person I
met. ‘It is life or death!’

I was conducted into the presence of a chamberlain, who sought to
impose all sorts of obstacles.

‘You cannot see his Majesty now. I dare not intrude upon him. He is
closeted with the Archdukes. It is a Habsburg Family Council.’

‘My God!’ I cried out. ‘You have given me ten thousand reasons for
insisting! If it costs my life, I must interrupt his Majesty.’

My violence cowed the official. He conducted me, or, in fact,
supported me, for I was almost too weak to stand, to the door of the
Council Chamber.

‘Go in, if you must,’ he said. ‘For my part, I dare not announce you.’

I turned the handle of the door, and staggered into the room.

The spectacle which met my eyes was dazzling. In a blaze of light
all the Archdukes of the Imperial House, wearing their uniforms and
robes of State, were grouped in a semicircle, facing a throne on
which the representative of the Cæsars was seated in his Imperial
mantle, wearing the great Double Eagle Crown of Austria. Before him,
on a footstool, knelt a handsome lad of fifteen, in whom I had no
difficulty in recognising the Archduke Karl, the destined successor
to the throne.

At the moment I burst in I saw the venerable Emperor raise his hands
to his head, lift up the Imperial Crown, in which the huge diamonds
and rubies and sapphires sparkled like founts of fire, and hold it
poised in the air over his young kinsman’s bent head. In another
second it would have rested on the boy’s brow, and Francis-Joseph
would have ceased to reign.

‘Pardon!’

My voice rang out like the hoarse scream of a drunkard. I tottered
forward and fell on my knees, while the Emperor half rose from his
throne, still grasping the great crown in both hands.

‘Pardon, sire! At this hour a Russian army of eighty thousand men is
encamped upon the soil of Austria!’

Francis-Joseph sank back on his seat, and mechanically replaced the
diadem on his own head.

The explanations which followed between the two Governments were not
communicated to me. But I learned through my friends the gipsies that
the discovery of the motor, and my subsequent flight gave the alarm
to the Russian War Office. The invading force retired as stealthily
as it had come, and all vestiges of its having crossed the frontier
were so speedily and skilfully effaced that if Count Lamsdorff fell
back on a denial of the truth, it is probable that the Austrian
Government found itself unable to press the charge.

So the evil day has been postponed; for, as long as Francis-Joseph
reigns over the Dual Monarchy, Russia will be content to bide her
time.

In the meanwhile I have been informed that a warrant has been issued
against me, in the Russian courts, for the murder of the sentry whose
fate I have described.

IX

THE DEATH OF QUEEN DRAGA

It is with painful feelings, and only after long consideration,
that I have resolved to lift the veil from the tragic mystery which
surrounds the fate of the Queen who perished under the knives of
assassins in Belgrade in the month of June 1903.

The hesitation I have felt in approaching this melancholy story is
due to reasons of a personal character. Many years before, when the
late Queen of Servia occupied a private station, it was my lot to
meet her, and to fall under the spell of that fascination which this
extraordinary woman possessed over men, and which will cause her to
be remembered in history with Helen and Cleopatra, and all those
enchantresses who have involved kingdoms in ruin by their charms.

I had no right to suppose that the Countess, as she then was,
distinguished me from the crowd of those who paid homage to her;
but yet it seems as though I had in some manner inspired her with a
feeling of confidence and regard warmer than that usually felt by
any woman for a man who is neither her lover nor her kinsman.

I believe myself to be the only survivor of the tragedy who possesses
the key to that strange and terrible career, and that in imparting my
knowledge to the world I am discharging what has become a sacred duty
to the dead.

With this apology I will come straight to the history.

It was some years since I had seen or heard anything of the
Countess Draga, though, of course, I was aware, in common with all
well-informed students of contemporary politics, of the passion which
she had inspired in the young King of Servia, when I was astonished
by receiving one day a private letter from her, imploring me to
come to Belgrade at once to advise her on a matter of the highest
importance.

I lost no time in obeying the summons, by which I was singularly
moved, since there is only one thing which can ever be of the highest
importance to a woman.

It was in the courtyard garden of an old stonewalled Servian
house--more like a fortified farmhouse than a private mansion--that
the revelation burst on my ears which was so soon to startle the
capitals of Europe.

A fountain plashed into a marble basin strewn with rose leaves, and
the faint scent of myrtle and lemon blossom came from the curtain
of shrubs which screened the gateway in the thick grey wall. The
beautiful woman whose name was the object of maledictions throughout
a continent, reclined on a low couch heaped with Oriental cushions,
and fixed her dark eyes on me with a tragic intensity of appeal, as
she confessed her secret.

‘I need the advice of a disinterested friend, one who stands apart
from the intrigues which centre round the Servian throne.’

I sat upright on the French chair provided for me, and gazed down at
her, outwardly calm and stern as ever, but gripping the throttle of
emotions whose strength none can know but myself.

‘My advice will be disinterested in one sense,’ I answered slowly.
‘I care nothing for the plots and conspiracies which, under the name
of politics, serve as a substitute for the old brigandage of the
Balkans. But I am interested in your happiness.’

The Countess Draga let her eyelids fall for a moment as a quick spasm
of pain crossed her face.

‘Do not let us speak of my happiness,’ she said in low tones. ‘It is
of Alexander I must think.’

I folded my arms across my chest, and said nothing.

‘He has asked me to be his Consort.’

I did not succeed in quite concealing the astonishment with which I
heard this piece of news, as yet unsuspected by Europe, and for which
my friend Baron Rothschild would gladly have paid 1,000,000 francs.

‘I refused him,’ the Countess added; ‘I have refused him not once but
twice, but he persists.’

‘Kings ought to marry kings’ children,’ I observed, as she seemed to
wait for some expression of opinion from me.

‘Add that boys ought to marry girls and not grown women, and you
will say what the world will say as soon as it hears of this,’ she
returned, with some bitterness. ‘That is what I have told Alexander;
and he has sworn upon the crucifix in my presence that he will marry
only me.’

‘Leave Servia. Spend a year on the Riviera--or in Paris’--she glanced
swiftly at me as I said this--‘and he may change his resolution.’

The Servian’s reply startled me.

‘I cannot. At this moment I am under secret arrest.’

‘Under arrest?’

‘You forget that Alexander has made himself master, and that reasons
of State cover a great deal in Servia which they would not cover in
France.’

I was staggered. A stranger situation I had never encountered in all
my strange experience.

‘He holds you a prisoner till you consent to become his Queen!’

‘Till I become his Queen,’ she corrected.

I sat still for a minute, considering. The chancelleries and the
public of Europe would never believe this story. They would think,
they were already thinking and saying, that the Countess was an
adventuress, luring the young King to his ruin.

‘There is one very simple solution,’ I said at last. ‘I will arrange
your escape.’

‘Impossible!’ she sighed.

I frowned.

‘Pardon me, my dear Countess, but when you did me the honour to
consult me, I assumed that you had some confidence in my ability. I
offer to take you wherever you wish to go.’

‘You misunderstand me, my dear friend. I do not doubt your power to
release me. But my flight would become a public event; Alexander has
too little self-restraint to keep silence about it. I should thus
damage him as much as by accepting the throne which he offers me.
He has sworn, moreover, that if I persist in my refusal, he will
abdicate.’

With what sophistries will a woman deceive herself where her heart is
concerned! And how worse than useless is it to reason with her.

‘You have told me enough,’ I answered, in a voice which was
melancholy in spite of myself. ‘I perceive that this young monarch
is not indifferent to you.’

The lovely Servian lowered her glance, and began picking a rose to
pieces with her delicate fingers.

‘He is my King,’ she murmured. ‘He is the last of the dynasty of
Obrenovitch, which my family have served faithfully for a hundred
years. The one thing which alarms me most in the whole situation is
that I have been urged to accept the King’s hand by Colonel Masileff.’

‘Colonel Masileff?’

‘Who is understood to be the secret head of the party in favour of
Prince Peter Karageorgevitch.’

I now understood the seriousness of the affair, since it was
clear that whatever step was favoured by the supporters of the
Karageorgevitch claimant must be fraught with some danger to the
Obrenovitch.

‘Is Alexander aware of this fact?’

‘I have told him, but he considers it an excuse on my part. Perhaps,
if you were to warn him, he might listen to you.’

I did not much relish the task of forcing my advice on a headstrong
youth, intoxicated with love and sovereignty. In the end I decided to
return from Belgrade through Switzerland and take an opportunity of
finding out something about Alexander’s rival for the Servian crown.

But the ways of women are proverbially difficult to calculate.

While I was still lingering in Belgrade, on the look-out for some
useful introduction to Prince Peter, the world was startled by the
public announcement of the forthcoming marriage of the King and the
Countess.

I went at once to wait on the prospective Queen of Servia to tender
my formal congratulations. I found her already surrounded by a throng
of courtiers, among whom I discerned the lean military figure and
vulture nose of the man whom Draga herself had denounced to me a few
days before--Colonel Masileff.

So magical is the influence of royalty that I found myself able to
detect a difference already in the manner, and even in the very
voice, of the woman who had bared her heart to me so short a time
before. She was gracious and cordial, but it was the graciousness
and cordiality of a Sovereign to a subject, rather than that of a
beautiful woman to a man.

Coming away I thrust my arm through that of the formidable Colonel.

‘Have you any commands for Geneva?’ I asked. ‘I shall be there in the
course of two days.’

Masileff let himself be surprised.

‘But I thought you were a friend of the Countess?’ he stammered.

‘Certainly--as you are,’ I retorted. ‘It seems to me that the
Countess is doing a very good stroke of work for a cause in which you
and I are both interested.’

Masileff glanced at me with curiosity.

‘Do you know, Monsieur V----’ (I had not seen cause to disguise my
identity on this occasion), ‘that I think you must be more fortunate
than I am. That is to say, I think you must possess the confidence of
a person who has not yet honoured me by a sign that my services are
acceptable to him.’

‘Thank you, Colonel,’ I replied, bowing. ‘Your message shall be
delivered in the right quarter.’

I left Belgrade the same night, and two days later found myself in
the presence of a quiet, elderly man in a modest apartment near the
famous Lake Leman.

I had sent in my card with the pencilled addition: ‘Confidential
agent of the Tsar, the German Emperor, and Monsieur Chamberlain.’

I felt sure that the names of the powerful triumvirate who, between
them, controlled the destinies of the Old World, would secure me the
attention of Prince Peter Karageorgevitch; and I was not mistaken.

The Prince received me with a real or assumed nervousness, and
expressed himself anxious to receive any message I might have for
him.

‘I have no message of any importance for your Highness,’ I replied,
scrutinising carefully the careworn features of the elderly man who
sat in front of me. ‘My only message at all is one from Colonel
Masileff, which is perhaps not worth your attention.’

‘I have heard of the Colonel, and shall be pleased to hear anything
on his behalf,’ the Prince replied cautiously.

‘Colonel Masileff is a little disappointed, sir, that your Highness
has not offered him any token of your approbation. He would welcome
some sign that you are not indifferent to your friends in Servia.’

Prince Peter looked at me with a glance which, though quiet, was not
less searching than my own.

‘I thank you, Monsieur V----. Is that all?’

‘It is the whole of the message, sir.’

‘Again, thank you.’

‘Your Highness does not wish to make me the medium of your answer,
perhaps?’ I hinted.

‘There is no answer.’

I perceived that I was dealing with a man of no ordinary penetration
and shrewdness. With such men it is always best to come straight to
the point and to be frank.

‘And now, sir, for the real object of my visit. I need not tell your
Highness that I did not come to Geneva to oblige Colonel Masileff.’

‘That is already quite clear,’ the Prince commented drily.

A remark from which I inferred that it was in the power of Masileff
to have given me credentials which would have secured me a very
different reception.

‘I have come here, then, to beg for the life of a woman.’

Karageorgevitch started slightly, and began for the first time to
look uneasy.

‘I thought you said you had no important message,’ he reminded me.

‘I have none. The woman I speak of is totally ignorant of the step I
take in coming here.’

‘Then your interest in the matter is----?’

‘Is personal merely. I make it my private prayer to your Highness
that, in a certain event which no longer seems improbable, the life
of this woman shall be spared.’

Prince Peter gave an imperceptible shrug, a shrug which said very
plainly, nevertheless, ‘I have no motive for obliging you.’

Aloud his Highness remarked--

‘I am strongly opposed to all bloodshed, Monsieur V----. I feel sure
there is no reality in the danger you foresee, or I should be as
earnest as yourself in wishing to prevent it.’

‘I can say no more, sir; I am here, as I have said, merely in my
private capacity. Still, I happen to have rendered important
services to some very powerful personages’ (the Prince glanced at the
names I had inscribed on my card), ‘and, without being a blackmailer,
I feel confident that if I appealed to those personages for their
influence on behalf of a righteous and honourable cause, I should not
be refused.’

Prince Peter rose to his feet, and walked twice up and down the room
before replying.

‘It is evident to me,’ he said at length, ‘that you have a strong
personal interest in the new Queen of Servia, and that you are a man
who is to be trusted. That being so, I will explain to you frankly my
position. I have friends in Servia who desire to see the restoration
of my dynasty, and derive much confidence from the misconduct of this
youth in whom the Obrenovitch line terminates.

‘Their reports reach me regularly, and I am therefore able to
anticipate their plans to some extent. But I have resolved that if I
am ever to seat myself on the Servian throne, I must keep my hands
clean. For that reason I have never committed myself by approving any
of the measures contemplated on my behalf.

‘If Masileff really told you he never heard from me, he told you the
actual truth. I have never yet returned any answer to any of the
communications I receive almost weekly from Belgrade. To that rule
I must adhere. All I can promise you is this, that if hereafter I
receive any information which convinces me that the life of the
Countess Draga is in danger, I will at once break silence, and send a
peremptory order to my friends that she is to be allowed to leave the
country in safety.’

I thanked the Servian prince for this pledge, which was all I had any
right to expect. The claimant to a Crown could hardly be asked to
veto all attempts on his behalf on the mere chance that some of them
might endanger the lives of the reigning family.

I returned to Paris, and sought to distract myself in my work from
brooding over the tragedy which seemed to be shaping itself in the
Servian capital.

As we had both foreseen, Queen Draga incurred the obloquy of the
world by marrying Alexander. Her reputation was sacrificed to his,
and I believe that she deliberately posed as the instigator of all
his violent and injudicious measures, in the hope of acting, so to
speak, as a conductor of the popular wrath, and thereby saving her
husband.

Had she been able at the same time to wean Alexander from his wild
passion for herself, he and his dynasty might have been preserved.
It is the charitable view to take that the young King was not fully
responsible for his acts at this time. The distressing circumstances
of his bringing-up, the fatal inheritance of his father’s example
and influence, render it impossible to regard Alexander Obrenovitch
as a normal young man.

The long period of suspense which I passed through, while watching
from Paris over the safety of the Queen of Servia, was at last put an
end to by a cypher telegram from the agent whom I had stationed in
Belgrade unknown even to Draga herself.

‘_Death of King fixed for next week. Queen must be persuaded to fly
at once._’

The despatch reached me just half an hour before the departure of the
Oriental express, into which I flung myself panting as it began to
glide out of the station.

My agent, warned from Vienna, met me as I alighted in Belgrade.

The pallor of his countenance told me that he had bad news to
communicate.

‘The worst--instantly!’ I exclaimed, in Polish, a language I have
taught to all the most trusted members of my staff.

‘Nothing has happened,’ he stammered out. ‘But I tried to give a hint
to the Queen; she has passed it on to her husband. The conspirators
have learned that suspicion has been aroused in the Palace; and----’

‘And what?’ I seized him by the wrist.

‘The assassination is to be carried out to-night, instead of next
week.’

‘To-night!’

Exhausted as I was by the long journey, this news almost broke me
down. I had to lean against my agent for support.

The poor wretch, conscious that he had blundered disastrously, dared
not meet my eye, and I felt him trembling.

It is my maxim never to be angry with an employee except for bad
faith. If an agent of mine blunders or breaks down I consider the
fault is mine for having intrusted him with a task beyond his powers.
Besides, there are no perfect instruments. In my own career I have
made two mistakes.

Therefore I assured the unfortunate man that all was well, since
Queen Draga was yet alive. We went together to the house in which
my agent had been residing for some time in the character of
correspondent of the Havas Agency. There I assumed the Servian dress
which he had had the forethought to prepare for me, and, disguised as
a _sous-officier_, I set off for the Palace.

My military uniform naturally inspired confidence in the sentries,
those in the plot no doubt supposing that I was so, also.

I made my way round to a side entrance, suitable to my apparent
station, and there, by my agent’s advice, asked to see Anna
Petrovitch, the waiting-maid who had shared the Queen’s fortunes for
many years.

I was admitted without any demur, and presently Anna herself
appeared. She took me apart into a small chamber apparently used by
the upper servants of the Palace, and asked me what I wanted.

‘I must see the Queen immediately, in private,’ I answered.

‘You cannot do that. Her Majesty is just sitting down to dinner. What
is your name; and what do you want to see her about?’

‘My name does not matter. I come as a friend, and I bring her Majesty
a message from one who wishes her well.’

I knew that if this woman were really in Draga’s confidence these
words would not fall unheeded.

‘Cannot you tell me something more? I will try to get you an audience
as soon as dinner is over, provided I am sure that you are a friend.’

‘Listen!’ I bent forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Have you ever
heard the Queen mention a certain Monsieur V----?’

The woman gave a start of joy, impossible to be feigned.

‘You come from him?’

I bowed.

‘Then I will endeavour to let the Queen know at once. In the
meantime, follow me.’

Anna conducted me up one of the back staircases of the Palace and
along a corridor, till we arrived at a door, which she unlocked with
a key taken out of her pocket.

I found myself in a small bedroom, humbly, but comfortably furnished.

‘This is my own room. The Queen’s boudoir is reached through that
door,’ she explained, pointing to it. ‘Wait here, and excuse me if I
take the precaution of locking you in.’

‘Stay,’ I said sharply. ‘In situations like this I trust no one. Give
me the key, and I will lock myself in, and open to your knock.’

The servant made no objection, and a signal was arranged between us;
after which she stole away, leaving me there in the gathering dusk,
with the fate of a kingdom trembling in the balance.

Of my feelings during the next half hour it would be useless to
speak. Murder, red-armed and tiger-eyed, was whetting its knife
against the bosom of the woman whom I would gladly have died to save.
And I could do nothing but stand there and gaze furtively through the
window for the first sign of the approaching cyclone.

[Illustration: “I took out my loaded revolver, cocked it and advanced
to the threshold.”]

At the end of thirty eternal minutes the expected knock came at the
outer door. I took out my loaded revolver, cocked it, and advanced
to the threshold.

‘Who is there?’

‘The Queen’s friend,’ came the expected answer.

I unlocked the door, opened it just widely enough to admit the
waiting-maid, and promptly shut and locked it again.

‘The Queen knows you are here, but she dares not leave the table
for another half hour. At the end of that time she will be in her
boudoir, and will admit us.’

I took out my watch, and cursed each dilatory hand.

‘Is the danger so pressing, then?’ asked the frightened woman.

‘I do not know how pressing it is,’ I answered gloomily. ‘I cannot
even be sure that Queen Draga will be suffered to leave that table
alive.’

‘Oh, you are mistaken there!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘My mistress is safe.
She has had a private assurance that she will be allowed to flee.’

‘Has she fled?’ I retorted. I thought I knew Draga better than her
servant did.

Silence followed. The knowledge that Prince Peter had evidently
contrived to give orders on behalf of the Queen, in the event of
violence being employed, soothed me to some extent. Nevertheless, a
sad and terrible presentiment warned me to expect the worst.

A low scratching on the inner door, that leading into the Royal
boudoir, told us that the victim was still alive. A bolt was
withdrawn, and the next moment I found myself in Queen Draga’s
presence.

It was the same woman whom I had left a few years ago, in the full
bloom of her womanhood, but how changed, how stricken! The harassed
brow, the hunted look in the eyes, the grey streaks in the hair, all
told me what the difference had been between the lot of the Queen and
the simple Countess.

‘You are from Monsieur ----?’ she whispered.

I drew myself up. Recognition flashed in her eyes.

‘You are Andrea!’

That word repaid me for everything. I went down on one knee, and
pressed her offered fingers to my lips.

It was only by the light of the moon that we were able to see each
other. Anna was moving towards the key of the electric lamps, but the
Queen forbade her with a gesture.

‘Now, tell me, what is it?’

‘You must this very minute put on Anna’s dress, and leave the Palace
with me. We shall go straight to the railway, where my agent has by
this time chartered a special train.’

Draga drew back unconvinced.

‘The assassination is fixed for next Tuesday,’ she declared.

‘It is fixed for to-night.’

‘To-night? You must be mistaken.’

I smiled bitterly.

‘The Tsar of Russia has never said that to me, madam.’

‘But how?--when?--Your own agent told me--if he was your agent----’

I waved my hand impatiently.

‘All that was true three days ago, madam. Your Majesty told
King Alexander, and the conspirators have advanced the hour in
consequence.’

For the first time the heroic woman turned pale, and began to tremble.

‘At what hour to-night is it?’

‘I have not ascertained. For ought I know the assassins are at this
moment surrounding the Palace. There may be just time for you to
leave.’

‘But the King! Alexander! My husband!’

‘I do not think there will be time for him to leave as well,’ I said
gravely.

Queen Draga threw one hand across her breast with a superb defiance.

‘I do not go without my husband, sir.’

I was torn between admiration and despair.

‘I should have done better to remain in Paris, I perceive,’ I said
sullenly.

‘On the contrary, dear Andrea, I, who know you so well, know that you
have the heroism of soul to save the man you hate at the prayer of
the woman you love.’

I stood thunderstruck, while she crossed the room into the adjoining
bedchamber, and sounded a silver bell.

‘Inform his Majesty that I desire to see him very particularly as
soon as possible.’

The servant who had answered the bell bowed and withdrew, with
startled looks, from which I was inclined to suspect that he was in
the pay of the assassins. Fortunately, he had not been able to see me
where I stood.

The Queen now began hurriedly to change her dress for one more
suitable for the emergency. Meanwhile there was no sign that her
message had reached Alexander.

‘You have been betrayed, madam,’ I observed at last. ‘That servant
was a traitor. I saw it in his face.’

Draga uttered a cry of despair.

‘You, Anna, you go and bring the King here at all costs.’

Anna darted out of the room.

The Queen, too terribly anxious to go on with her own preparations
for flight, paced the room like a lioness listening for the approach
of the hunters.

Five minutes passed--ten minutes--a quarter of a year! Then a step
was heard in the adjoining room, and the young King of Servia, his
dark face flushed with wrath, strode in.

‘What is all this? Are you trying to frighten me, Draga?’

He saw me and stopped, at the same time putting his hand to his side
where his sword should have been. The weapon was missing, perhaps by
accident.

‘This is our best friend, Alexander. He has come to save us. The
assassins have changed their plans, and will be here to-night. A
special train has been got ready, and if you can leave the Palace in
disguise, all will be well.’

The ascendency of a powerful intellect in the moment of danger made
itself felt. Alexander looked about him, half-dazed, as the poor
youth well might be, by the ghastly imminence of the peril.

‘What disguise can I wear?’ he demanded, in a choked voice.

‘Change clothes with your valet,’ the Queen replied, with
feminine quickness. ‘This gentleman affirms that he is one of the
conspirators.’

‘Constantine! Impossible! I do not believe it.’

Draga wrung her hands.

‘I cannot save him. He is obstinate!’ she sobbed.

The sob conquered the stubborn narrow mind which would have resisted
all argument. Alexander darted into his dressing-room, from which the
valet was just trying to escape.

Seizing the man by the throat, Alexander dealt him a blow on the
temple which deprived him of his senses. I had followed his Majesty,
and I now stripped the valet while the King hastily undressed. While
the King was assuming the disguise thus provided for him, I carried
the insensible man into the bedroom, and placed him between the royal
sheets.

At this moment the white face of Anna Petrovitch appeared in the
doorway beyond.

‘They are coming! I see them outside in the courtyard.’

‘Quick, quick!’ burst from the lips of Queen Draga, whose
self-possession seemed almost unnatural. And she pushed her husband
towards the door of his own dressing-room.

‘This way?’ he exclaimed, his mind unable to keep pace with hers.

‘Yes. You are Constantine. You are in the plot, remember. You must
let them in to kill your master, who is asleep.’

I shuddered. My suspicion--for it was hardly more--was going to be
fatal to the valet.

‘Go with him,’ Queen Draga added, turning to me. ‘I am safe. I
need neither protection nor guidance. He needs both. I adjure you,
Andrea!’

Swept away by the torrent of her impetuosity, I followed Alexander to
the dressing-room.

Draga herself came to the door, and closed it softly after us.

We were just in time to meet a party of a dozen soldiers, headed by
Colonel Masileff himself.

Stepping past the young King, who was shaking like a leaf, I
whispered in Masileff’s ear--

‘Be quiet, or you will awake him. He is lying on the bed, drunk.’

The soldiers filed in past us, not one casting so much as a glance at
our faces, shrouded by the darkness.

The moment the last man had stepped across the threshold of the
dressing-room, I took Alexander by the arm and drew, or rather
dragged, him out into the corridor, and down the great staircase of
the Palace.

We passed out unquestioned. It did not occur to one of the men whom
we found outside that Masileff could have missed his prey.

My uniform was enough to disarm suspicion, for it was that of a
regiment in which every man had sworn on the Gospel not to let
Alexander escape alive. My agent had served me well.

We found him at the station. The special train was ready, with steam
up, waiting for the signal to place us in safety on the soil of
Austria.

I made Alexander take his seat in the meanest compartment, while I
waited outside the station for the appearance of the two women.

I waited a long time.

From the town, all buried in darkness, there came sounds of tumult
and exultation, which must have shaken the heart of the young man in
the train.

It was not till I had been there for nearly three-quarters of an hour
that I saw one female form creeping feebly along the road towards the
station.

I darted out to meet her, and uttered an oath.

Anna Petrovitch fell weeping into my arms, with the doleful cry:
‘Queen Draga is dead! Queen Draga is dead!’

Five minutes later I had placed the desolate creature in the train,
and we were speeding on our way to Vienna.

It was in the train that I learned the few particulars that Anna had
to tell. But I had already guessed the nature of the catastrophe.

Another party of soldiers, headed by a personal enemy of the Queen’s,
had invaded the Royal suite through the waiting-maid’s room at the
instant that Masileff and his men burst into the bedroom where the
valet was lying insensible. Whether Draga’s life might really have
been spared or not, it is impossible to say. The heroic woman’s
resolution was instantly taken. She knew that if the valet were
recognised there would at once be a hue and cry, and that the King
would be pursued and probably taken; and she resolved to give her
life for her husband’s. She cast herself on the inanimate form lying
on the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be
stabbed by a dozen bayonets.

[Illustration: “Queen Draga cast herself on the inanimate form on
the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be
stabbed by a dozen bayonets.”]

Of the savage details of the murder I dare not trust myself to write.
To those who know how thin is the veneer of civilisation on the
Southern Slaves, how faint is the moral difference between some of
these so-called Christians and their Mohammedan neighbours, it will
not come as a surprise to learn that when the bloodhounds desisted
from their work there was no longer any possibility of recognising
either of their victims.

Of the young King, and what has become of him since that hideous
night, I intend to say no single word. Of her who perished, let no
man henceforth say anything but good.

X

THE POLICY OF EDWARD VII.

It is always a delicate matter for a foreigner to write about the
Sovereign of another country in such a way as to be acceptable to
his subjects. In case I, a citizen of the United States, should
unwittingly offend any English prejudices in the following narrative,
I can only assure my readers that I am actuated by no feeling
but that of the most sincere respect for the greatest of living
Sovereigns and the mighty people over whom he reigns.

In the summer of 1902 the whole world was dismayed by the news that
the Coronation of King Edward VII. had been postponed at the last
moment, on account of his Majesty’s grave state of health.

The Governments of the Continent, ever distrustful, and prone to
credit others with their own Machiavellian statecraft, eagerly asked
themselves if the official explanation of this event was genuine, or
whether it did not conceal some subtle political purpose.

As a result, I found myself commissioned by a certain great Power to
go over to London, and ascertain the true state of affairs.

Needless to say, my inquiries enabled me in a very short time to
report to my employers that their suspicions were groundless.

In the course of the brief investigation I was brought into personal
touch with a man of high rank, occupying a confidential position
in the Royal Household--the Marquis of Bedale. The manner in which
I carried out my delicate mission caused Lord Bedale to compliment
me highly upon my courage and discretion, and I have every reason
to think that his lordship spoke in favourable terms of me to his
exalted master.

Before I left England I was surprised and gratified to receive a
request from Lord Bedale to wait upon him in his private apartment in
Buckingham Palace, on confidential business.[1]

His lordship received me in the friendliest fashion, and talked to me
quite freely.

‘Let me begin,’ he said, ‘by asking you for your frank opinion on our
Secret Service.’

‘The Secret Service of Great Britain is the most scrupulously
conducted in the world,’ I replied discreetly.

Lord Bedale gave me a queer smile.

‘That means, I suppose, that it is the most inefficient?’ he
suggested.

‘It is the worst paid,’ I said, by way of extenuation. ‘I have
heard that the total amount voted for this purpose by the British
Parliament is only £40,000, but that sounds incredible.’

‘I am afraid it is not far from the truth,’ Lord Bedale answered. ‘We
have acted in the belief that the British Empire was too strong to
care about what its enemies were planning.’

‘I should think the Boer War must have made you realise that such a
policy was not the cheapest in the long run,’ I ventured to remark.

‘It has shown _me_ so, at all events,’ he answered, ‘and possibly
some others. You will not offend me in the least, Monsieur V----, if
you tell me plainly that you consider our Intelligence Department the
weakest branch of our Foreign Service, and utterly unworthy of an
Empire with such world-wide interests as ours.’

I was obliged to admit that such was my opinion. His lordship
proceeded.

‘This state of things constitutes a national danger. In a country
like ours, run on democratic lines, it is almost hopeless to look to
Parliament for any improvement. The only remedy is for some one who
has the interests of his country at heart to supplement the work of
the public service by a private intelligence department conducted at
his own expense, just as in the case of a newspaper proprietor.’

I gave the speaker a quick glance of interrogation. I happened to
be aware that the Marquis, in spite of his high rank, was not a
very wealthy man, and it was therefore clear to me that he was not
speaking of himself.

‘Such a person as you describe would, indeed, deserve well of his
country,’ was all I thought it prudent to say.

‘I shall be glad if you will consider me as the person concerned,’
Lord Bedale said in a tone which warned me that I was on delicate
ground. ‘I have sent for you to ask if you will accept a commission
from me to act as a Secret Service agent in the interests of Great
Britain.’

I hesitated. It is my fixed rule to deal only with principals, and I
could not escape the conclusion that Lord Bedale was merely the agent
of another.

‘Will you let me ask your lordship one question?’ I said. ‘Do you
offer me this commission as a private citizen solely, or am I at
liberty to infer, from your position in the Royal Household, that you
have no concealments from the exalted personage you serve, and that
by accepting your offer I shall, in effect, be serving his Majesty?’

The Marquis studied my face carefully before answering.

‘It seems to me that such an inference is right and natural, and one
that you are bound to make,’ he said slowly.

‘Then I shall feel highly honoured by accepting,’ I returned, bowing.

The question of terms was disposed of to our mutual satisfaction.
I came away from the Palace filled with reverence for the monarch
who, unless I were completely deceived, had decided to contribute
out of his private purse to the defence of the great Empire whose
politicians were so neglectful of its safety.

On my return to Paris I set to work to organise a special department
for the purpose of collecting intelligence likely to be of importance
to the British Empire.

I was amused to find that several of the secret agents in the service
of the British Foreign Office were receiving much larger salaries
from the Russian Government than from the one they were supposed to
act for. Among other similar discoveries my agents reported to me
that a certain British Vice-Consul in the Euphrates Valley, a Greek
by extraction, had secretly taken out letters of naturalisation as a
German subject. It was on this man’s recommendation chiefly that the
British Government had been induced to give its countenance to the
project for a German railway to Baghdad.

I duly forwarded this and other items to Lord Bedale, but I could not
perceive that any notice was taken of them by the Foreign Office.
Probably the permanent staff resented the idea that they were being
checked and inspected, and determined to show that they were not
going to let even their monarch interfere with them.

But all this was merely preliminary. I was on the eve of a discovery
of so much moment that I have often asked myself since whether, but
for me, the British Empire would be in existence to-day.

Newspaper readers may recollect that not very long ago a sharp
passage of words took place between a German Minister and an English
statesman whom I will not indicate more closely in the present
excited state of party politics. Although in appearance but a quarrel
of Ministers, it was perfectly well understood on the Continent that
the Count von Bülow was only the mouthpiece of his Imperial master
on this occasion. Europe gasped at the spectacle of this political
thunderstorm, in which the lurking hatred of Germany towards England
was for the first time brought to the surface, and exposed.

I knew the character of both of these formidable peoples too well
to believe that the incident would have no after effects. As by the
glare of a lightning-flash, there stood revealed before me the
figures of the two great protagonists, contending together for the
mastery in a war raging over three continents.

Very soon after Lord Bedale, or whoever stood behind him, had
confided the safety of Great Britain to my care, I repaired in
disguise to Berlin. My instinct taught me that this capital was the
true storm-centre, and that from here, rather than St. Petersburg,
would be directed the designs of any really dangerous movement
against the country of Edward VII.

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.

[Illustration: “‘V----!’ he exclaimed, drawing back as if he had been
stung.”]

‘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_.’

[Illustration: “‘Arrest that man!’ the Kaiser commanded, without
giving him time to speak.”]

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?’

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

‘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.

[Illustration: “‘I am going to ask you to undertake a service of an
unusual kind.’”]

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.

‘I am going to ask you to undertake a service of an unusual kind. You
will run some risks, and I shall be obliged to trust you implicitly.’

‘Madame,’--I began to protest. She silenced me with a superb gesture.

‘I have not asked you for assurances, monsieur. If I have chosen you
in preference to any of my friends, even men of the highest honour,
like M. des Saintes Roches, depend upon it I know what I am about. Do
not interrupt me, but listen. In my safe at this moment I have notes
and securities to the value of two hundred millions of francs.’

Two hundred millions! That is to say, in English money, £8,000,000! I
stared at her in amazement--almost in disbelief. She went on speaking
with the most perfect composure, as if nothing out of the ordinary
were being discussed. It was this self-command, this air of the
commonplace with which she invested the most fantastic statements,
which constituted the secret of her power.

‘This sum, which originally amounted to only one hundred and twenty
millions, does not belong to me. It is a sacred deposit, intrusted
to me many years ago, since which time the interest has steadily
accumulated.’

‘But, then, whose----?’ I tried to put in. But Madame Humbert would
not permit me to speak.

‘It is useless to question me, monsieur. Think what you like
concerning the true ownership of this money, but do not expect me
to enlighten you. All that it is necessary for you to know is that
these millions constitute a war fund, to be employed in a certain
event, and on behalf of a cause which I was brought up to hold dearer
than life.’

‘A war fund!’ I could not resist exclaiming.

My companion ignored the interruption.

‘From which it follows that the whole sum must always be available,
at an hour’s notice, in the hands of a trusty agent. Hitherto I have
been that agent; but I have met with misfortunes, and a danger has
arisen that this sum may fall into the hands of my private creditors.’

She paused for a moment, and then added, in a less firm tone--

‘The custody of this vast sum has been my ruin. In order to use it
to advantage I was obliged to invent all sorts of fables to account
for its being in my possession. People insisted on treating me as a
rich woman, they forced loans upon me; I considered it permissible
to borrow money on the security of this fortune of which I was
merely the guardian; I managed my own affairs badly--in short I
am insolvent, and shall shortly be obliged to go into hiding. My
creditors have asked the Courts for an order to open the safe which
contains the millions, and unless they are removed in time I shall
have incurred the vengeance of those whose cause I have betrayed.’

She shuddered. Thérèse Humbert, the strong-minded, imperturbable
woman who had witnessed suicides committed on her account, trembled
as she referred to this vengeance, which was so much more terrible to
her than any penalties in the power of the French Courts to impose.

‘In a word, Monsieur V----,’ she resumed, throwing off her momentary
weakness, ‘you must relieve me of the custody of this treasure.’

I sat as if mesmerised while I received this staggering proposal,
which the extraordinary personage beside me made in the
matter-of-fact tone of one who is asking another to undertake the
posting of a letter.

This woman, whom I had never seen before, who was beginning to be
publicly branded as an adventuress, and who had just confessed
herself to be a bankrupt, if not something which the law would call
by a harsher name--this woman calmly informed me that she proposed
handing over to me a sum equal to the revenue of a kingdom, to be
held, as far as I could see, for an unknown length of time, for an
unknown owner, and for an unknown purpose.

If it had been any other person in the world who had made me such a
proposition, I am certain that I should have laughed at it as a hoax,
or, at least, demanded the most circumstantial details and assurances
before going further. What was there about this Thérèse Humbert, with
her figure of a bourgeois, her expressionless face, and cold grey
eye, which compelled me to take her seriously--which made me, against
my judgment, submit to become her instrument? In the power of the
human will there are mysteries which philosophy has not yet fathomed.

It is true that at this time Madame Humbert still retained the
confidence of a very large section of society. There had, as yet,
been no hint of any criminal proceedings against her. Even if there
had been, moreover, she had so clearly separated her position as
trustee of the millions from her private dealings, that she had
convinced me that I could carry out her instructions with regard
to the fund, without being guilty of any dishonesty towards the
creditors who were proceeding against her.

Be that as it may, I consented to consider the matter.

My companion at once set herself to extract from me a definite
undertaking.

‘There is no time to lose,’ she insisted. ‘Although I am exhausting
every legal form, in order to postpone the decision, my advocate has
warned me that I must not expect it to be delayed much longer. I
shall not be easy till the millions are safely in your hands.’

‘And when I have received them, what then?’ I asked. ‘Will it not be
known that the sum is in my possession, and shall I not be exposed to
proceedings in my turn?’

‘That is what we have got to avoid,’ was the answer. ‘It will be
necessary for you to take the money with the greatest secrecy.
Fortunately, this is not an affair of bankers. The notes and bills
are lying ready in the safe in my house, and do not require to be
endorsed. You will not be asked for a receipt even.’

I was more and more overcome by the sublime daring of this woman’s
ideas.

‘Then you simply wish me to take the fund from you and hold it at
your disposal?’

‘At the disposal of those to whom it belongs,’ Thérèse corrected me.
‘When the time comes to reclaim these millions I may be out of reach.
That will not matter to you. All you will have to do is to keep the
treasure in some safe hiding-place, and deliver it up to the first
person who comes to you and pronounces in your ear three words.’

She bent her lips towards me and whispered three words of such
notable significance that I was left in little doubt as to the
purpose for which the mysterious hoard was being kept in readiness.

Although the light thus obtained served to relieve my mind of the
fear that I was mixing in any vulgar swindle, yet at the same time it
showed me that there were grave risks to be run, and that I might
easily find myself in the meshes of the criminal law.

I again asked for time to consider. Madame Humbert’s sole reply was
an offer of terms so liberal that it would have been quarrelling with
my profession to refuse. She smiled with grim satisfaction as she
read in my face that I gave in.

‘Then that is settled, monsieur,’ she remarked, preparing to rise. ‘I
will only add that the sooner you get to work the better it will be
for everybody.’

‘When do you propose to hand the millions over to me?’ was my natural
question.

‘I do not propose to hand them over to you at all,’ she responded
coolly. ‘You will take the money out of the safe in your own fashion,
and without consulting me.’

I gazed at her in consternation.

‘You mean that I should steal this two hundred millions!’ I gasped.

‘That will be the best plan, I think,’ said Madame Humbert with an
approving nod.

I have been concerned in some curious transactions in my time, and
in some dangerous ones, but now I felt that I was fairly out of
my depth. I knew that I was nothing to Thérèse Humbert; and if it
suited her convenience to use me as a cat’s-paw in the game she was
playing with the authorities I might very well find myself in an ugly
situation.

What, for example, could be easier than for this accomplished
intriguer to set a trap for me; have me arrested, perhaps, in the
attempt to break into an empty safe, and thus establish a defence for
herself? She would be able to pose as the victim of a robbery; and I
should be held responsible for the disappearance of these millions
whose existence was in dispute.

I felt my companion’s eyes fixed on my face in watchful scrutiny
as these reflections passed through my mind. My decision was taken
swiftly.

‘You shall hear from me in the morning, madame,’ I said sharply,
rising from my seat. ‘Till then, _au revoir_.’

And I went out of the room, and out of the house, without giving her
an opportunity to press me further.

When the morning came I was seated in my office as usual, engaged in
deciphering a confidential cable from the President of Colombia, when
my secretary entered the room and informed me that a veiled lady, who
declined to give her name, wished to see me in private.

‘Show Madame Humbert in,’ I said, emphasising the name.

[Illustration: “My visitor started as she heard her name, and threw
up her veil with a gesture of astonishment and indignation.”]

The secretary, who understood what was required of him, went out,
and immediately returned with the visitor.

‘Madame Humbert,’ he announced with as much confidence as if the
great Thérèse had intrusted him with her card.

On the previous night Madame Humbert had enjoyed the superiority over
me, I confess it. This morning the tables were turned, and I had
brought off the first _coup_.

My visitor started as she heard her name, and threw up her veil with
a gesture of astonishment and indignation combined.

‘Madame Humbert!’ I cried, pretending to be equally surprised. Then,
as the secretary retired, I added--‘This publicity, is it quite
prudent, my dear madame?’

Thérèse gave me a glance in which I read something like fear, as she
dropped into a seat.

‘But I don’t understand, Monsieur V----. I don’t know how that young
man learned who I was.’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘It is the business of my staff to penetrate mysteries, madame. But
you may depend on my secretary’s discretion. It will be awkward if
the police have followed you here, however. If M. Rattache were
to learn that we had been in communication, I might be obliged to
withdraw from the case.’

Madame Humbert clasped her hands in agitation. Her demeanour was no
longer that of the cold, masterful woman who had conversed with me in
Baron Y----’s smoking-room.

‘Listen, monsieur! Is it possible that you do not guess the object of
my visit?’

‘Unless it is to give me further instructions on the subject of your
affair, no.’

Thérèse wrung her hands.

‘It is to tell you, on the contrary, that everything is lost. At the
very moment that we were talking together, a real robber, unknown to
me, was rifling my safe of everything!’

‘You are serious, madame, I suppose?’

‘Serious!’ It is impossible to describe the tragedy in her voice and
air. ‘I tell you, monsieur, that I left Baron Y----’s within an hour
of speaking to you. I drove straight home, went to the safe, opened
it, and found inside a button and a centime.’

‘Really!’

Madame Humbert gazed at me desperately.

‘You do not believe me, perhaps, monsieur? Yet I swear to you as a
Christian woman--I swear as a mother--that there were two hundred
millions of francs in that safe when I came to dine at Baron Y----’s.’

‘I have not the least doubt of it, madame.’

‘Then what do you suspect?’

‘It is clear to me that you have been robbed since.’

‘By whom?’

‘By some one in your confidence, perhaps. Some one to whom you had
confided the guardianship of this fund, in which his Royal Highness
the ---- of ---- is so much interested.’

Madame Humbert glared at me in anger.

‘You are mocking me,’ she cried fiercely. ‘I came here to ask if you
would undertake the recovery of this money from the thief.’

‘That is unnecessary, madame. All that your friends have to do is to
approach him, and breathe in his ear the three words, ---- ---- ----.’

‘But if we do not know who he is!’ cried the distracted plotter.

‘Oh, if you only require to know who he is, that is soon settled. I
will send you the name of the robber on the day on which your affair
terminates in the Courts.’

A light began to break upon the mind of the excited woman.

‘Monsieur V----!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it possible----?’

I drew myself up.

‘Silence, if you please, madame. I have made you a promise which I
shall know how to keep. In the meantime it is clear that we have
nothing more to say to one another, and that the sooner you are out
of this building the better it will be for all parties.’

Madame Humbert rose, gave me a glance in which curiosity, respect,
and apprehension were strangely mingled, and quitted my presence
without venturing to say another word.

I have never seen her since.

The following day, as I entered my private room at the usual hour,
I was conscious of a singular impression, in the nature of a
presentiment. Some men possess a sense, more subtle than sight or
smell, by means of which they are able to detect a personal presence,
more especially one hostile to themselves. I have been well served
by an instinct of this kind on more than one occasion, and now it
asserted itself so strongly that for an instant I believed that there
must be some one hiding in my room.

A glance around removed this suspicion. Everything was in its place
as usual--was even _more_ in its place than usual, if I may be
permitted the hyperbole.

I went to the secret drawer in which I kept the cipher despatches
concerning the Panama affair (on which I was engaged about this time).

It seemed to me that the spring worked a little _more_ smoothly than
when I had last opened the drawer. The papers inside lay exactly as
I had left them overnight. Struck by a sudden thought, I pulled the
drawer right out, lit a match, and examined the dusty floor of the
recess.

I was rewarded by the sight of one--two--three distinct prints of
finger-tips in the dust.

That sight, of course, told me everything. My office had been
ransacked during the night by the French police, and those prints had
been left by fingers tapping in search of the hiding-place of the
Humbert millions.

It was a startling thing to find M. Rattache so swiftly on my trail,
and I inwardly cursed the imprudence which had permitted Madame
Humbert to pay me her tell-tale visit. I put on my hat and hurried
round to the little apartment in the Quartier Latin which I use for
appointments with persons whom it would be inexpedient to receive
openly. As I expected, I found M. Rattache had been before me. His
myrmidons had done their work no less thoroughly here than at my
headquarters.

I always enjoy a struggle with a foe worthy of my steel, and this
was by no means my first bout with the famous detective force of
Paris. On my first settling in Paris, their attentions to me had been
incessant and disagreeable, and it had taken all my ingenuity to
keep my secrets from them. By degrees we had drifted into a species
of informal armistice, it being understood, rather than agreed,
that they abandoned the attempt to follow my proceedings, while I
refrained from acting against them in the criminal affairs with which
they were chiefly concerned.

Between M. Rattache, the brilliant head of the force, and myself
there had sprung up a warm private friendship, based on mutual
respect. I knew that he would not have permitted his men to trouble
me without pretty good grounds for so doing; and this made me the
more anxious.

My first thought, after visiting the Quartier Latin, was for my
private residence. I felt pretty sure that the police could not have
been there in the night without my knowledge, and I asked myself what
plan the fertile brain of my rival would devise in order to search
the premises without giving me warning.

I hailed a fiacre, and bade the driver go to my house at his best
speed. It was not yet eleven o’clock, so there was room for hope that
M. Rattache had not begun his attack in this quarter. If he had, I
should probably catch his men at work.

As we drew near the street in which my house is situated we were
overtaken by a fire-engine, which dashed by at a gallop. Struck by
a sudden apprehension, I offered my driver a golden _pourboire_ to
double his speed.

[Illustration: “I was stopped at the barricade by a pompous sergeant
of police.”]

It was too late. As we drove up I beheld a thick black column of
smoke issuing from my house. A barricade had been formed; half a
dozen fire-engines were drawn up in front, though it was remarkable
that not one had yet begun to play upon the building; and every floor
appeared to be swarming with firemen, who were gutting the house of
everything it contained.

In spite of my vexation at the sight of my ruined home, I could
not withhold my tribute of admiration to M. Rattache’s promptness
and resource. Under the pretence of a fire, which he had of course
contrived to start, and which was well under control, he had turned
in a horde of detectives, disguised as firemen, with instructions to
pull the building to pieces, if necessary, in search of the Humbert
millions.

It was useless for me to think of interfering. I was stopped at the
barricade by a pompous sergeant of police, who took down my name
and address, rebuked me severely for my negligence in permitting my
house to catch fire, and forbade me to interrupt the firemen in their
benevolent labours on my behalf.

Walking to and fro on the pavement, and scrutinising every article
brought out from the building by his assistants, I perceived M.
Rattache himself. In a minute he caught sight of me, and came towards
me with extended arms.

He knew, of course, that I thoroughly understood the game.
Nevertheless, his expression of sympathetic distress was perfect.

‘My dear V----! What an unlucky chance! Behold me overwhelmed with
grief at your misfortune!’

‘You are too good,’ I returned drily. ‘There is nothing of any value
in the house, I am glad to say. This accident will merely give me the
annoyance of sleeping in a hotel for the next few nights.’

‘Do not say that, my dear colleague,’ M. Rattache responded eagerly.
‘You will confer a real favour on me by consenting to accept my
hospitality for a short time, till your house is ready for you again.’

I glanced at him with suspicion. Did this mean that I was to be under
arrest?

‘I cannot thank you sufficiently for such kindness,’ was my answer.
‘But I am afraid I should cause you too much inconvenience. My hours
are very irregular; sometimes it is necessary for me to be at my
office in the middle of the night.’

‘Do not let yourself be restrained by such considerations,’ he
replied earnestly. ‘You shall be as free as if you were under your
own roof.’

It would have been ungracious to persist in my refusal, especially
as I fancied from M. Rattache’s tone that he had already come to
the conclusion that his raid on my house was a mistake, and really
regretted the inconvenience he had caused me.

On the whole, the arrangement was not such a bad one for me. While I
should have been exposed to the surveillance of my antagonist in any
case, this plan would place him under mine. We should be like the
combatants in the holmgang, who were strapped together, and placed on
a small island, to hack each other to pieces with knives.

I moved into my new quarters the same day, some of my personal
baggage being brought round by the pretended firemen, who must have
wondered to see me on such terms with their chief. Rattache presented
me to his wife, a most charming woman with three little daughters,
whose hearts I immediately won by organising all sorts of games at
blindman’s buff and hide-and-seek.

During the next few days I received cipher wires from my various
agents abroad, informing me that their apartments had been searched,
and that they were being shadowed by unknown men.

I was pleased with these despatches, which proved to me that my men
were on the alert. I sent encouraging replies, and persuaded Madame
Rattache to accompany me to the theatre.

I had already visited a Turkish bath in company with my host, in
order to afford him every facility for ascertaining that I was not
carrying any portion of the £8,000,000 on my person.

At the end of a month my house was in perfect order again. M.
Rattache was beginning to feel a little uneasy, perhaps, at my great
progress in the friendship of madame, for he raised no objection when
I proposed to bring my stay with him to a close. The little girls
were in despair at my going, and Madame Rattache earnestly pressed me
to come and see them frequently.

Months passed away, and France and Europe were absorbed in learning
of the sudden flight of the Humberts, the discovery of the empty
safe, the capture of the fugitives, and the trial and sentence of the
majestic Thérèse.

As she was leaving the dock at the end of the case, one of the
warders slipped into her hand a piece of paper which contained simply
my initials--A. V.

I had gone straight from Baron Y----’s house, at the end of our
conversation, to the Humbert mansion, gained admittance by means
of the master-key which I usually carry about me, opened the safe
without the least difficulty, and carried off its contents--all
before Madame Humbert had left the Baron’s door.

[Illustration: “The chief detective came close up to me, put his
mouth to my ear, and whispered, ‘_Le drapeau blanc!_’”]

This instantaneous action, which I had considered necessary for my
own protection, turned out to be the best possible course for the
safety of the millions. Now I had redeemed my promise to Madame
Humbert, by admitting that I was in possession of the lost
treasure, and I waited confidently for the person who should come to
claim it.

Exactly two days afterwards I was surprised by a visit from M.
Rattache, whom I had not seen for some time, a slight coolness having
resulted from his abortive efforts to surprise my secret.

The chief detective, instead of taking the chair I offered him, came
close up to me, put his mouth to my ear, and whispered: ‘_Le drapeau
blanc!_’

The white flag! Is there any English reader who does not know that in
France the white flag signifies the ancient standard of the Valois
and the Bourbons--the inseparable emblem of Legitimist royalty, which
the Comte de Chambord refused to exchange for the Revolutionary
tricolor, even to obtain the throne?

I stared at M. Rattache, confounded to find in the head of the
Republican police the confidential agent of the Monarchists.

He enjoyed my astonishment for a minute in silence. Then he said
aloud--

‘Now, my dear V----, perhaps you will reveal to me the secret of that
hiding-place which has baffled the efforts of my best men for so
long.’

I smiled quietly as I took up my hat.

‘On first receiving this fund I simply put the notes and bills
in a registered parcel and sent it to my agent in Brussels, with
instructions to put it in a fresh cover and send it to and fro
through the post till further notice. But on finding that you were
interested in my correspondence I naturally adopted another plan.
I will take you at once to the spot where I have deposited these
millions, which I shall not be sorry to get rid of.’

I led the way out into the street, called a fiacre, and whispered an
address into the driver’s ear.

It was my turn to enjoy the discomfiture of my colleague, as the
carriage drew up before his own door.

‘Here!’ was all he could gasp.

I paid the driver and dismissed him.

‘Surely there could be no spot more safe from the perquisitions of
the police,’ I answered mockingly.

M. Rattache conducted me in, and led the way towards his study.

‘Not that way,’ I objected. ‘It is necessary for us to go upstairs.’

With ever-deepening chagrin M. Rattache followed me, as I ascended to
the schoolroom in which his little daughters were at play with their
dolls.

They rushed to embrace me with exclamations of joy.

‘Isabel,’ I said to the eldest, a bright girl of twelve, ‘now you
shall show the others the hiding-place where we put the box of
bricks.’

A cry of delight greeted this proposal. Isabel ran gaily in front to
lead the party into her own little bedroom, where, under a loose
plank, which this observant child had discovered, and the knowledge
of which she had kept to herself with that marvellous secrecy of
which children are sometimes capable, lay--the Humbert millions!

Isabel was a little disappointed to find, when the box was opened,
that her bricks had been changed into stupid pieces of paper. But I
explained that a fairy had been at work, and that a new and better
set of bricks would arrive by the next post.

And so, I am relieved to say, terminated my connection with the
Humbert Case.

XII

THE BLACK POPE

I must be pardoned if I exercise a certain reserve in telling the
story of the most delicate of all the affairs in which I have been
engaged. While the interests concerned were, in their own nature,
purely political, the fact that they centred round the spiritual Head
of Christendom imposes on me restraints which I am bound to recognise.

I cannot recall at this moment whether, in the course of these
reminiscences, I have had occasion to mention that I was honoured on
several occasions by the confidence of the illustrious Pontiff who,
in the course of less than a generation, exalted the Papacy to a
height of power and reverent esteem such as it had scarcely enjoyed
since the Middle Ages.

To me, as to all who have paid any attention to the history of their
own times, the passing away of Leo XIII. marked an epoch in the
history of the world. I was in Paris, awaiting the announcement which
would plunge two continents into mourning, when, an hour before the
fatal bulletin reached the newspaper offices, I received a despatch
desiring me to start immediately for Rome, and wait upon the young
King of Italy in the Palace of the Quirinal.

Whether in consequence of my connection with the Vatican or not, it
happened that I had never been directly employed in the service of
the House of Savoy. I have told the story of my unavailing efforts to
save the life of King Humbert; but on that occasion I acted as the
agent of the friendly monarch of another country.

During my journey to Rome in obedience to the royal summons, my mind
was deeply exercised by the problem presented by the disastrous
breach between the Italian Kingship and the Papacy.

When the troops of Victor Emmanuel I., thirty-four years ago, marched
into the City of the Popes, to make it the capital of United Italy,
no one foresaw the difficulties which would flow from the refusal of
the Popes to abandon their rights as the temporal Sovereigns of Rome
and the States of the Church.

Other dethroned sovereigns have fled from their lost dominions, and
gradually sunk out of sight. But the Popes, seated in the Vatican,
and solemnly excommunicating the dynasty which has displaced them,
have rendered insecure the whole fabric of the Italian monarchy.

I myself, divided between my political sympathies as an American
citizen, and my loyalty as a Catholic to the Head of my Church, had
often sought in vain for some way of reconciling the venerable rights
of the Chair of Peter with the patriotic aspirations of the Italian
people.

The various solutions put forward from time to time, such as the
cession to the Pope of a small slice of territory including the
Vatican, seemed to me inadequate and mean. Some loftier treatment
of the situation seemed to be called for, but no statesman,
ecclesiastical or secular, had yet been found to propose it.

Now, with the accession of a new Pope, it was possible to indulge
hopes of a new policy. I encouraged myself to believe that Victor
Emmanuel II. had sent for me that I might assist him in such an
endeavour.

The character of this young ruler had already aroused my interest
and curiosity. In his father’s lifetime he was unknown to the public
until he suddenly stepped into the foreground, at the time of the
Abyssinian disasters, as the determined opponent of Crispi’s policy
of adventure, and the champion of peace.

Since his accession he had won golden opinions by his modesty,
benevolence, and practical energy in the work of government. But
he had as yet given no indications of any marked individuality or
policy of his own.

Within an hour of my arrival in Rome I found myself in his Majesty’s
presence.

His reception of me was not merely gracious but cordial. In a few
well-chosen words he thanked me for my services at the time of the
tragedy of Monza.

‘I believe you have been employed in the secret service of the
Vatican?’ King Victor proceeded.

I bowed again.

‘Will you tell me whether that constitutes any obstacle to your
serving me?’ he inquired.

I hesitated.

‘I should feel embarrassed if your Majesty were to ask me to act
_against_ the Vatican,’ I ventured to say.

‘But suppose I were to ask you to undertake the office of mediator,
to promote a reconciliation between the Papacy and the Italian
nation?’

‘Then, sire, you would be offering me the task which I covet above
all others, and which I should feel to be the crown of my career.’

The young King made a gesture of delight.

‘That is fortunate indeed! Listen, monsieur! From a boy my heart has
bled at the thought of this miserable estrangement, so fraught with
danger to the cause of religion as well as to the national freedom.
In addition I must tell you that I feel very deeply my own position.
I have a conviction that our House cannot prosper while it remains
under the curse of the Church.

‘As far as I am concerned,’ Victor Emmanuel went on, ‘there is no
sacrifice I am not prepared to make, even to the laying down of
my crown, in order to win the forgiveness of the Holy See, and to
establish good relations between the Church and the nation. But I
need not say that I can do nothing by myself. Unless I can succeed in
carrying the Parliament and the people with me, I should simply make
things worse than they are at present.’

His Majesty paused for a minute, and then resumed, watching my face
anxiously.

‘I have been seeking for years for some means of appeasing the Holy
Father that would not be rejected by the secular politicians. And the
plan which has developed itself in my mind is this:--

‘In the Middle Ages, perhaps I need not remind you, the Popes enjoyed
but a scanty authority in the Roman States. Their authority was
defied by the usurping barons, and even in the City of Rome they
frequently saw authority exercised by the senate and people. Yet at
the very same epoch they were wielding tremendous powers over Europe;
they were able to dethrone emperors; a King of England laid down
his crown at the feet of a Papal Legate; and the Kings of Naples
acknowledged the suzerainty of the Popes by an annual tribute.’

I began to see what was coming, and testified my admiration by a
glance.

‘I propose,’ King Victor said impressively, ‘to acknowledge the Holy
Father as the suzerain of the Italian kingdom. I am prepared to lay
my crown at his feet, and to receive it again as his gift. I propose
to hold myself as the vassal of his Holiness, to pay a tribute,
instead of the pension which has been refused, and to exercise my
power of veto over legislation in obedience to the Pope’s directions.
In short, I am willing to efface myself, and to govern Italy as the
deputy of the Holy See.’

I listened with deep emotion to the noble young King as he unfolded
his scheme, a scheme in which it was evident that he intended himself
to be the sacrifice which would procure peace. At the same time I
perceived certain difficulties in the way. The successors of St.
Peter, in modern times at all events, had been accustomed to rule
over their limited dominions as absolute monarchs. Was it to be
hoped that they would consent to accept a constitutional authority
in exchange, even though that authority extended over the whole
peninsula?

Yet the See of Rome, as suzerain of Italy, would be able to re-enter
the field of international politics as a great Power. Alliances might
follow which would place the Pope in the position of president
over a great Catholic league embracing Austria, Spain, Portugal,
Belgium, and possibly France as well, to say nothing of the powerful
leverage which the Church was able to exercise over the policy of
semi-Catholic powers, such as Germany, Great Britain, and the United
States.

Carried away by these dazzling visions, I exclaimed aloud--

‘I believe in your Majesty! If only the new Pope will accept your
plans!’

King Victor flushed with gratification at my outburst.

‘That is the task I am going to intrust to you,’ he announced. ‘I
have made careful inquiries, and I believe there is one Cardinal who,
if he were elected, would be likely to welcome my overtures.’

‘And his name, sire?’

‘Cardinal Sarto, the Patriarch-Archbishop of Venice.’

My face fell. I had scarcely heard of his Eminence of Venice by
name. Certainly he was not among those cardinals--the _Papabili_,
as they are termed--whose candidature was taken seriously by the
ecclesiastical politicians of the Vatican.

‘Is Cardinal Sarto a possible candidate, sire?’ I ventured to object.

‘You must make him so,’ King Victor said earnestly. ‘I rely on you to
secure his election.’

Although not lacking in self-confidence, I shrank before this
tremendous task. Apart from my scruples as a Catholic--and I was by
no means sure how far it was lawful for a layman to interfere in a
Papal election--I doubted my power to influence the choice of the
Sacred College in the short time at my disposal.

‘In ten days from now the Conclave will begin,’ I murmured
reflectively.

‘I know it,’ broke in Victor Emmanuel. ‘I want you to be present in
the Conclave as my secret agent.’

I trembled. The secrecy of the Conclave is guarded with the greatest
care. In what way could I possibly gain admission to the private
deliberations of the Cardinals?

The King answered my unspoken doubts.

‘In ten days the Cardinals will enter the Conclave, each with a
single attendant, and the door will be walled up, not to be reopened
until Christendom again has a Pope. It is necessary for you to be
inside that walled-up door.’

‘I must enter in the character of attendant to one of the Cardinals!’
I exclaimed.

‘You must enter as the servant of Cardinal Salvatierra,’ his Majesty
declared.

I frowned slightly. It seemed to me that my employer, in his
enthusiasm, was going a little too fast. I did not like having so
much arranged for me in advance. This Cardinal Salvatierra, who was
he; and in what way had he come to lend himself to the purpose of the
King of Italy?

‘Does the Cardinal enjoy your Majesty’s confidence?’ I asked drily.

‘Not in the sense that you do, Monsieur V----,’ the King answered.
‘Salvatierra is one of the ornamental members of the College. He
is a scholar and antiquarian, not a Churchman or politician. His
collection of intaglios is said to be the finest in Rome.’

‘May I venture to ask how much his Eminence has been told?’

‘Only that I desire the election of a Pope who will be well disposed
towards Italy. It has always been customary for the Sacred College
to receive representations from the Catholic Powers of their views
and wishes on the subject of Papal election. The only irregularity in
this case is that, as the Italian kingdom is not recognised by the
Papacy, I can only communicate with the College indirectly.’

[Illustration: “I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of
his newly arrived treasures.”]

I listened to his Majesty with considerable inward misgiving. I
was more than a little afraid of the guilt I might be incurring by
entering the Conclave. At the same time I told myself that Cardinal
Salvatierra had a right to introduce whom he pleased as his
attendant; and if he was satisfied to take me, it was not for me to
raise objections.

After some further conversation with his Majesty, I retired to a
hotel and effected a transformation which gave me the appearance of a
respectable upper servant, such as a steward or valet, in an Italian
noble family. Thus attired, I made my way round to the Salvatierra
Palace, and sent up my name to his Eminence as Jacopo Luigi.

‘I doubt if his Eminence will receive you to-night,’ the porter
informed me. ‘A case of exquisite cameos of untold value has just
arrived for his collection--a gift from some great personage, I
believe; and his Eminence is hard at work unpacking them.’

I had my own suspicion as to the source of this truly regal offering,
and felt more than ever uneasy as to the lawfulness of my proceedings.

However, it was not long before a message came down that I was to go
up and wait upon his Eminence at once.

I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived
treasures. Holding a delicate camel’s-hair brush in one hand, he was
going over the cameos, carefully removing every speck of dust and
holding them up to the light in search of possible blemishes.

His Eminence was a tall, stately personage, refined and ascetic in
feature, with a faded blue eye which fell on me with an expression of
the most complete indifference.

‘You are Jacopo Luigi,’ he observed, glancing towards a letter which
lay open on a pier-table. ‘My nephew, Count Baldachino, recommends
you to me very strongly. He says’--the Cardinal interrupted himself
to scrutinise a fresh gem with the minutest care--‘he says that you
are thoroughly discreet and faithful. You understand the particular
necessity for discretion in my service, no doubt?’

He took his eye off the cameo for an instant, to dart a glance at me,
so keen and penetrating that it was as if a hidden man had suddenly
sprung to the window and looked out. Before I could respond, the
Cardinal’s back was turned to me again, and he was dusting away
harder than ever.

‘I perfectly understand, Eminence,’ I muttered.

‘That is quite right, then. I take you into my service. At a salary
of 800 lire. Introduce yourself to the master of my household.’

These sentences were punctuated by eager movements, as his Eminence
proceeded in his examination of the newly arrived treasures.

I waited for more, but finding that the Cardinal had apparently
forgotten my presence, in his antiquarian enthusiasm, I moved towards
the door and withdrew.

I need not describe the household. I found myself received at first
with the jealousy natural on the part of old servants towards a new
comer, but I soon got on good terms with those whom I wished to
conciliate.

From the gossip of the servants’ hall I gathered many important hints
about the forthcoming election.

Had merit only been considered, the long and important services of
Cardinal Rampolla would have given him a paramount claim on the
tiara. But his strength of character had aroused the dread of those
Cardinals who consider that a weak Pope means a powerful College, and
_vice versâ_.

Various other names were being talked about as popular candidates,
but among them I did not once catch that of King Victor’s nominee,
the saintly, simple-hearted Archbishop of Venice.

Each of the two great Mendicant Orders, the Dominicans and
Franciscans, had its favourite, for whom the brethren were eagerly
working. But I could not learn the name of any Cardinal who was being
supported by the ubiquitous and powerful Company of Jesus.

This was in itself a suspicious sign. The jealousy--perhaps I ought
to say the fear--of the Jesuits entertained by the ordinary hierarchy
of the Church is so intense that in all probability if the Jesuits
had shown their hand by openly supporting a particular Cardinal,
that would have been enough to ensure his exclusion.

I could only surmise that they were working in the dark, or, perhaps,
waiting for the opportunity to intervene and turn the scale between
the final candidates.

As soon as the obsequies of Leo XIII. had been duly performed, the
Cardinals in solemn procession entered the Hall of the Conclave, and
the doors were locked.

Inside the vast chamber a small wooden cell, just large enough
to contain a narrow bed and a chair, had been erected for the
accommodation of each Cardinal.

The occupation of these tiny compartments was decided by lot, so it
will be understood that I experienced a sensation of uneasy surprise
on finding that Cardinal Salvatierra had obtained the cubicle
adjoining that of the Patriarch of Venice.

I do not feel myself at liberty to violate the secrecy of the
Conclave by relating minutely the steps which I took to secure
support for Cardinal Sarto. I obtained a few votes in the first
ballot, but not enough to afford any promise of ultimate success.

Cardinal Rampolla struck his first and last blow. He polled his full
number of votes, and fell short of the requisite two-thirds majority.
Then realising that the jealousy of his great powers was too strong
to be overcome, he retired from the contest.

This left the field open to the two rival Mendicant Orders. Their
nominees, whom I think it more respectful not to name, polled vote
for vote, but neither could command anything like the number of
suffrages required.

It appeared likely that the Conclave would last some time. In the
second ballot I was surprised to find that a fair number of votes was
given to my supposed master. Cardinal Salvatierra appeared equally
surprised, and a little annoyed by this circumstance.

‘I wish they would ignore me,’ he said testily, when I brought him
his dinner. ‘They know I am not a possible Pope, and they will injure
me with the successful candidate.’

I said nothing, but an idea was already germinating in my mind.
Before the next scrutiny I waited with the utmost secrecy upon
the two Cardinals who were managing the election on behalf of the
Dominicans and Franciscans respectively.

To each of their Eminences I said practically the same thing.

‘You cannot succeed in carrying your nominee. Neither can your
rivals. Meanwhile the Jesuits are secretly preparing to gather in the
scattered votes and concentrate them on their own candidate.’

‘Who is that?’ was the eager question I received in each case.

‘You will see in the next scrutiny. Unless you stand firm, and refuse
to accede, you will have a Jesuit Pope.’

This threat was necessary, because when a candidate obtains so large
a proportion of votes as to make his election seem certain at the
next ballot, it is a very usual thing for the supporters of the
beaten candidates to go over at once, in order to have the credit of
voting for the new Pope.

The next scrutiny was taken. The name of Salvatierra came out
high upon the list, wanting only four votes of the two-thirds
majority. The Franciscan and Dominican Cardinals stood firm. But the
unsuspecting Archbishop of Venice, who did not dream that his own
candidature was anything but a side manœuvre, earnestly implored his
own few supporters to accede to Salvatierra, and thus complete the
election of a Pope.

Fortunately I had anticipated this action on his part, and had
obtained the most binding pledges from the few Cardinals I had won
over. There was no election, and Salvatierra returned to his cell,
unable to conceal his mortification.

‘Luigi,’ he said to me that night, ‘you have seen how things are
going. Against my will I am destined to receive the tiara. This
places us both in a different position. You have done your best to
serve the personage who desired me to take you into my service, and
it is not your fault that you have failed to secure the election of
a pro-Italian Cardinal. Now I can place it in your power to achieve
the same end by another means. If you will give me the King’s votes
in the next ballot, I will pledge myself to negotiate in a friendly
and liberal spirit for the settlement of the differences between the
Papacy and the Kingdom.’

‘Your Eminence can escape from the burden of the triple crown,’ I
replied, with affected simplicity, ‘by causing your own supporters to
accede to any one of the other candidates.’

‘You mean to Cardinal Sarto,’ his Eminence retorted. ‘You do not
suppose that my friends would elect a Dominican or Franciscan puppet?
Let me warn you, my dear Signor Luigi, or Monsieur V----, that the
Cardinal on whom your master places his reliance, is not strong
enough to carry out the reconciliation you desire. Giuseppe Sarto is
a saint, not a statesman.’

I felt there was some truth in this warning, but I had my
instructions, and I could not in this case look beyond them. I
promised to weigh his Eminence’s words, and retired to sound the
feeling of the Conclave.

I found that the election was already virtually decided. The
extraordinary leap upward of Salvatierra, following on my warning,
had convinced the two Mendicant Orders of their danger. They had
communicated their own fears and suspicions to the rest of the
College, and the fatal whisper--‘The Jesuit candidate’--had already
run round the Conclave. The two Orders having agreed to withdraw
their champions, there remained only one candidate in the field.

At the next ballot Cardinal Sarto, the nominee of the excommunicated
King of Italy, was triumphantly elected Pope.

The amazement of the saintly prelate, who had remained in profound
ignorance of the whole of the negotiations and intrigues, softened
the hearts of even his rivals, and convinced the most worldly-minded
of the electors that they had involuntarily made the right choice.

Salvatierra was the first to offer the kiss of homage to his new
sovereign. His Eminence’s parting words to myself as we quitted the
Conclave made me fear that my triumph was more apparent than real.

‘You have chosen the White Pope, Monsieur V----. It remains to see
how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’

He returned to his palace and his curiosities, to all appearance well
contented to resume his _rôle_ of harmless antiquary.

But I did not doubt that a full report of all that had passed would
be laid at once before the formidable personage with whose opposition
he had threatened me.

In a villa a short distance outside the walls of Rome resides an
ascetic recluse, never seen in any public ceremonies, visited only
from time to time by a few quietly dressed priests and laymen, to all
appearance as insignificant as himself. This is the Black Pope--in
other words, the General of the Company of Jesus.

Very soon after the election of Pius X. I applied for and obtained a
private interview with his Holiness.

My previous connection with the secret service of the Vatican
rendered this easy.

To no one but the Holy Father himself did I intend to reveal my
character as the agent of Victor Emmanuel II.

So great was my veneration for the Vicar of Christ, so intense
my admiration for the personal character of the new Pope, that I
had determined never to confess to his Holiness the part which I
had played in his election, lest his wrath should fall upon me in
consequence.

As I knelt before Pius X. in the small and simply furnished room in
which he had chosen to install himself, I saw his eye fall on me with
an expression of pity and curiosity.

‘You do well to kneel, my son,’ the Holy Father said, in a low,
gentle voice. ‘You have erred very grievously.’

I looked up in astonishment. Pius X. pointed to a small table which
stood beside his chair.

‘What do you see there?’ he asked, preserving the same tone of mild
reproof.

I glanced at the table, and beheld a portion of a railway ticket.

‘When I left Venice a fortnight ago, I took a return ticket,’ the
Pope continued. ‘What you see is the half which I am never going to
use. Take it. It will be a souvenir for you, and may remind you to
beware of the vanity of meddling in spiritual concerns.’

Amazed by this form of address, I rose from my knees, and
respectfully possessed myself of the precious keepsake, which I
thrust into my inmost pocket.

‘I came to Rome,’ the Holy Father pursued calmly, ‘without other hope
or ambition than to record my vote for the most worthy member of the
Sacred College. Even had I wished to be Pope I should not have been
presumptuous enough to put myself forward as a candidate for the
Chair of Saint Peter.

[Illustration: “Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience chamber
of Pius X.”]

‘It appears that there were others, with more worldly motives, who
entertained ambitions of the kind. For my part, when I learned that
some Cardinals had recorded their votes for me I had no feeling but
one of surprise and chagrin. I suspected that I was being used as a
stalking-horse on behalf of others. I could not dream that a layman
had dared to interfere in the election at the bidding of a usurper
who is outside the pale of Christian fellowship, under the curse of
the Church!’

I trembled as I perceived that some one had been beforehand with me,
and had narrated my proceedings to his Holiness, no doubt with a
gloss which had caused Pius X. to take the worst view of my action.

‘Fortunately your rash and evil designs were overruled for good.
Unknown to yourself, you were an instrument in the hands of others.
While you were watching you were watched. Pious and vigilant men, the
faithful soldiers of the Church Militant, who had no object of their
own to serve, and who only sought the good of the Church, were aware
all along of your proceedings, your true employer, and his secret
aims. You sought to place in the Chair of Peter an obedient tool of
the House of Savoy. The watchful guardians of the Church resolved
that you should be instrumental in the elevation of one who, however
unworthy, is at least free from the passion of worldly ambition.’

I would fain have spoken, but the Holy Father imposed silence on me
by a stern gesture.

‘The candidature of his Eminence Cardinal Salvatierra was a ruse,
to which the zealous persons I speak of were obliged to resort, in
order to throw dust in your eyes. From the first they had determined
to ensure my election, if it could be brought about without using
improper means of influencing the Sacred College. They checkmated
you, without your perceiving it.

‘Now you may go and tell the rash young King who used you as his
agent that his designs have miscarried. I sit here, neither his
nominee nor his creature, but the duly chosen Head of the Roman
Church, and I call upon him to retire from the territories bestowed
upon the Church by Constantine.’

I listened with feelings of stupefaction and despair. The story which
had been told the Pope was so nearly true that I had no scope for
contradiction; it had been so skilfully coloured that I realised that